by Fiona Faris
“I apologize, but I did not think the women strong enough to carry her.”
“Indeed. However, you should have left it to the servants.”
Alexander nodded graciously. This was no time to argue. Instead, he exchanged a sardonic glance with his sister and kept his own counsel.
Lord Caldwell stepped forward, saying, “Please men, make yourselves at home. The servants will show you to your rooms and provide you with water to wash yourselves. We shall sup in an hour. Now, if it pleases your majesty, would you follow me?”
King Charles nodded, following Lord Caldwell up the stairs. The hall began to empty. Alexander would have preferred to stay in the same quarters as Rebecca, but he knew that was not possible. He was aware of propriety. However, as soon as he put his bag down, he went in search of her quarters.
Finding himself quite lost, he happened upon a serving maid. Grabbing her hand to stop her, she squeaked in surprise.
He tried to make his voice as soothing as possible, “Where is the Scottish lass? Rebecca her name is.”
The servant maid looked confused as if she did not understand his words. “Scottish lass, you mean the brown-haired girl?”
“Aye, where is she?”
The serving maid pointed down the hall. “She was put in one of the smaller guestrooms.”
Alexander hurried down the corridor, knocking on each door, trying it before moving on to the next. It took three attempts before he found the right door.
Rebecca looked up with a grin.
“Alex! I was wondering when ye would find me.”
“Are ye alright?”
“Yes, I am. Dinna fash.”
Alexander took a seat on the chair next to the bed. “She did not seem at all happy to meet me.”
Rebecca laughed. “Or she was besotted wi’ ye and didn't know what else to do.”
“I doubt it. She seemed surprised that it was I. Perhaps she was expecting someone else?”
Rebecca shrugged. “It doesn't matter now. Ye are to be marrit soon.”
Alexander snorted.
“And ye? Are ye happy to meet her?”
Her brother shrugged. “She’s just another delicate Sassenach woman. Ye said it yersel’ it does not matter. I shall fulfil my part and wed her.”
“Well then...ye’d better go clean yerself up, so ye don’t look like a barbarian at dinner.”
Alexander stood to his full height with a sardonic smirk. “Och aye, I shall do that.”
Emily came to with a gasp. She looked around the room bewildered.
“Wha-what happened?”
“You fainted after father introduced you to your betrothed,” Elinor spoke, her voice slightly louder than normal.
“I-I did?”
Elinor nodded.
“I embarrassed us, didn't I?” Emily’s face flushed with color.
“No darling, of course, you didn't. But why did you faint?” Lady Caldwell stepped forward, her brows furrowed.
“I-I-I had thought that the blond man was my groom. It was just a surprise, that it was the Scotsman.” She turned to her mother, eyes large with wonder. “Mother do I have to marry him? I do not want to marry a barbarian!”
“Emily Victoria Caldwell, do you really think your father would join you in matrimony with a barbarian?” Lady Caldwell narrowed her eyes in annoyance, her irritation reflecting her own doubts.
“N-no,” Emily said uncertainly.
“Indeed, he would not, so get that thought right out of your head. Your father has chosen you a suitable husband and you will appreciate him.”
Emily nodded slowly, although she was sceptical of her mother's words. The huge Scotsman inspired fear in her breast with his unfamiliar clothing— the belted mottled cloak that left his shins and knees uncovered; his unkempt hair, tied carelessly with a leather knot; his cold grey eyes that regarded her with seemingly no emotion; the unfamiliarity of his language. How was she to relate to him?
Emily was mortified at the prospect. She looked around at her sisters and knew that if it weren’t she, then it would be one of them, and the thought stiffened her resolve. Of all of them, she was the most capable to deal with a Scottish soldier. Perhaps between now and the marriage ceremony, she might convince her father to change his mind and affiance her to Lord Edenhall, instead.
He has to agree with me that Lord Philip Bristol of Edenhall would make a more suitable mate!
She clenched her fists in desperation, willing it so.
Emily examined her reflection in the looking glass, adding a little more powder to ensure the uniform paleness of her skin. Her eyes flashed almost gold in distress, her hair carefully pinned atop her head in a classic, upswept coiffure.
She wore her new gown, made especially for this first meeting. A long, slim gown in the Cavalier fashion, with three-quarter sleeves, a soft muslin fabric, and a long train that looked well with her particular height.
Her betrothed was a tall man, too, so she could freely wear heels without fear of dwarfing him.
She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, appreciating how well the dress hugged her curves, the low square neckline giving just a hint of her bosom, while the emerald green color made her eyes shine all the brighter.
