Elusive

by Linda Rae Blair

  Woolens for the fabrics used in their wedding clothes were, in the ancient tradition, fashioned from wool sheared from the estate’s own sheep. Since the marriage was so important to the entire community, there had been a great celebration made of the shearing. Blair and Alex both took turns helping with the shearing, with laughter and great shouts of encouragement from the villagers.

  The village had come together for the event and followed it with a picnic attended by everyone for miles around. Blair and Alex had been toasted by their people. The love given them had been accepted and returned.

  Children had given Blair flowers picked from their own gardens and fields. The women shared songs of the past in a mutual celebration of their forefathers. There had been folk dancing and drinking of good Scotch whiskey well into the night, as bonfires lit the countryside.

  Over the next few months, the local women had spun the wool into yarn, some of which was dyed in the colors of the McDonnough tartan; some left white for Blair’s earasaid. The dried wool was then lovingly woven, by the most experienced weavers in the village, into the cloth for the bride and groom’s wedding clothes.

  This shearing and weaving process alone had taken almost a year to accomplish. The earasaid, kilts, scarves, and Alex’s balmoral were completed a mere two weeks before the ceremony.

  Alex wore a tribute to their modern Scottish tradition. He would wear the modern kilt of their clan tartan. There was great pride in their tartan, since the number of colors in a clan’s tartan had always signified the wealth and power of the clan. Theirs, with its sapphire blue and emerald green blocks, lined by red, black, and white stripes that formed the plaid, was a powerful tartan. Indeed, it was very similar to the national tartan.

  Blair’s outfit was a tribute to Caena, as well as her French upbringing. She would wear a version of the ancient earasaid, the female version of the man’s great kilt. Finely woven, soft white wool would be used for the earasaid—the head-to-foot cloak belted at the waist. She would wear a floor-length chemise of white silk with French lace at her wrists. The silk chemise was an exception to what would have been worn by Caena whose own chemise would have been from homespun cloth.

  On their special day, Blair’s pale, pale blonde hair, now reaching her waist in length, was parted down the middle. It was then separated into three sections of long locks, one falling loosely at each shoulder, one down her back. Each section was then tied at shoulder length with a ribbon of the same blue as that found in their tartan. From the ribbons to their ends, each section fell in gentle curls. Then around her head, like a ribbon crown, was a matching piece of the ribbon fastened over her left ear with a pin shaped like heather. She had given the pin to Esmée for her birthday—now it was Blair’s something-borrowed.

  In tradition, the earasaid’s extra length would not be raised to cover her head since she was an unmarried woman. Her hood was pinned to her long-sleeved chemise, with an eternity knot pin that Alex’s mother had given her, and left draped in soft folds over her back. The pin had been a gift to Mairi from her Charles when they married—Blair’s something-old.

  The earasaid was belted with soft leather and a chain of gold eternity knots made by the same French jeweler who had made their rings. Under her chemise, next to her heart, she wore the necklace given to her by Alex. It bore the same eternity knot design—her something-new.

  The bouquet she carried was a simple clump of lavender and thistle tied in the same blue ribbon as used in her hair—her something-blue.

  Her wedding hosiery was white and rose from her soft black leather slippers, similar to Alex’s ghillie brogues, to her mid-calf where her right stocking was topped with a garter.

  Standing in front of the mirror, she saw what she imagined Caena would have looked like, had she been a happy bride, marrying her Sòlas. She closed her eyes and quietly spoke to Caena. “I hope you are with us today and know that you and your beloved Sòlas are honored.”

  Mairi watched her in the long mirror, smiled, and let go a deep sigh. “Blair, you are so beautiful. You make me think of her—Caena. I just know that somehow she is watching and is so very pleased today.”

  “I hope so, Mairi. I do hope so.”

  ***

  While Alex’s mother was helping Blair dress in her rooms, Alex was pacing back and forth in the master suite. The main room was large enough that the huge canopied four-poster bed, across from the large marble fireplace, was dwarfed by it. There was a large seating area, a table where he and Blair often ate breakfast together. Mirrors caught the light from the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows. Blair had told him that this room was larger than her whole Paris apartment had been.

  The bathroom was enormous and held a huge claw-footed tub especially made for his grandfather. The tub was so deep they had nearly drowned trying to make love in it one night. He laughed out loud remembering how they had had to give up and wound up on the marble floor, sliding around the wet surface like seals. He’d never made love laughing before that night. Before Blair, he hadn’t known it was possible. He hadn’t known any of what he felt now was possible for him.

  He smiled, thinking of the hours they had spent together planning the changes in this suite. Now it was completely redecorated to his and Blair’s taste, without the dammed gargoyles, except, he laughed to himself, for the one Mairi had given Blair. He had loved his father, but his fascination with those damned things had always been over the top, as far as Alex was concerned. A moment of sadness swallowed him as he wished his father could be here today—gargoyles and all.

