Once Upon a Christmas Past

by Regan Walker

  She gave him an impudent smile. “Will you let me design ships?”

  He nodded. “Even better, we will design them together.”

  Her spirits soared yet one question remained. “Must we always live in London?” She had to know if she would be asked to leave her beloved Scotland forever. She loved him enough to do it but perhaps he wouldn’t mind a bit of negotiation.

  Nash grinned up at her. “I can see this is to be the first of many compromises, but hopefully not all will be made with me on bent knee in cold rocky soil. To answer your question, I expect we will live in London for part of the year, but not all. The Ossian will be built in Arbroath, yes? So, we’ll be there, too.”

  “Oh, Nash.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. He could not have pleased her more. “You have made me very happy. You’re the only man I ever desired for my husband. The only man I will ever love. Aye, I will marry you and gladly.”

  He got to his feet, dusted off his knees and took her into his arms. His kiss left her heart racing.

  “Now, my love, all we need is a minister.”

  He led her from the church into the cold wind blowing across the quadrangle’s inner yard, toward the well that was twenty feet across.

  “Nash, I am old enough to marry without my parents’ consent, but I would have Will approve of our marriage.”

  “William is not ignorant of my intentions toward you, Ailie. The night of the avalanche, I requested his permission to court you.”

  “You wanted me for your wife even then?”

  “I did, but I wanted to be sure my suit would be welcomed before I confessed my conversation with your brother. He gave his approval once I convinced him I would always protect and love you, yet never seek to change the woman you are.”

  “Another secret, I see. But I heartily forgive you this one. Did Will question you most thoroughly?”

  “Oh yes, and quite directly. Your brother loves you very much, Ailie. He would never approve of a man who did not desire your happiness above all.”

  “Are there any more secrets that I should know about?”

  He gave her a puzzling look. “None that I can think of.”

  “Will you say nothing of that day in the library when I mistook Robbie for you? I almost died of embarrassment when I realized ’twas not you I had kissed but your brother!”

  Nash had a sinking feeling Robbie had not disclosed all. “Robbie told me there was nothing to be concerned about. I assumed the kiss a mere peck on the cheek.”

  Her sherry-colored eyes shot daggers. “It was not a peck on the cheek, I assure you.”

  “He lied! If he wasn’t already wounded, I would beat him about the head.” Nash thought of how Robbie had behaved when he’d learned of Nash’s feelings for Ailie. He had changed. “I am sorry, Ailie. You see, at the beginning, Robbie thought to win you. Not until he witnessed my anger that day for what I believed was a simple stolen kiss did he realize how much I cared for you. He promised to act circumspectly thereafter.”

  “Really, the two of you make a fine pair when you set out to deceive someone. I just wish it hadn’t been me. At least now I can tell you apart. And, while we are at it, I have another question. What caused that scar beneath your hair? I felt the ridge when my fingers were in your thick curls that night when you kissed me under the stars.”

  “A souvenir from the yeomanry in Manchester. If Robbie had not come to my rescue, I would have been killed that day on St Peter’s Field.”

  She reached her gloved hand to his cheek. “Then I owe him much.” Had they not been in the courtyard where others might see them, she would have kissed him. “That day in Arbroath when it was Robbie whose head dripped blood, I felt guilty for my joy at discovering the man who lay wounded was not you.”

  “’Tis the first time I’ve rescued Robbie. With your help, of course.”

  “Come,” she urged, “let us get out of the wind and see the palace.” As they crossed the quadrangle, she wondered if she were bold enough to act upon her thoughts concerning their marriage. “You know,” she began, “in Scotland, there is more than one way to wed.”

  “You mean we have a choice between an Anglican church and a Presbyterian kirk? It matters not to me where we are wed as long as our marriage is blessed by God.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of something else. In Scotland, we need not post banns or even summon a minister. We can marry by exchanging vows before witnesses as long as we live thereafter as man and wife.”

  He stopped and turned to face her. “As I am eager to begin living as man and wife, the idea appeals.” The seductive gleam in his eyes brought heat to her cheeks. “But what of your family and mine?”