She finished the look with a simple pearl choker and matching earbobs. She would at least make her parents proud. Moreover, if her appearance caused Philip Bristol to look twice at her, well, she was not one to complain about the attention.
She could not shake the feeling that her parents had made a great mistake, that they would see the error at dinner and rescind this betrothal to the barbarian. Emily did not mind marrying, but in her eyes, Philip Bristol was the much better choice.
Why can’t my father see that?
A knock at the door had her turning to see Elinor waiting for her. Looping their arms together, Emily leaned forward so that Elinor could see her lips. “Let us go to dinner.”
Elinor nodded, squeezing Emily’s hand in support. Her eyes were large and sad, as if she understood that if it weren’t for her deafness, this would be her burden to bear.
Emily smiled brightly to assure her sister, trying to look as happy as she could. “This is exciting. Our first wedding!”
They entered the parlour to find their parents and three of their five younger sisters waiting. The other two were deemed too young to dine with the adults. They would already have had their meal in the nursery and were probably abed.
Of their guests, none had arrived, except for the Rebecca, who sat alone, observing the scene.
Emily hesitated, wondering if she should go and join her. Her gaze lingered on the Scots girl, who smiled back at Emily in invitation. Taking a deep breath, Emily gathered her courage about her, and sauntered across the room, seating herself next to Rebecca.
“I hope you have found your accommodations suitable?”
Rebecca smiled drily. “As I have been sleeping on a blanket on the ground these past few days, I would say so.”
Emily blushed. “Oh. I...don’t know...do you do that often?”
Rebecca laughed. “Oh no. Only when I go to war with my brother.”
Emily stared, unsure if the girl was joking or not. “That’s…”
Rebecca put a hand on her arm and squeezed it lightly. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to tease ye. Blame it on growin’ up with only a brother. Sometimes tis the only affection they understand.”
“Oh...I only have six sisters, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Count yourself lucky, girl. Brothers are a pian san asal.”
Emily frowned. “I am sorry— I do not speak the Erse.”
Rebecca recoiled at the word and the tone of repugnance with which it was said. “My apologies, it was not a phrase for polite company anyway.”
Emily nodded, uncomfortably aware that she had upset the girl, but not understanding why.
They were saved from further awkwardness by the arrival of the king and his entourage. Both stood to curtsy, just as
the butler came forward to announce that dinner was served.
The King sat at the head of the table, flanked by her mother and father. Emily herself was closer to the middle of the table - a place of honor as the bride to be, while her betrothed sat opposite her.
To her right, quite serendipitously, sat Philip Bristol of Edenhall, whilst her father’s steward, Edward, sat to her left. Edward was deep in conversation with Rebecca, sitting on his other side, leaving Emily to turn her attention to Phillip without guilt.
He kicked off the conversation by pointing to the subtlety - a marzipan concoction in the shape of his majesty’s winter castle - brought in by the butler as they awaited the first course. “Such an elaborate arrangement for wartime. Your kitchens have outdone themselves.”
Emily felt a wave of delight that he noticed. Alexander did not seem to pay the slightest attention to the display. “We have a French cook. He enjoys creating new confections and impressing us with dishes we cannot pronounce.”
Phillip smiled, his eyes wide taking her in. “I am quite sure you are well-versed in le Français. There is no need to be modest.”
Emily lowered her lashes modestly.
“I am fairly fluent in the language, I do admit.”
“Ah, I knew it. You seem like a very accomplished young lady. It is a pity about your future husband.” Her golden eyes looked unwaveringly into the blue depths of his.
“I do not take your meaning.”
“Come now, do not tell me you fainted out of joy back there. You were - justifiably - horrified. I do not blame you at all, having ridden with him.”
Emily’s eyes widen with alarm. “Do you...are you speaking of his being a Scotsman? Are they as barbarous as they say?”
“Where there is smoke, there is always a fire.”
Emily gasped, her heart racing, and her hands trembling with anxiety. “Please,” she whispered, although she did not know what she was pleading for.
She was just so afraid— she had never wanted to marry a foreigner. Her dream was to find a husband among the cavalier soldiers, an Englishman who would know how to use a fork. She watched as Alexander examined his and then put it aside with a grimace.
Her father was deep in conversation with the king. Could she beg him to reconsider? Perhaps she could persuade Lord Bristol to ask for her hand instead?
Before she had time to dwell on it further, the King rose to his feet, glass in hand.
“I would like to make a toast, to the bride and groom to be— Alexander MacTavish and Emily Caldwell. May your marriage be long and happy.”
He drank the goblet of port, and everyone raised theirs in response, even Philip at her side. He would not slight the king.
Emily sighed in defeat.
