Page 14 of A Bride for the Kilted Beast

The women had her sit before a dressing table and looking glass. For the second time in two days, she had to submit while a stranger brushed out her hair. But she had to admit that Sheila took great care as she styled it around a small headdress decorated with white and purple heather.

Then, like a conjurer, Penny brought out jewels, beautiful sapphires set in gold.

“Who dae they belong tae?” Lillie asked, curious, fingering the lovely stones.

“Miss Maddison. The laird said tae pick sapphires, melady, tae match yer eyes,” Penny cooed as she fastened a necklace around Lillie’s neck then added some beautiful pendant earrings before standing back to admire her handiwork. She did not notice how this unexpected information alarmed Lillie.

He’s noticed the color of me eyes?

“Och, he was right. Ye look like a picture, melady,” Sheila told her, carefully dusting Lillie’s cheeks and decolletage with fine powder before delicately touching her cheeks and lips with rouge.

“Nae that ye need it, melady,” the girl assured her, “but that old chapel’s rather gloomy, and it’ll be grand fer ye tae have some color in yer cheeks tae look yer best fer the laird, eh?”

Lillie was still pondering the possible meaning of him specifying she should wear sapphires—tae match me eyes—when Sheila broke into her thoughts by slipping a pair of blue kid slippers on her feet.

“There, ye’re ready, melady,” she pronounced with a satisfied smile.

“Will ye nae look at yerself in the looking glass, myelady?” Lorna invited, and all three gathered round her, beaming into the mirror.

“D’ye nae make a beautiful bride?” Penny breathed, clasping her small hands before her and beaming with excitement as she too stared at Lillie’s refection. But when Lillie looked into the looking glass, she did not recognize herself. The elegant lady was not her, she was sure of it. She half expected the reflected image to open her painted mouth and tell her there was no going back.

“Thank ye all,” she managed to say at last, wanting to burst into tears, just to let out some of the tension building inside her. The women had no idea her life was about to end, and they all seemed so proud of what they had achieved, she could not find it in her heart to disappoint them. “Ye have done well tae make me look so fine.”

A soft knock on the door interrupted them, and Lorna went to unlock the door. She opened it and had a brief, murmured conversation with whoever was in the hallway. Then, she turned and beckoned to Lillie.

“’Tis time, melady. We must take ye down tae the chapel straight away. But och, I almost forgot. Ye need yer strip o’ cloth for the handfasting.” From her pocket she pulled a ribbon of blue velvet and tied it loosely around Lillie’s left wrist. “I’m sorry we dinnae have a ribbon of ye’re family tartan, but this will do nicely,” she said. “There, now ye’re ready.”

Her heart heavy with dread, Lillie rose and followed the excited women out of the room and down the hallway, feeling all the while as if she was being led to her own execution.

The chapel was situated through a set of carved wooden doors leading off the great hall. Lorna led the way, and when they arrived and halted outside, she lifted the latch and pushed open the doors. Lillie swallowed hard and peered inside.

Just as Sheila had said, it was gloomy inside the chapel despite there being several windows. Some lamps had been lit, filling the air with a warm orange glow that appeared deceptively welcoming.

The chapel was quite small, yet the fifteen feet or so she saw she would have to navigate before reaching her groom seemed far too short. He was already waiting for her at the makeshift altar, his back to her. Her heart pounded to see his looming figure, now resplendent in the full formal dress of a laird. His kilt and plaid were patterned in forest green, blue, black, and cream, flattering his dark coloring.

The light from two large candles flickered on the altar, making his giant shadow dance on the wall. Lillie shook to see the traditional “candles of union,” a physical symbol of the joining of their two clans.

The candles also illuminated the round, pasty face of a minister standing behind the altar. He stood like a black crow, bible in hand, ready to preside over the ceremony.

When they heard the door open, both men looked in her direction. Diarmaid met her eye and stared at her, his face unreadable. She found to her consternation that she could not look away.

The breath left her body as if she had been punched. It could not be denied that he was handsome. Incredibly handsome. Tall and broad, as fine a figure of a man as she had ever laid eyes upon, standing there in his fine clan regalia. The candlelight flickered, highlighting the shadowed planes of his face as he continued staring at her.

In another time and place, she admitted to herself, she would have run down the aisle to stand beside him. But as it was, she could only swallow the tremendous ball of fear that threatened to choke her as a soft push in her back propelled her forward, and she found herself traversing the short distance to the altar on shaking legs.

As she stepped inside the chapel, she realized with horror that they had an audience. Several people, strangers, all in fine attire, turned to look at her, smiling and nodding as she passed. She kept her eyes straight ahead.

Diarmaid continued to stare at her as she approached, not a hint of a smile of his face. That made her feel even worse. From the corner of her eye, she spied Ciarán standing behind him, also in full formal dress. Her heart sank to see he was holding a small cushion upon which glittered a golden ring.

When she took the final step to stand beside Diarmaid, she thought she would fall. Yet somehow, through pride perhaps, she managed to stay on her feet. She kept her eyes down, but she could feel Diarmaid’s eyes upon her. It felt like they were burning through the thin material of her gown.

The minister began the service straightaway, but Lillie was in such a daze, she hardly took in the words. She vaguely heard Diarmaid’s deep, rasping voice saying his vows, but the minister had to prompt her to say her own. Then, Ciarán stepped forward with his cushion. Diarmaid took her hand, sending tremors through her, before delicately picking up the ring in his large fingers and sliding it onto the third finger of her left hand.

Lillie could not look at him as he continued holding her hand, while Ciarán set aside his little cushion and came closer. Skillfully, he tied together the velvet ribbon at her wrist with the strip of Kincaid tartan around Diarmaid’s.

Moments later, a chill entered her heart when the minister announced them man and wife. With Diarmaid’s prompting, she copied him, slowly drawing their hands apart so that the two ribbons formed a stylized knot. Ciarán carefully lifted it away and set it on the cushion. Lillie knew the knot would be preserved under glass as a symbol of the union.

The minister slammed his bible shut and announced sonorously, “You may now kiss the bride.”