  Angus burst into the suite carrying two flutes of champagne. “Come now, my boy, what’s that sadness I see on your handsome face? This is your wedding day! Let’s see a smile, lad!”

  Taking the flute, Alex smiled at the jolly man dressed in formal Scottish attire. Angus had been the best substitute for his father that he could possibly imagine. “No, Angus, I’m not sad. I was just thinking of my father. He would have loved Blair. It’s too bad they never had any time together.”

  “Aye, it is that, laddie. But Blair and your mother could not possibly be closer. That must do!” Angus slapped him on the shoulder, and Alex let the mood slip away.

  “Well, Angus. Do you think she’ll have me?” he said, standing in front of the cheval mirror that matched the dark wood of the other furniture in their suite.

  “Aye, lad. You are a picture of the old clansmen, short of the beard, of course. You do your heritage proud.” Looking at the lad in the mirror, he didn’t think he had ever seen a more handsome young lad.

  “I just could not handle the beard,” Alex laughed. “Though I tried it briefly—very briefly! Blair was glad to see it go as well.”

  Angus inserted Alex’s sapphire-studded links of gold shaped thistle. Alex stood proudly in his tartan kilt, the formal kilt shirt with its winged collar and French cuffs, and, Blair’s favorite, his horsehair sporran—complete with its black tassels—rode in front of his maleness. He smiled at the memory of the first time Blair had seen him wearing this sporran.

  The thistle-patterned plaid-brooch Blair had given him as a wedding gift, sat on this left waist near the leather belt holding together the hand pleated, wrapped kilt. His white hosiery, with the blue flashes rose from the shining, black leather ghillie brogues. Ghillie laces, with their black tassels, ran up to mid-calf. Alex fastened his hand-carved, Makassar ebony dirk on his hip, after which Angus helped him into his Prince Charlie jacket.

  “Do you have the rings, Angus?” Alex asked, as he donned his tartan-patterned Balmoral with its jaunty tilt and blue feather pin atop his sleek black hair, which was now long enough to be tied back in a ribbon of his tartan’s blue.

  “Yes, lad, I have them.” He opened the box to assure they were both still in it. There they were. Two matching gold bands carved with the Celtic eternity knots all the way around.

  “Do you think she’ll be happy with me, Angus?” One brief moment of panic struck him. Was Blair going to be happy with him f
or the rest of her life? He was, after all, just a man, and he had his faults.

  “Oh laddie, I dinna think the lassie could hae done better,” Angus responded in full Scottish brogue.

  They laughed together for just a moment, Alex poured the rest of the champagne down in one big gulp, and they headed to the Great Hall.

  ***

  Esmée was a vision in her sapphire blue gown of silk with its sash of emerald green. Her long, sable-colored hair flowed down her back. A crown of heather woven around a blue ribbon perched prettily on top of her head, the streamers of the ribbon trailed down her back. Her green eyes shone with tears of happiness for her friend. As she walked down the aisle toward Alex, on Bill Campbell’s arm, she saw Madame with her French lace handkerchief wiping away a steady stream of tears that had started early this morning. Mairi McDonnough sat on the groom’s side doing the same.

  Once Esmée was in position at the altar, Bill took his place beside Alex. The pipes began humming as Blair started her walk toward Alex on Angus’s arm. She saw nothing but Alex. Alex saw nothing but Blair.

  ***

  The reception was wonderful. The whole village was there including the little bookseller who had latched onto one of the pipers.

  Esmée danced with a fine, young lad she had met in Edinburgh when she and Blair had been shopping there the previous summer. They had been seeing quite a bit of each other whenever Esmée came over to visit Blair, which over the year of wedding planning had been more and more often.

  Madame spent most of the evening with dear Angus. He blushed like a school boy when he was near her. They were very taken with each other, and Alex and Blair both hoped to be attending another wedding sometime very soon.

  Finally, it was time to toast, and the first was to be from Angus. Angus stood before the room, signaling for quiet by lifting a flute of champagne. “Tis my pleasure to toast this lovely couple. However, I find that I hae a graaaaaave responsibility afore me,” he slipped into the brogue with jowls shaking as he stressed the gravity of his position. He set down his glass as did the rest of the room. Blair and Alex looked at each other questioningly.

  “As the standin for my dear friends—the bride’s father, Fheargus, and uncle, Rodaidh—I must first assure that the groom is worthy of her.”

  The room burst into “ahhhhs” of sudden understanding.

  Blair looked up questioningly into her husband’s face and saw that it was reddening. This was a tradition that had not been shared with her. She couldn’t imagine what kind of proof he would be asked to provide. She felt his hand tighten around hers. “Alex?”

