Glasgow Grace

by Marion Ueckermann

  Callum had spent the rest of the journey encouraging Skye, trying to lift her spirits—and succeeded. She had to marry this man fast, before anything prevented that from happening.

  After checking in at the Anvil View Guest House, a stone’s throw from the Old Blacksmith’s Shop, Callum unpacked what Skye needed, hung her wedding dress, and ran her a bubble bath.

  “Now, you have a good soak. I’m going to Old Smithies to finalize arrangements, and then I’ll be in my room getting ready to marry you. Is ninety minutes enough time for you?”

  “Too much. The sooner we’re standing at that anvil, the better.”

  Callum wrapped her in his arms. “Have you ever felt like you could explode with expectation?”

  Skye nodded. “I feel like that right now.”

  He kissed her hair, and then trailed his lips across her cheek until they found hers. His hands caressed her back. “I hate to go,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Think on the bright side, my love. After tonight, we’ll never be separated again.”

  Except in death.

  She tightened her grip on him, fear threatening the peace she desperately tried to hold on to. Where had that thought come from?

  “What’s wrong?” He smoothed his hands up and down her back, the action different from moments before—assuaging, no longer ardent.

  “I-I never want to lose you again.”

  “You won’t,” he whispered with a kiss.

  She mustered a smile. “Good. Now you had better go so that this bride can prepare herself.”

  Callum paused in the doorway. “I will love you both sides of eternity.”

  With a sob, Skye rushed into his arms and Callum held her tight. “I promise to be the best wife I can.”

  “I know you will.”

  Closing the door on his smile, Skye headed for the bathroom and that hot bubble bath.

  Within an hour her makeup was done, and she’d tied her hair in a French braided side bun, carefully weaving the delicate white silk flowers into the plait.

  After eliciting the help of Anvil View’s hostess to button her dress, Skye sprayed perfume on her pulse points. Her cape lay ready on the bed. Now the wait. Surely Callum would’ve remembered to arrange for her to get to the Old Blacksmith’s Shop? If he hadn’t, could she make it there in her high-heeled boots in this snow?

  The knock at the door came as a welcome reprieve to her concerns.

  Callum.

  Without a care, she flung open the door. So what if he saw her in her wedding dress before she walked down the aisle.

  “Oh…”

  A tall stranger, dressed in a suit and top-hat, stood before Skye, hands behind his back. “Evening, ma’am. Your chariot awaits.” He held out the bouquet hidden behind his back. “From your fiancé, with his love.”

  Her fairytale was about to begin. How long would it last? She banished the thought as she wrapped her fingers around the green stems tied together tightly with white satin ribbon. “That’s so beautiful.” Soft shades of white and cream greeted her. Roses, sweet peas, freesias, narcissus, lisianthus, and lily of the valley. Tiny blue flowers dotted the bouquet between the heavenly blooms. Forget-me-nots. He remembered my favorite flower. But how was it possible to have these spring blossoms at this time of year?

  She leaned closer to look at the friendly sky-tinged flowers that colored the snowy bouquet. Silk. Even though contrasting, intermingled with the fresh, they worked. Like her and Callum. Didn’t matter if their backgrounds were different—together, they worked.

  The bouquet said so much of who Callum was. Thoughtful, caring, observant. But most of all, resourceful and reliable. And it told her that no matter what problems they faced, Callum would always come through for her. He would always find a way to accomplish the impossible and fulfill her dreams.

  Two sickening thoughts stopped Skye as she was about to step out of the room—she’d never called her mother as she’d intended, and she’d given no thought to a wedding ring for Callum. The first she could do nothing about now. Tomorrow was another day. But the second…

  “Give me one minute.” Skye handed the bouquet to the driver and dashed back into the room. She rummaged through her handbag until she found her purse. Tucked away safely inside the side zipper she found what she was looking for. Her fingers grasped the thick gold band. Da’s wedding ring. Mother had discarded it to a jewelry box when she’d remarried. Skye reclaimed the precious item and kept it by her side all these years. Mother never missed it. Not for a moment. How could she so easily close her heart and mind to the memories?

