Epilogue
The winter came on in force after a few more weeks, and large blankets of snow fell gently onto the parapets of McGowan castle, covering up their previous layers with more twinkling crystals of ice. The winds had died down for a while, and the entire countryside was held captive by the frozen embrace of the cold snows.
The birds had all gone south for the winter, and the air was intensely still, suspended by the cold that wrapped around the castle walls. A few soldiers crunched the deep layers of snow beneath their boots as they tried to sweep it from the ramparts, keeping their patrol routes clear.
The stables were shut up tight against the snow, and the orchards were bare. The hogs, those which had not yet been slaughtered, were huddled together in their little hog houses, and a few unlucky peasants trudged through the snow to the well, breaking ice to fill their buckets and hauling them back to their huts and to the kitchens, where there was a large bustle of movement standing out against the stillness of the yard.
The fires there were already roaring, and people moved all around in the early morning, baking bread and preparing huge sides of meat for the planned festivities that night. It wouldn’t be the same as the last festival the Laird had thrown, for it was far too cold and frozen for the yard to fill up like it had, but the Scotsmen still loved to drink and to eat, and however many they could cram into the hall would certainly fill their bellies.
Decorations were being set up in the hall, the tapestries were being beaten out, and the candles were all being replaced with fresh wax, and extra barrels of ale and wine were being pulled out of the cellar and rolled through the frozen snow, leaving funny looking tracks through the yard.
The chapel doors faced the yard, and a track was stamped out in the snow from there to the hall, complete with unlit torches lined the not yet used walkway. The mood was a cheerful one, despite the frozen stillness that did its best to damper things. People walked about with smiles and giggles on their faces, ready for the wedding that afternoon.
“Well?” Gavin asked, standing against the wall, his fine clothes already arraigned, watching Kyle pace back and forth in his chambers.
“Well, what?” Kyle asked, frustrated. He threw up his hands and then ran them along the length of his braid.
“Are ye gonna stop pacing?” Gavin asked, standing up from his reclining posture. “Put that walk in one direction, toward the chapel?”
“Is it time?” Kyle asked, his eyes wide.
“What the devil are ye so scared of?” Gavin laughed. “Ye’ve been in battle, ye’ve been tae sea, and ye’ve already got her love.”
“I’m scared I’ll slip on the ice,” Kyle grinned back.
“This will help,” Gavin said, crossing to the small table and pouring up a few drams for them each. “With the fear, nay the ice.”
The brothers took down their drinks and then took down two more. “Are ye ready now?” Gavin asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Nay,” Kyle said. “But we may as well get on with it.”
Laila and Ella had much the same conversation on the other side of the keep, though they drank more than the men and laughed a bit more.
“Why must it always be in a church?” Laila complained, minding her hair in the mirror for the twelfth time.
“What’s wrong with a church?” Ella asked, pouring a bit more wine.
“I never thought God liked me very much,” Laila said, turning twice about to check the back of her braids. It was a new French style, and she rather enjoyed the look of it a great deal.
“Me, dear,” Ella laughed. “It would seem tae me that God loves you more than most everyone else. Come now, let’s off tae the chapel.”
“Is it time?” Laila asked, her eyes widening like her soon-to-be husband.
It was a beautiful assembly when it all came to fruition, despite the extra layers people had to don above their finer clothes. Winter flowers were set up in the chapel and hung upon the torches that lined the walk, punctuating the bleak white with speckles of red and orange.
Inside the chapel itself, the crowd was small, for there was no family from either side to travel in for the ceremony. Instead, the ambiance was quiet and sincere, but not solemn. There was a joyous excitement that lived in the waiting eyes of the Willby brothers, who were proud to stand there among their Scottish allies, their cheeks beaming and blushing a bit against the frigid cold.
Gavin and Ella were on the other side of the room, dressed in their finest winter robes, and there was a tiny boy swaddled in Ella’s arms, bundled so against the snow that all that could be made of the little man was the bright red tip of his nose protruding through the clothes. Gavin kept looking between his brother and his child as if he could not quite believe how fortunate he truly was.
Kyle stood at the altar beside the priest, dressed in the fine blue tunic Laila had procured for him what seemed like a lifetime ago. His britches were clean and pressed, giving his whole form a slimmer, more fitted look, and his hair was tied back in a tightly fitting Scottish braid that reached down to his upper waist.
His face was full of excitement and fear, confusion and the heat of anticipation. It was a standard look for a groom to wear, and Kyle wore it beautifully. Looking at him, there was no mistaking that he was truly excited to be wed and that his bride dominated every piece of his mind, but he was overcome with the whole seriousness and confusion of the marriage ceremony.
It was an old and storied practice that they were now entering into, and while Kyle had never thought much of marriage before, now that he stood at the altar, he felt the gravity of the thing sinking down onto his shoulders. It was not a bad weight, not by any means, but it was a serious one, and he swam in it while he waited, trying not to scoff his feet back and forth too much against the chapel floor.
“Bloody hell,” Kyle murmured to himself as he glanced about the frosty room.
“What’s that?” the aged priest asked, straining to hear.
