“The Bonnie Prince has nay chance once he leaves Edinburgh and if he stays then he is a sitting target for the Hanoverians,” Lord Addair said, swilling the whisky around in his glass. “He is damned either way.”
“Ye think the cause is lost? There is nay hope?” Feargan replied.
“The mood in Edinburgh is dark and he is losing support of the ordinary folks. ‘Tis the nobles who support the Jacobite cause but their men are restless. ‘Tis Cumberland they fear.”
“His army is well equipped, he fights as they dae on the continent. We Scots are behind the times, the Highland chieftains daenae ken how to fight such a force. We have only prevailed through sheer force and the fact that Charles Edward Stuart landed at a spot with little resistance.”
“When Cumberland faces him, wherever that might be, there’ll be carnage and the blood of brave Scots will flow. I am nae prepared to sacrifice meself on a lost cause,” James Addair said, shaking his head
“Ye have changed yer tune from when last we met, is there nay fight left in ye?” Feargan said, his friend always having been a loyal supporter of the cause.
“I still believe in the Jacobite cause, but ‘tis folly to sacrifice ourselves needlessly. We should have waited longer before striking, built up our forces on the continent and found allies further afield. The Spanish would surely have helped, as would the Portuguese, and we have the friendship of France too. But it seems that on the continent the Jacobites became restless and now we have this mess before us,” he replied.
“And what are we to dae now then? Sit and wait for our lands to be confiscated, for the cause to be entirely lost?” Feargan said.
He had gone to France to dissuade Charles Edward Stuart from his invasion plans. But with the coming of the Jacobites, he had begun to wonder if perhaps he’d been wrong in his rhetoric against such an uprising. Could the cause still be won? Perhaps it needed men such as him to rise up and fight alongside their would-be King.
“We are to celebrate a weddin’ that is what we are to do, and after that who kens, but I am tellin’ ye, Feargan, that it would be better to lie low for now and nae be counted amongst those who rose up against the King. Ye daenae want Cumberland knockin’ on yer door, especially given yer gates are so bashed in,” James Addair replied, laughing and raising his glass.
“I would gladly fight for the cause. In France I couldnae see the Bonnie Prince achievin’ anythin’ by an uprisin’ but now he has landed and taken Edinburgh surely the cause has hope,” Feargan said.
His friend looked at him ponderously and shook his head, glancing around the hall at the portraits and tartan hangings. He swilled the whisky around in his glass and sighed.
“Aye, strange times these are, strange indeed. But come now, I am nae here to discuss such worldly things as war and politics, we have a weddin’ to prepare for.”
* * *
Feargan dwelt on the James Addair’s words for much of the rest of the day. There were still preparations to be made for the wedding, but his mind had been quite changed.
At first he had been set on dissuading Charles Edward Stuart from landing and mounting an invasion. So convinced had he been that such actions were wrong that he had traveled to France to dissuade him. But now that the cause was gathering momentum he found himself ever more inclined to support it not merely by words but by deeds also.
Despite what Lord Addair said, Feargan wanted to fight and to ensure that the cause he so passionately believed in was defended. Whatever the consequences may be, for good or ill, he intended to support it.
After dinner the next evening he caught Amelia’s arm and took her aside, a serious look on his face, which caused her to look at him in puzzlement.
“Are you all right, Feargan? You’re not having second thoughts are you?” she asked, placing her hand on his arm.
“Nay, nay, lass, of course nae but I wanted to ask ye somethin’—it’s about the cause, the Jacobite cause,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Ye ken I came to France to dissuade the Bonnie Prince from landin’ here in Scotland, daenae ye?”
“Yes,” she said, the look on her face growing ever more puzzled.
“Would it be an upset to ye if I told ye that I wanted to fight now, to see the cause upheld?” he said, looking intently at her.
Amelia smiled and shook her head.
“You are a good and noble man, Feargan and I know I am marrying a soldier, a man who has seen many a battle and many a campaign. You and I both believe in the cause of the Jacobites and if you are needed on the battlefield then so be it. I would never stand in your way,” Amelia said, and she leant up and kissed him, taking his hand and leading him towards the hall.
There the rest of the family, along with Lord Addair, were gathered and as the two entered the room Catherine stepped forward.
“I have been reading in the library all about Highland marriage traditions and it seems we have a great deal to accomplish in the next day,” she said, smiling broadly.
Feargan groaned but Alexander pointed him to a chair by the fireside, as Catherine took hold of Amelia’s hand.
“Now, firstly we have the washing of feet. Sit here please, Amelia,” Catherine said, pointing to another chair next to which was a towel and a bar of soap.
Amelia could not help but laugh and she did just as she was told, as Alexander called for the servants. Philip and Lord Addair sat opposite Feargan, each with a glass of whisky and they toasted the unfortunate bridegroom, who simply shook his head in grudging acceptance. Alexander Galbreth and the Earl of Workington sat on chairs on either side of the fire, also with whisky in hand and they both raised their glasses as Catherine set about her work.