  Skye tied the ring to one of the thin white ribbons that hung from the bouquet, and then followed the man with the top hat.

  Outside, a closed horse-drawn carriage waited. How had Callum put all this together in less than a day? She would have to ask him later. Her heart surged with overwhelming love for her groom who, without a doubt, would fill the rest of her days with unadulterated romance.

  The horses whinnied and stomped their feet in the snow as the carriage pulled up outside the Old Blacksmith’s Shop, as if announcing her arrival. Outside, Callum’s BMW stood parked. If she wasn’t so eager to marry Callum, Skye might’ve felt regret that the carriage ride was so brief. She swallowed a deep breath and blinked away the threatening tears as she stepped down from the carriage. Inside that small eighteenth-century building, Callum waited.

  The air filled with the low legato strains that droned from a bagpipe as a lone piper played ‘Amazing Grace.’ Candles, burning in the snow, lit the short path up to the entrance, their tiny lights casting a soft glow on the cold surroundings.

  She gazed at the musician standing at the entrance to the forge as she walked up the path, stopping for a closer look as she neared. He was clad in Hunter tartan. Callum hadn’t missed a detail.

  A lump caught in Skye’s throat that had nothing to do with her illness. Oh, Callum. You haven’t put this wedding together overnight, have you? You’ve been planning this for a lifetime.

  The top-hatted coachman followed close behind Skye as she entered the Old Blacksmith’s Shop. Up ahead at the anvil stood her groom, shadowed by a penguin-collared minister. Her lip quivered. How dashing and handsome he looked in his McGuire kilt.

  Callum’s face ignited at the sight of her, his smile spreading across his face.

  Skye removed the hood from her head with care and loosened the bow that secured the long cape to her body. She handed the garment to ‘top-hat-man’ and slowly closed the distance between her and Callum, humming along with the bagpipes as she did. When we’ve been there ten thousand years. Callum’s words flashed through her mind. I will love you both sides of eternity.

  Taking her hand, he drew her close, slipping his other arm around her waist, and released a deep sigh. “You are breathtaking.”

  The minister cleared his throat, drawing Callum and Skye’s attention. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight in the sight of God to join together in holy matrimony, Callum Robert McGuire and Skye Hunter.” He opened the large Bible that rested on the anvil. Two ribbons of Hunter and McGuire tartan bookmarked the place of his intended reading.

  “Before we commence with the reading and the vows, I must ask that if anyone has any just cause why Callum and Skye may not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” His eyes flitted to the coachman, the only other person in the room. He waited a moment.

  All eyes veered to the back of the room at the sound of the door at the entrance crashing open. A loud voice echoed through the cob walls.

  “Wait…”

  ~*~

  Cold air followed the unexpected guest around the corner and into the small room where Callum and Skye stood rooted.

  I don’t believe it.

  “Tavish. What are you doing here?” Callum turned to Skye. “I’m sorry. He insisted on knowing all the details before he’d give my car back. I really didn’t think he’d show up here.”

  Skye trailed her f
ingers across Callum’s cheek. “It’s all right. He is your brother. It’s good that he’s here.”

  Tavish shut the door behind him. “Didye think ah wud miss ma oan brither’s waddin?”

  “I wasn’t expecting you, but I’m glad you came.” Callum beckoned with his hand. “Come on in.”

  “Doant yi need someyin haudin the jaikets here tae be merrit?”

  Skye looked up at Callum and her expression reminded him that she wasn’t anywhere near understanding his brother’s patter. “He thinks we need to have witnesses to be married. I guess an extra one won’t hurt.”

  Reverend Ainsley cleared his throat again, the look on his face letting them know that he wanted to get on with things.

  So did Callum.

  “Um dead sorry,” Tavish said, not looking in the least regretful. “Kerry oan.”

