“Then come,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her into the stones. “Dod will bless our union and then we’ll make magic of our own.”
~*~
And so it came that they joined the innkeeper who now stood in the center of the standing stones in his guise as an erstwhile Gretna Green anvil priest.
His ‘anvil’ was the large recumbent stone, a slab-like stone set on its side at the circle’s center. Two upright stones flanked it, these framing the night’s crescent moon as they’d done for several thousand years, Melissa knew.
A length of beribboned heather rope waited atop the recumbent stone and after greeting Lucian and Melissa, the innkeeper waited as they extended their arms and then he wrapped the rope loosely around their wrists.
“Angus Lucian Duncan Forbes MacRae, Black Lyon and Laird of Lyongate Hall,” he said, his strong voice lifted so all could hear. “Do you, before me, Annie Swanney and Meg Shaw” – he glanced at his wife and the serving lass – “and all these other witnesses, declare your honest and freely-given intent to take Lady Melissa Tandy as your only and honored wife, looking out for her all her days and siring and caring for her children?
“Will you keep yourself only unto her, loving her throughout this life and into the world beyond?” He paused then, his glance lifting to the great, night-darkened hills to the north. “Will you give her a safe and joyous home, look after her in illness and good health, and showing her even more strength in times of trouble?
“All this, you must willingly agree to do.” He paused again, his gaze on Lucian. “Is this your wish?”
“It is,” Lucian declared, and glanced at her. “I make these vows and shall keep them.”
Dod Sweeny nodded, then looked to Melissa, repeating the same words, though when he paused, his gaze turned to the south and he asked her to declare her desire to put her homeland behind her and journey north with Lucian, wanting to hear her state that she would live freely and gladly with her husband, eagerly making her home at his side, without regret or complaint, and staying there always, devoted to him and the family they would have together.
Melissa listened to the innkeeper’s every word, her heart pounding so hard that she was amazed she could hear him.
The wind was also quickening, racing off the hills and moors to chill the air even more and make the mist shiver and drift like billowing curtains of silvered gossamer silk.
Even so, she caught everything Dod Swanney said and nodded her agreement when required, then she turned her gaze to Lucian, barely seeing him now through the tears stinging her eyes.
“Yes, I am here willingly,” she said, lifting her voice, just as the innkeeper and Lucian had done. “Before all here, in particular, my new husband, I declare that I desire nothing greater than to walk through life at his side.
“Bearing his children, tending and loving his home” – she smiled at him then, not caring that her voice cracked – “and loving him until the end of my days, and into eternity.”
“So it shall be.” The innkeeper stepped forward and lifted the ends of the heather rope, swiftly tossing it around their waists and then pulling tight, drawing them against each other for the wedding kiss.
This they did without his instruction.
After all, they’d had enough practice on the journey north.
And as Lucian bracketed her face, kissing her long, deep, and with so much enthusiasm that the onlookers around the circle’s edge cheered, Dod Swanney yanked the heather rope from them and returned it to the stone.
The deed done, he folded his arms and nodded once, a huge smile on his bearded face.
“It is done!” he called out, his deep voice carried by the cold, night wind. “Free ale and meat pies for all to celebrate,” he added, earning more cheers.
Lucian and Melissa kept kissing, much to the amusement of everyone.
“Ho, lad!” The innkeeper clapped a hand on Lucian’s shoulder. “‘Tis done,” he said, smiling. “You’re married and no man can doubt it.” He stepped back and glanced at the recumbent stone and the heather rope. “If they try, the ancients will let them know otherwise.”
“That, I believe.” Lucian returned the man’s smile and then took a small bag of coins from beneath his jacket and thrust the pouch into the innkeeper’s hand.
“Serve everyone a round or two of your best whisky and as much of your fine Atholl Brose as your kitchen can yet supply at this hour,” he said, reaching for Melissa’s hand. “My bride and I will go straight to our room.
“I’m sure you understand?” Lucian threw a glance at the back of the inn, his gaze on a candlelit window at the far corner of the top floor. “We’ll no’ be down for breakfast. We’ll see you when we do.”
“It could be late,” Melissa added, earning a chuckle from the smiling innkeeper.
“As well it should be,” he declared, tossing Lucian’s coin pouch in the air and catching it as quickly. “I see I needn’t be wishing you a guid night. Looks like it will be a grand one.”
“I will make certain of it,” Lucian agreed.
And then the three of them followed everyone back into the Hare’s taproom, though they parted ways at the foot of the stairs. Lucian and Melissa climbed the steps, leaving the inn’s staff and patrons, now wedding celebrants, to make merry on their own.