  She looked down at the snow beneath her feet. “We could always be wed again in London.”

  Just then, Muriel and Angus emerged from one of the buildings on the right side of the quadrangle and hurried toward Ailie and Nash. “A ghost! We have seen a ghost!” shouted Muriel.

  “Which one? Ailie asked.

  “We was in the vault ’neath that one,” said her grandfather, gesturing. “Where the puir Covenanters were left tae die. It were a woman I ne’er heard tell about afore.”

  “She wailed most pitifully,” added Muriel, hand over her chest.

  “Are you all right?” Nash asked the countess, who looked terribly pale.

  “Oh yes. Just winded. I never thought to encounter one, you see. It was as if I had stepped into the past. How horrible it must have been for them, trapped beneath the stones and left to die.”

  “’Twas in winter tae,” said Ailie’s grandfather, “more ’an a hundred years ago.”

  “She disappeared before my very eyes,” said Muriel, “her white Covenanters’ cap and dark cloak suddenly vanishing. It quite took my breath away. The shock was almost as frightening as when she appeared.”

  Ailie shivered, both from the cold and from Muriel’s tale.

  “Do you wish to view more of the ruins?” asked Nash, “or might we return?”

  Ailie was grateful for his suggestion. “Let’s go back. All I want now is a fire and a warm drink.”

  “Here,” said Muriel, thrusting a silver flask into Ailie’s hand. “Have a drink of Madeira to tide you over.”

  “We want to get married!” Nash exclaimed when their fellow travelers returned to the inn. They had gathered in the common room with Muriel and her grandfather, warming themselves in front of the fire.

  Only a few shocked faces greeted Nash’s announcement. William, Muriel and the Ormonds—who had witnessed his kissing Ailie at Dunnottar—appeared unsurprised. Robbie just smiled.

  William said, “Finally!”

  Muriel followed this with a doleful, “So soon? I had hoped for some time with Aileen in London.”

  Nash couldn’t resist a smile. He raised Ailie’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’ll have time with both of us in London, Countess.

  Hugh’s face took on a puzzled expression. “I’m all for the marriage, but shouldn’t the banns be read first?”

  “No banns, Hugh.” Again, Nash smiled. “Don’t need ’em here. Brilliant of the Scots to make it so easy to wed.”

  Ailie explained, “We just announce our intention to marry before witnesses—as we have done—and then live as man and wife.”

  Robbie let out a whistle. “Good show, Brother. My felicitations to you both.”

  “You know,” said Nick, “having been cheated out of a wedding, Mother will want a large reception.”

  Muriel’s face brightened. “I daresay one can be arranged. A soiree in the ballroom at my London house would be just the thing.”

  Emily fixed her husband with a suspicious look. “You don’t seem at all surprised.”

  William gave his wife a sheepish grin. “Nash asked to court Ailie some time ago and I gave my consent. He didn’t want anyone to know until the lass looked upon his suit with favor. Still, ’tis not out of the question to arrange a wedding and I’d prefer it be done properly.
Grandfather Ramsay knows the minister at the Dunnottar Parish Kirk in Stonehaven. He might be willing to read the banns all at once.”

  Angus pursed his lips. “Aye, I ’spect so.”

  “There you have it,” said William. And to Nash, “Wedding tomorrow soon enough?”

  Nash shifted his gaze to Ailie, who nodded.

  “Tomorrow’s fine,” he told her brother.

  “Hogmanay be the time tae hav’ a weddin’,” said Angus, his fingers rubbing across his jaw in what appeared to Nash to be a growing interest in the idea.

  “Tomorrow it is!” enthused William. Facing Nash, he said, “I do believe your brothers, Ormond and I will require your attention for the afternoon. There are details to discuss, my sister’s dowry, for one.”

  Content he would have the woman he loved in his arms tomorrow, Nash allowed himself to be pulled away.