  “So, if there is anyone with objections to Callum and Skye’s union, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

  “Nae. Callum and Skye shoulda bin merrit yonks ago.”

  Eyeing Tavish, Reverend Ainsley said, “Yes, well...” He turned his attention back to the bride and groom. “I believe you’ve prepared your own vows, right?”

  “Aye,” they answered at the same time then laughed.

  Reverend Ainsley gestured toward Callum. “You’re first.”

  Taking Skye’s hand in his, Callum turned to face her. He exhaled. “Skye Hunter, I have loved you my entire life. I don’t remember a time when I did not love you. I promise you today, before God and these witnesses, that I will love you as Christ loves his bride. I will sacrifice whatever I must to be with you. We’ll laugh together, and we’ll cry together. We’ll have good times, and we will have rough times.” Taking a deep breath, he hesitated, the next part of his vow difficult to speak aloud. “But I promise to take care of you—when you’re sick, and when you’re healthy; in the present and in the future—way beyond the days when we’ll be old and gray.

  “You know I will love you always, both sides of eternity, and that there’s nothing that can separate you from my love.” He choked on his emotions. “Nothing, Skye, not even the grave.” He pulled a thin gold band from his pocket and placed it on Skye’s finger. “So, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love, for both are precious, and both have no end.”

  Unwilling to wait for permission to kiss his bride, he drew her close and sealed his promise with a kiss.

  “Callum,” she breathed his name. “You are everything to me.” Stepping back, Skye gazed into his eyes, clasping his hands. “You’re my knight in shining armor, my hero, my best friend. You’re my happily ever after, and I will never stop loving you either. As we stand here tonight beside this anvil, giving ourselves to each other, I’m so grateful that our Savior, in His infinite wisdom and love, brought me back to Glasgow and offered me such amazing grace. A new start with Him, with you, with life.” Tears spilled past her lashes and traced her cheeks.

  Callum wiped them away with his thumb, fighting to hold his own as he wrapped her in his embrace.

  “For as long as I have breath, Callum McGuire, I am yours.”

  Callum lowered his voice. “God may put us on an anvil for a season as he forges us into His image, but I have faith that we’ll emerge reflecting that image. No pain or suffering is ever for naught in God’s kingdom.”

  Reverend Ainsley pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever officiated at a more beautiful or emotional wedding.”

  At the sound of the reverend’s voice, Callum looked up, releasing his hold on Skye. He’d forgotten that anyone else was in the room. In the moments of their vows, it had been just him and his bride.

  “Skye, do you have a ring to present to Callum? If not, we’ll move on to the next part of the ceremony.”

  “Aye, I do.” Skye tugged at the ribbon dangling from her bouquet, releasing the thick gold band tied to it.

  How had he not seen that? “Where did you—how did you—”

  “It was my Da’s. Now I want you to have it, as a symbol of my love.” She pushed the ring onto Callum’s left hand.

  Reverend Ainsley slipped on his spectacles, and then placed his hands on either side of the anvil. He leaned closer to the Bible. “Tonight I’m reading from the first book of Corinthians, chapter thirteen. ‘If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.’”

  Callum soaked up the holy words, reminding himself once again exactly what love looked like. Always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. He loved Skye so much, it hurt.

  “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” The reverend lifted the tartan ribbons from the Bible. Taking Callum and Skye’s hands, he draped the ribbons over their wrists.

  Skye pulled back her arm. “Wait.” She unfastened the thin white ribbon on her bouquet and handed it to the reverend. “A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

  Callum smiled. Yes. The most important cord in their marriage. God. He was the One who would hold them together, no matter what might come their way.

  Binding their wrists together with the three cords using one of the most durable bonds that strengthens under pressure, a fisherman’s knot—the true lovers’ knot—Reverend Ainsley announced, “I pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” He turned to Callum, a broad grin across his usually stoic face. “Now you may kiss your bride.”

  Sliding his free arm around Skye’s neck, Callum pulled her to him and obliged, several times.