A large bowl of water was placed before Amelia and she dutifully removed her shoes and stockings, as Catherine knelt before her.
“Now, usually this ceremony is performed by a group of women and one places their wedding ring into the bowl. But you’ll just have to make do with me,” Catherine said, rolling up her sleeves and beginning to lather up the soap. “The men are supposed to be outside too, but I suppose we shall make do.”
Amelia placed her feet into the warm water and Catherine began to wash her vigorously. Very soon the bowl was filled with soap suds and water was splashed all over the floor causing the two ladies to shriek with laughter as the men looked on in bemusement.
“And I presume you are next, brother, though do not expect me to wash your feet,” Philip said, laughing and raising his glass.
But Catherine turned with a mischievous smile and as she dabbed Amelia’s feet dry she beckoned him over.
“The tradition is somewhat different for men,” she said, as Feargan groaned.
Amelia rose from the chair and Feargan reluctantly seated himself as Catherine moved the bowl aside.
“Whatever are you doing, Catherine?” Amelia said, looking in puzzlement at her sister, who now crossed to the hearth.
“You’ll see,” Catherine replied, taking a handful of soot and ash and returning to the Feargan who shook his head again.
“‘Tis different for a lad than a lass,” Alexander Galbreth said, laughing, as Catherine began to rub the soot and cinders upon Feargan’s legs.
“Oh, how terrible,” Amelia cried, shrieking with laughter at Feargan’s face, which was now set in a resigned grimace.
“A strange people, the Scots, strange indeed,” Lord Torbay said.
“I have never heard of such a custom,” the Earl said, shaking his head in disbelief, as Feargan’s legs became blacker and blacker. “Whatever does it signify?”
“‘Tis an old custom, back from the times when women went barefoot,” Alexander said. “The groom’s feet were blackened to show his humility next to the bride. I havenae seen it done these many years past, though,” he said, smiling.
“Next she’ll be breakin’ shortbread over our heads,” Feargan said, shaking his head as Catherine stood back to admire her handiwork.
“Oh, I read about that too, though it see
ms rather a waste of good shortbread,” she said, smiling.
“And is poor Feargan to remain dirtied until the wedding?” Amelia said, replacing her shoes and stockings.
“Nay, he is nae,” Feargan replied, pulling the bowl of soapy water back towards him and beginning to rinse the soot off his legs.
“Daenae be a spoilsport, Feargan, ye should be pleased that Catherine is keepin’ up the old traditions,” Alexander said, laughing at Feargan’s face as he scowled.
“Well, I enjoyed having my feet washed,” Amelia said, stooping down to help Feargan, as he rinsed the last of the soap suds off him.
“I hope you won’t expect me to have my feet covered in ash on the eve of our wedding, Catherine,” Philip said, laughing.
“It is only a Scottish tradition, I believe,” she said. “Though I am sure I can find something as equally fun.”
“Ye call this fun?” Feargan said, replacing his shoes. “I need a whisky now, Uncle, if that is the end of yer traditions, lass.”
“For now it is,” Catherine said, smiling slyly at Feargan who just dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
But it was all in good fun and that evening the party sat up long into the night, discussing the forthcoming wedding and all the joy that it would bring.
“Are we to have a bridal procession?” Catherine asked, looking eagerly at Amelia who smiled, as Feargan rolled his eyes again.
“Have you been reading about those, too?” Amelia replied, shaking her head.
“There is nae enough of ye for a bridal procession, lass,” Alexander said, smiling at Catherine’s enthusiasm. “But we shall make sure yer sister’s weddin’ day is a special one and make nay mistake about it.”
31
Later that night Amelia caught Feargan on the stairs as they were going up to bed. He kissed her and held her close to him, his arms feeling strong and safe around her.
“Yer sister is certainly enthusiastic as to the nuptials,” he said. “Though I shall have to wash in the loch tomorrow to get rid of the last of this soot. I can feel it between me toes even now.”
“She has always enjoyed a party and she loves to celebrate, it is her way, whereas all I want is to marry you, Feargan. I wouldn’t care how, or with what pomp and tradition, I just want us to be together. That is all.”
“And we shall be, lass, daenae worry. Tomorrow we shall be man and wife and we shall be happy together,” he said.
“I… well, I just hope you won’t do anything foolish, like running off to war straight away and getting yourself killed,” Amelia said, for she had had time to think over Feargan’s words and despite wishing to support her husband she had no desire to see him ride off into danger straight away.
She knew the cause of the Jacobites was dear to his heart, as it was to hers, but it would break her heart to see him injured, or God forbid, killed. And despite his determination to assist the rightful monarch, Amelia wished only for her husband’s safety and for him to be at her side.