  Chapter 22

  31 December

  Ailie stood before the mirror in her room in the inn, admiring the gown Rhona had helped her to put on. Behind her, Muriel raised her quizzing glass to study the gown’s fabric. But Ailie had no doubt the pale gold muslin with sprigs of heather embroidered in gold thread had been the right one for her Scottish wedding.

  Her maid’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I canna believe this is yer wedding day.”

  “I expect you thought never to see it,” Ailie teased.

  “Enough of that, Aileen,” Muriel protested. “The gown suits you. I do believe you made a fine choice. The man as well.”

  The afternoon before, Muriel and all the wives had hurried Ailie from the inn’s dining room to immerse her in a flurry of gowns, petticoats and ribbons in search of the gown that would transform her into a bride. They had insisted Ailie try on every gown they had brought with them that might qualify. The whole affair reminded her of the time they had gathered in the parlor in Arbroath to decorate baskets. That auspicious day seemed like ages ago and now she was to be wed the man she had come to love, spy though he be.

  In the end, she had decided to wear the gown Rhona had suggested Ailie bring with her to Stonehaven.

  “Ye can wear it for Hogmanay,” Rhona had said. She could not have known how fitting the choice would prove to be.

  When the wives asked her why she chose that gown, Ailie explained, “Heather is the flower of good fortune for a Scottish bride.”

  This morning, Muriel asked to come to Ailie’s room to help her dress for her wedding. Since Ailie had been nervous the day before, she believed Muriel had come more for encouragement, which endeared the countess to her.

  Muriel sat watching Rhona brush out Ailie’s thick hair that she would wear long. In the mirror, Ailie caught the wistful look on Muriel’s face. “What are you thinking, Countess?”

  “Just the memory of another bride long ago.”

  Ailie imagined the countess as a young woman, beautiful and spirited. Even in her sixties, she was still beautiful. “You are remembering when you were a bride?”

  She smiled. “It was a day much like today when two impetuous people wed in a precipitous manner and loved very well.”

  “Oh, Muriel.” She went to the countess and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. It means much to have your blessing.”

  When Ailie’s hair had been brushed till it shone, Rhona took a sash of Ramsay tartan and fixed it over Ailie’s right shoulder, securing it with a brooch at her waist. “This is the plaid of yer mother’s clan. With the sash, yer bridegroom will have no doubt he’s marrying a Scot.”

  “Humph,” Muriel muttered. “I believe Nash Powell is well aware of that. More’s to his credit that he prefers Aileen to the ladies in London who would jump at the chance to have him.”

  Last night after dinner, Nash had walked with Ailie along the harbor, sharing his vision of their future together. “You will never have to worry about my fidelity,” he assured her. “There will be no other for me.” Ailie believed him and the knowledge she could trust his love had calmed her bride’s fears.

  When Rhona left Ailie and the countess alone, Muriel came to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you downstairs, Aileen. Don’t be long. I’m certain Nash is champing at the bit to get you to the church.”

  Alone in her chamber, Ailie went to the window to gaze out at the harbor. How appropriate she would marry on Hogmanay, the end of one year and the beginning of another. It would be a new year and a new life for her.

  In the hall outside her door, she heard Emily say, “Everyone is ready, Ailie!”

  Before she went to join the others, she scratched a few lines in her diary.

  31 December

  They are calling for me so I must go, but I had to record this day. I am to be wed to Nash Etienne Powell in Dunnottar’s Parish Kirk. Yes, I know he’s English, but so is Emily. After all, love recognizes no borders and considers no obstacles insurmountable. I have forgiven him for not telling me what he was sworn to keep secret. Doubtless, there will be many more occasions when each of us must forgive the other.

  A new life awaits me and I am excited for it to begin.

  * * *

  Nash turned away from his brothers’ teasing and fixed his gaze on the top of the stairs, impatient to see his bride. A moment later, she appeared, a golden goddess with a blue tartan sash across her shimmering gown. Behind him, the conversations ceased.

  Ailie descended the stairs and he held out his hand, his heart swelling in his chest. “My love, you are truly the most beautiful bride.”

