It had been bought from the finest seamstress in Edinburgh and carefully transported by Lord Addair. It fitted her perfectly and with a tartan shawl around her shoulders she looked every bit the Highland bride.
“There is just one more thing,” Catherine said, and she reached into her pocket, drawing out a sprig of white heather. “Another tradition they have is for the bride and groom to each wear a sprig of white heather. It is a symbol of purity, I suppose. Here, let me help you.”
Catherine pinned the sprig of heather onto Amelia’s shawl with a broach that had belonged to their mother.
“You look perfect, Amelia, just perfect,” Catherine said, smiling, as she looked her sister up and down.
Amelia looked at herself in the mirror and she wondered if this was how Feargan’s mother had looked on her wedding day, or indeed her own dear mother. What would she say if she were here today, witnessing her daughter’s marriage to a Highland Laird?
“Mother would be so proud of you, Amelia,” Catherine said, as though reading her sister’s thoughts.
“I hope so,” Amelia replied. “Now then, sister, you too must ready yourself.”
* * *
In his chambers on the far side of the castle, Feargan Galbreth was readying himself, too. He and Philip had sat up for much of the night, drinking whisky and talking of the future. It was a mistake which Feargan was now paying for and he splashed cold water on his face in an attempt to revive himself.
“Ye shouldnae have kept me up so late, brother,” he said, turning to Philip who held out his sword belt for him.
“It is the brother’s prerogative to do so on the night before the wedding. Besides, you weren’t exactly saying no,” Philip replied, laughing at his brother who held his hand to his forehead and groaned.
“And me feet are still dirty, too,” Feargan said, putting his bare foot into a steaming basin of water and taking the scrubbing brush to it with vigor.
“I have a feeling that Catherine is not yet finished with her traditions,” Philip said, as Feargan groaned.
He dressed himself in his best kilt and sash, a clean white tunic underneath and knee-high hose, looking every bit the Highland Laird. His brother handed him his sword and he turned around with a flourish, as Philip nodded in approval.
“The Laird on his wedding day, a marvelous sight to behold,” Philip said. “And I am sure Amelia will be as equally well-dressed, though in something quite different, of course.”
“Another tradition which we were forced to observe,” Feargan replied wryly.
He looked out of the window and down into the courtyard. Alexander was still there and the sounds of the piper were drifting through the air. A steady stream of guests was arriving now, having traveled from all over the local district to attend the celebrations and Feargan wondered just what his father would have said at the thought of him marrying an English lass.
“It is nearly time, brother. The hour approaches,” Philip said.
“Give me a few moments,” Feargan replied, and Philip nodded to him, closing the door gently behind him.
From his window Feargan could see across the courtyard to the loch and mountains beyond. It was a view he had known all his life, familiar and comforting. One he thought of often when he was away and looked forward to returning to. He hoped that Amelia would be happy there but he would gladly give it all up if she would prefer a life abroad in France with their fellow Jacobites.
Life ahead would not be easy but if they were together, what more mattered? Feargan knew the tradition of the white heather and he had already plucked his spray from the moorlands during a walk the day before.
Now, he stood before the mirror and pinned it to his sash, the white standing out against the green and blue of his clan. He smiled at his own sight, never having imagined that such a day would come. He had never imagined himself married, or pretended such a thing as a child.
He had thought his life to be destined for solitude and not for the joys of marriage. But life doesn’t always turn out the way we expect and Feargan could not be happier to know that in just a short time he would marry the lady he had come to love more than anyone else in the world.
* * *
“It is time now, Amelia. They have assembled in the chapel. You look beautiful,” Catherine said, poking her head around the door and beckoning to Amelia who smiled.
“And so do you, you look as pretty as a picture,” Amelia said, embracing her sister who smelt of rose oil, looking her up and down approvingly.
Catherine was dressed in a red silk gown with a tartan sash and a spray of heather pinned to it and she blushed at Amelia’s words.
“Philip bought it for me. It has come all the way from Edinburgh, too. I feel quiet spoilt by him,” she replied, taking Amelia’s hand.