  Alex didn’t answer her. He just shook his head, and despite his blush, his smile brought forth the dimple in his cheek that sent her system churning. She stood still and waited with the rest of the room.

  “In our time-honored tradition, and as decreed by old King George IV, I demand that the groom prove himself to be dressed as the True Scotsman he claims to be!

  “Angus…” Alex started to argue but was cut off by the cat calls of all the men in the room. Recognizing that he was not going to win in the matter, he just closed his eyes and shook his head, then raised his hand to quiet the room.

  “Aye, then ‘tis proof ye shall have,” he responded playing along but now earnestly in full blush. The women all backed away pulling Blair along with them. All the men tightly circled around Alex. With wild hoots of manly camaraderie, they watched as Alexandre Eduard Maigny McDonnough, Laird and Earl of Donnach, raised his kilt to all those who could see in proof that there was nothing on under it.

  Once again, Angus raised his wine flute and shouted, “Slainte!” (SLAW tcheh).

  “Slainte!” repeated the whole wedding party.

  **************************

  Epilogue

  Donnach Castle – Christmas Eve 1965

  “And they all lived happily…” she stopped as she saw him come into the room. After all these years, he was still an impressive sight in that tartan kilt he wore each Christmas.

  “Well, lassie, are you finished with your story?”

  She looked into the eyes of her love, now the hair turned to a beautiful, shining silver, the eyes perhaps a lighter shade of blue, but still the handsomest man she had ever known. The melodic French accent still influenced his speech after all these years; hers as well, or so she was told.

  “Aye, I am, my love,” she smiled, as he lifted her hand from her lap where it lay upon the enameled box with its purple heather spread daintily across the lid. He took the now-frail, little hand gently to his mouth for a sweet, soft kiss on her knuckles.

  “I just came from our rooms,” he said, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Some imp has draped tinsel over your gargoyle collection.”

  “Well, if you have any nightmares, my love, just snuggle closer. I promise to keep you safe,” she whispered in his ear.

  ***

  Just outside the huge arch leading to a foyer as large as most of the houses in the village, stood the children’s parents. Many had tears in their eyes. They had stood silently, listening to the tale she wove in the tradition of the Scottish women before her.

  While the McDonnoughs amongst them had all heard the story at about this same age, it still held their attention and touched their hearts. The spouses had all heard it as their children were raised. Each was aware of the additional information she had given in this latest telling. They had not known of the attempts to kill her, nor had they known of some of her personal hardships along the way. The greedy cousins were long since dead—Dizzy Izzy shortly after Blair and Alexandre’s wedding, Hugh as an old man in a French prison during the bombings of World War II.

  Now they knew it all. As was their duty, they would all keep the story alive long after Blair and Alexandre were gone and, as the family had agreed, little Fee inherited the castle. It was their responsibility to do so and their pleasure to honor their family’s traditions.

  There was no greed among them. Each had a life filled with love and caring for one another. Blair and Alexandre had raised their family with love, duty, honor, and family as its core. Each subsequent generation had done the same. Despite any distance of geography, they had always shared and shared alike. Each took part in the running of the now enormous shipping company and its offices around the world.

  The doctors among them set up practices where their spouses worked for the family; or worked as shipboard physicians when needed. The lawyers took care of the company’s legal affairs. One grandson was a pastry chef who saw to it that the cruise ships had the best pastries in the world. Each played his or her part in keeping the family tight. They would continue to do so as they had been taught by their parents and grandparents.

  During World Wars I and II, Alexandre had moved the shipping base from Brest in France to Scotland. Black Swan’s ships were used the business to smuggle weapons, food, and other supplies to the Allies. His beloved Le Avignon had served as a hospital ship during World War I. She was sunk off the coast of France, still the queen in his heart.

  The village had continued to prosper. Blair had expanded the library that Mairi had started all those years ago. Her own love of books had her actively helping out there until she was well into her seventies. Her love of flowers had been shared with the village by creating the Donnach Gardens. They were a steady source of delight to tourists and income to villagers over the years. They were famous all over Europe and her pride and joy. Alexandre had assured the quality of the herds of cattle and sheep which were prized around the world. Their latest champion bull was getting the highest stud fees in Scottish history. They didn’t do any of these things for their own profit or aggrandizement. It was for their people—only for their people.

  Here was the source of that love and caring—in the home of Blair and Alex—the home of Caena and Sòlas.

  ***

  “Great-granddad,” said Fiona, who at fifteen was the youngest in the group, “you should have heard the beautiful story great-grandmother told
us. It was as if we were really there, all those years ago.”

  “Yes, my dears,” he smiled down at the group, “I’m sure it was. After all, it is our story.”