  She blushed. “And you are ever so handsome.” He had worn the gold brocade waistcoat and dark blue tailcoat with velvet collar over his buff trousers because Muriel had insisted. Now he understood why. He and Ailie complemented each other in dress, a matched pair for their wedding, as he believed they would be in life.

  William had arranged for carriages to transport them to the Dunnottar Parish Kirk in Dunnottar Woods a half-mile south of Stonehaven, and he had persuaded the minister to call the banns yesterday to allow them to wed today.

  They entered the small country church, constructed of stone blocks, with its arched roof of oak, and made their way down the aisle to the chancel where he and Ailie took their place between Robbie and Emily. They were married there in the simple setting with light from the one window falling onto Ailie’s copper hair like a halo around her.

  The ceremony was blissfully short. Nash answered at the proper time but his thoughts were all for his bride, the gift the Good Lord had seen fit to give him. He slid the gold ring he had procured the afternoon before onto her finger, as they repeated the words that made them man and wife.

  And then he kissed her. Not wishing to embarrass her, he did not allow himself a long kiss but he put his heart into it. Lifting his lips from hers, he told her, “You’re mine now, Aileen Stephen Powell.”

  Her smile in reply was winning. “So I am.”

  They left the church hand in hand and were greeted by the women, who circled around Ailie wishing her well, and the men, who teased Nash about marrying above his station.

  “I am only too aware of that fact,” he admitted.

  “Congratulations, Brother,” said Robbie. “You have won the heart of The Mistress of the Setters.”

  Angus Ramsay came to Nash’s side. “Treat ’er weel, Sassenach, or I’ll be seein’ ye. An’ consider namin’ yer first bairn Angus.”

  The smile on the old fisherman’s face belied the warning and the request, but Nash did not take either lightly. “I intend to love her well, Angus. And if God gives us a male child, we shall find a way to add Angus to his names.”

  Nash tucked her hand in his arm and they walked out of the church and passed through the gravestones toward the carriages.

  Suddenly, Muriel said, “Why, that’s amazing!”

  Everyone came to see what had drawn the countess’ attention. “What is it?” asked William.

  The countess bent over a stone marker, her quizzing glass held in front of her as she read the carved words. “It’s a memorial stone
to mark the Covenanters who died prisoners in Dunnottar Castle in 1685. Look,” she said, pointing to the stone, “it speaks of two women whose names they didn’t know. I wonder…”

  Angus glanced at her. “Be ye thinkin’ o’ the ghost?”

  Muriel lifted her head from reading the stone. “I am.”

  Ailie tugged Nash closer to the stone. “The inscription reads ‘for their adherence to the word of God and Scotland’s covenanted work of reformation’.”

  Nash watched Ailie’s face, wondering what her thoughts might be. “Heroes of the faith?”

  She squeezed his arm. “I’m glad they’ll be remembered.”

  “Time for the wedding feast, said William, “and, since it’s Hogmanay, we might as well indoctrinate the groom into proper food.”

  Nash laughed. “Why not?” Today he would eat most anything.

  “’Tis haggis,” Ailie told her new husband when Nash inquired about the “strange” dish the servant had just placed before him. “Remember, I described it for you. ’Tis sheep’s intestine, oatmeal and spices cooked in a sheep’s stomach.”

  “Right,” he said, his face contorting into an expression of pain. “Perhaps I’ll begin with the soup. But what’s that floating with the chicken and leeks?”

  “Prunes. ’Tis the traditional way it’s made.” She could tell by the look on his face, Nash did not favor prunes, though they added much to what was essentially chicken soup.

  “Well then,” he said, “I’ll have some salmon and potatoes.”

  “Tatties,” she corrected, trying hard not to laugh. Glancing around the table, she noticed the others had declined the haggis, too. All except her grandfather, Captain Anderson, who’d been invited to the wedding, and Robbie.

  Angus lifted a large bite of haggis onto his fork. “Food fer warriors.”

  “I’m for trying it all,” quipped Robbie. “Else how can I describe the taste when asked?”