“I wouldnae leave ye straight away, nae until the rallying call comes. The Bonnie Prince may well secure his position in Edinburgh for many months to come, but I have been thinking, too, despite the excitement of Catherine’s surprise.”
“I was too quick to tell ye of me desire to assist the cause. We may dae better by returnin’ to France and bein’ of service to the court in exile there. I ken ye love Paris and I must say that with ye as my companion, I could come to love it too,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.
“Now then ye two, ‘tis bad luck to be in one another’s company so soon before the wedding,” Alexander Galbreth said, standing at the bottom of the stairs with the Earl of Workington.
“Yes, take your sister up to bed, Catherine,” the Earl called back into the hall, as Catherine and Philip emerged hand in hand.
Catherine kissed her betrothed goodnight and ran up the stairs to Amelia, who took her hand and bid Feargan goodnight.
“Ye too, lad, get some rest, ye shall need to for tomorrow,” Alexander said.
“Yes, brother, if Amelia has an escort then I shall give you one, too,” Philip said, racing up the stairs to Feargan, who smiled and shook his head.
“Why is it that when a weddin’ is announced folks suddenly become all superstitious?” he said, following his brother upstairs.
“Nay harm in it, lad,” his uncle called up. “Now away with ye before I have Catherine break a shortbread over yer head.”
* * *
Catherine closed the bedroom door and took hold of Amelia’s hand. The two sisters embraced one another and Amelia began to ready herself for bed.
“Look at me shaking, Catherine. I am a bundle of nerves. You must think me terribly silly,” Amelia said, climbing into bed and trying to hold her candle steady in its holder.
“Not at all, Amelia, I shall be the same on my own wedding day and at that point I shall need you to calm my nerves, of that I am certain,” Catherine said, and she began to comb her sister’s hair, which flowed down her back and through which Catherine drew a fine ivory comb which had belonged to Feargan’s mother.
“I know Feargan thinks traditions are silly, but I did enjoy the foot washing. It was very thoughtful of you, Catherine, you always have been so thoughtful,” Amelia said, as Catherine gently brought the comb through her hair.
“You are my sister, and if I cannot be kind to my sister then who can I be kind to?” she said. “There now, all done, and in the morning I shall come and help you prepare.”
The two sisters bid one another goodnight and Amelia settled back in bed. She snuffed out the candle and lay peacefully with her eyes closed, listening to the distant sounds of the glen outside. She could hear a gentle breeze rustling the branches of the trees and the call of an owl, its hoot sounding melancholy and majestic through the darkness.
Tonight was her last night as Lady Amelia Barton, tomorrow she would become Lady Amelia Galbreth, wife of the Laird of Loch Beira. A Scottish noblewoman, and descendant of a long line of women who had joined that noble house through marriage.
As sleep overtook her she thought lastly of Feargan’s mother. How overjoyed she would have been to witness this wonderful day and to know that both her sons had been reunited. Life was far too short to live in anger and resentment and Amelia was glad that at last Philip had found the family he had so longed for and that she, too, had found the happiness she so craved.
* * *
Amelia awoke with a start, a loud rapping coming from the door. The sunlight was already pouring through the window and for a moment she wondered where she was. But as she opened her eyes realization came flooding back and the door was flung open to reveal Catherine standing with a gleeful look upon her face.
“The great day has come, Amelia, come now, we have ever so much to do,” she said, pulling back the sheets as Amelia sat up.
“What time is it? The wedding is not until noon, we have plenty of time,” Amelia replied, rubbing her eyes.
“Well, I want us to start getting ready,” Catherine said and she pulled open the wardrobe and took out Amelia’s gown, just as the maid arrived with hot water.
“Goodness, am I to begin immediately?” Amelia said.
“Well, yes, there is no time like the present and besides, these things take far long than expected,” Catherine said, rolling up her sleeves and pouring the warm water into a basin. “Besides, I have to get ready too, don’t I? Downstairs is already a flurry of activity.”
Amelia stretched and yawned, getting out of bed and padding across the floor to the window, whilst Catherine fussed around with petticoats and sashes. Down in the courtyard she could see Alexander Galbreth, waiting to greet the local guests who would shortly be arriving.
He was dressed in the tartan of the Galbreths, its shades of green and blue standing out against the grey flagstone courtyard. He had his bonnet on and sash across his shoulders, looking every bit the Highland warrior. Bagpipes now started to play and she watched as the first guests e
ntered through the gateway, which had now been cleared of its broken gates.
“See, they are already here,” Catherine said, glancing over her sister’s shoulder. “Let’s get on, Amelia.”
Amelia did as her sister told her, smiling to herself at the way in which Catherine ensured every detail was seen to. She washed herself in the large basin of water, combing her hair and dousing herself in a sweet scent of lavender oil before beginning the laborious process of putting on her gown.
Highlander's Hidden Destiny (Steamy Scottish Historical) Page 25