  From the side, Tavish whistled and cheered.

  “Dr. and Mrs. McGuire.” Reverend Ainsley’s stolid expression returned, no doubt thanks in part to Tavish’s actions. The other part was probably from Callum being far too obedient about kissing the bride.

  “So, werr’s the hooley gaun doon?” Tavish wrapped his arms around Callum first in a bear hug, and then Skye, as he congratulated them.

  “Party? Tavish, I’m whisking my wife away right now. You’re welcome to stay in any of our rooms at the Anvil View, but we have a honeymoon to get to. I’ve waited a lifetime for this. I won’t wait a minute longer than necessary.”

  “We’re not staying here tonight, Callum?”

  “No, my love. I have something far more special in mind.” He leaned in to her ear so that Tavish couldn’t hear. “Auchen Castle.”

  Skye drew in her breath. “A castle?” she mouthed.

  Grinning, Callum nodded.

  “Well, you’ll not be going anywhere until you’ve signed the marriage register, or partaken of the wine ceremony.” Reverend Ainsley walked to the table behind him where the register lay open ready for their signatures to be inked onto the page.

  How had he forgotten that he’d requested The Quaich be performed tonight? Callum led the way to where Reverend Ainsley waited. Bound to his wrist, Skye followed.

  Before they sat down to sign the register, Callum lifted the carafe of wine and half-filled the two-handled cup. Holding the cup either side on the handles, he picked it up. Skye’s bound hand followed his. She wrapped her fingers around his and brought her free hand up to meet Callum’s on the other side of the cup.

  Gazing into her eyes, Callum recited the reading for Quaich Unity. “As we drink from this loving cup, may the symbolism of this ancient Scottish tradition, The Quaich, seal the bond of love and trust between us. Let’s share the first drink of our marriage together.”

  He drank and then held the cup to his wife to drink. His wife. He would never tire from saying or hearing those two small words.

  13

  Stretched out on a bear skin rug, Skye sighed
as she warmed herself beside the fire. Any closer to the flames and she’d melt like a toasted marshmallow. She studied Callum’s fingers as they moved between the frets of his guitar. Closing her eyes, she listened to his gentle strumming and hummed along to “Skye Boat Song,” remembering the past three days and nights with Callum.

  He’d been the lover she’d dreamed of her whole life. But the time had been far more than crackling fires and crumpled sheets. They’d taken long walks in the snow through the private gardens and woodlands of Auchen Castle, and enjoyed romantic candlelit dinners together. They had even tried their hand at clay-pigeon shooting.

  King and queen of their castle, she’d forgotten all that lay little more than a day away. This morning, worries began to besiege her mind. Callum had managed to allay some of her fears.

  He stopped strumming.

  Eyeing him as he set the guitar down on the carpet, Skye eased up and planted her elbows firmly in the rug, leaning her head on one hand. She twirled her fingers around a strand of hair with the other hand, studying the shadows from the flames that danced across Callum’s bare chest.

  A smile touched his lips. “I love it when you do that.”

  Skye paused her twirling. “Do what?”

  “That twirly thing with your hair. For as long as I can remember, you’ve done that when you’re deep in thought. What’s on your mind? You’ve been really quiet tonight. Are you sad about going home tomorrow?”

  Releasing the strand, Skye turned her fiddling to the small gold anvil pendant hanging around her neck. A wedding gift from Callum.

  “I am. But it’s not that.”

  Stretching out on the floor beside her, Callum draped his arm across her back and kissed her shoulder, his skin against hers reassuring. “Then what is it, my love? Are you worried about the operation? I already told you—”

  “Oh, Callum, it’s hard not to feel anxious, even though I know I’m in the best hands. But that’s not it.” Could she tell him she’d ignored his advice not to call her mother? It wasn’t that he didn’t want peace between Skye and her mother, he just didn’t want his wife upset during their honeymoon. But he knew something was wrong. She’d have to come clean. “I-I called my mother earlier tonight.”