The king wanted this marriage— it was the reason he was here. Emily was somewhat aware of the politics involved. Something about bringing the Scots closer. She wanted to scream and rebel against it, but instead, she nodded her head in gracious acceptance of the toast.
Alexander escorted his sister to her chambers, brooding and annoyed. “Did you see how she fawned over the Sassenach?”
Rebecca shrugged. “Well he is rather handsome, I suppose.”
Her brother narrowed his eyes and she laughed indulgently. “Surely you’re not afraid of the poncey fool?”
Alexander snorted. “Afraid? Nay. Annoyed? Aye.”
“Ye’re being a possessive bastard, which is strange when you say that ye don’t even like ‘er.”
“Doesn’t mean I like having that lavvy-heided numpty spreading his jobby scent all ower her.”
“Yer bum’s oot the windae ye bampot,” the girl teased.
“Awa’ wi’ ye’. Clearly, ye’re exhausted.”
Rebecca sighed; it was too late to argue. “I actually am, so I will leave ye to brood on yer own. I’ll see ye in the mornin’.”
Emily knew that her sisters would sneak into her room as soon as the house was quiet, so she did not even attempt to get into bed. She sat in her night gown with her sister Elinor and waited for the others.
Her sister turned to face her, good ear turned toward Emily. “Are you scared?”
Emily turned, so Elinor could read her lips. “Terrified.”
“You can tell them no.”
Emily sighed, resting her head against her sister’s shoulder. “I wish.”
They sat quietly, taking comfort in each other until there was a tentative knock on the door.
Three of their sisters trudged in: Anne, Katherine, and Blanche. They hurried toward Emily’s bed, leaping onto it and cuddling up to their two older sisters.
Anne gazed at Emily with a huge smile. “So, how excited are you about getting married?”
Emily sighed. “Frankly, I would rather elope with Lord Bristol.”
Chapter Four
The next morning, Rebecca went in search of Emily. She found her in the music room, playing the piano. Knocking tentatively on the door, she stepped timidly into the room.
“I thought I should seek ye out, and see if ye have any questions about Alexander or our marriage customs?”
Emily blanched. “Marriage customs?”
“Well yes, we have some wedding customs, one of which is the marriage agreement or còrdadh. We do not have a lot of time, but Alexander will be hoping to sit down with you and your people to write it out.”
Emily pursed her lips. “I did not know that the Scots were literate.” She bit her lip as soon as she had spoken, but Rebecca was used to such prejudice and carried on.
“A parson taught us to read when we were just wee bairns. He used the Bible to teach us our letters. I think he had the hope that Alexander might join the priesthood.”
Emily’s face burned. “Why didn't he?”
Rebecca shrugged a sparkle in her eyes. “He had too much of the de’il in him, I suppose.”
“So this agreement, what goes in it?”
“Tis a marriage contract, so the question is, what would you like to go in it?”
I’d like to not be marrying your brother.
Even though she did not say the words aloud, her face must have betrayed her as Rebecca’s face immediately fell. Unperturbed, Rebecca grabbed Emily’s wrist, forcing her to stand and led her to the door.
“Come, let us walk in your gardens. Let me tell ye a tale about yer future husband.”
Curious to hear more, Emily followed the girl.
They walked past other guests of the household, who gazed curiously at them as they passed, but did not attempt to stop them. Not until they ran into Philip Bristol at the foot of the stairs.
He flashed his teeth at Emily. “And where might you be going in such a rush?”
Emily dimpled, pleased to see him again, yet before she could speak, Rebecca yanked her away, propelling her away from the soldier with unseemly haste.
Emily tried to pull her hand away from Rebecca with little success. “Why did you—”
“Because ye're betrothed to my brother. I cannot allow you to make love to another man while I watch!”
Emily opened her mouth to protest, but Rebecca shook her head sharply.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen ye makin’ cow eyes at him. I’m not blind, and neither is Alexander.”
Emily tried to squirm from Rebecca’s grip, but the other girl was strong and held tightly onto her wrist. “I do not want to go with you anymore. Release my hand this instant.”
“Shut ye geggie and walk.”
Emily gasped, shocked at Rebecca's blatant rudeness, so different from her own polite circle of friends – it was disconcerting, to say the least. The other girl was stronger, and she was not interested in making a scene by struggling and fighting.
Rebecca headed for the arbour at the bottom of the garden, seating herself among the trailing trellises and gesturing for Emily to join her.
“Now, the first thing you must get through yer thick heid is that ye are betrothed, to my brother, and therefore, no longer a free wom
an. Do ye understand tha’?”
Emily huffed. “I am not a child, nor an idiot.”
“Oh aye? Well, perhaps ye should stop acting like one then.”