“I think we have both been spoilt,” Amelia said. “But now all I want is to marry Feargan and celebrate this happy day together. Come now, I think we are ready.”
The two sisters walked arm in arm through the castle corridors and the servants paused to curtsey. There had been much speculation as to the gown which Amelia would wear and it met with universal approval.
“Ye look beautiful, My Lady,” the housekeeper said, as the two ladies came into the hallway.
“Thank you, I feel it,” Amelia said, blushing.
The Earl of Workington was there, waiting to escort his daughter to the chapel and he exclaimed in astonishment at the sight of his two daughters.
“Are these really my girls? Have angels fallen from heaven to replace them?” he said, holding out his arms, smiling, the pain of his gout momentarily forgotten. “Come now, the Laird has just passed by with his uncle and Philip and they are waiting for us in the chapel.”
* * *
The chapel had been lit with candles, for despite the brightness of the day outside, the chapel could be dark. It was hidden away in the depths of the castle, a place where the old faith could still be practiced quietly and without interference.
Now, the chapel was full with anticipation of the coming nuptials. The altar candles were lit, illuminating the frescoes of Mary and the saints above and there was not a seat empty, with several of the guests standing at the back.
Despite Amelia’s desire for a quiet ceremony, the good folks of the glen had come together to celebrate that special day and they intended to enjoy themselves. Feargan was waiting at the front, before the altar, where he and Amelia would exchange their vows. No priest was present, but in a less dangerous place they would have their marriage blessed by the Church. For now, it would be enough to declare their vows before the congregation, witnesses to the love which they shared.
“Are ye ready now, lad?” Alexander said, placing a hand on Feargan’s shoulder.
“As ready as I shall be. Ye ken I hate to speak in public like this. I hadnae realized so many folks would come to witness the weddin’ and join the feast,” he replied.
“They respect ye, they look up to ye, and they ken that the Galbreths have been just Lairds these years past. Ye are lucky to have such support,” Alexander replied.
“Aye, whatever the future may hold,” Feargan said, sighing and casting a glance back towards the chapel door.
“Me advice to ye is nae to look too far to the future that ye forget where yer feet are in the present. Ye have a good woman and good folks around ye, ye will be fine and ye’ll always have yer uncle here to stick his nose in,” Alexander said, laughing, just as the sound of bagpipes came from the corridor outside the chapel. “I think she is here, lad,” and he stepped back, leaving Feargan at the altar.
As the pipes approached, Feargan turned to look back along the chapel aisle. All eyes were on the door and as the piper stepped to one side Feargan caught his first glimpse of Amelia in her wedding gown.
She was beautiful, more so than he could possibly have imagined. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders and the gown trailed just a little behind her, carried by Catherine. In her hands she carried a bouq
uet of flowers, the first of spring, and on her face was a smile which could surely melt the heart of even the sternest man.
“Ye look beautiful,” Feargan whispered, as she came to stand next to him.
“And you look terribly handsome, too,” she replied, taking hold of his hand.
“It has nae been easy to get here, but I am glad we are,” he said. “And I am glad that today I can tell these good folks just how much I love ye,” Feargan said, and turning to the congregation they began to recite their vows.
Epilogue
Amelia and Feargan proclaimed their vows before the assembled witnesses. Each promised to be faithful to the other and to uphold the solemn commitment they were making.
As they concluded their vows, a great cheer went up from the congregation and Alexander Galbreth rose to give an official proclamation on behalf of the clan. In it he recognized their marriage and prayed that soon they would have opportunity to seek the Church’s blessing.
“When a Stuart King is upon the throne,” came a cry from the congregation and three cheers went up for the Bonnie Prince and the restoration of the old faith.
Feargan took Amelia’s arm and together they walked down the aisle, stopped numerous times by those wishing to congratulate them. Catherine came first and she embraced her sister and reminded Feargan that she was now his sister.
“And what traditions dae ye have for us now, lass?” Feargan said, shaking his head and laughing.
“No more surprises, just a wonderful feast, and dancing, too,” Catherine said, embracing Feargan, as Philip rushed up to shake his hand.
“Congratulations, brother, and to you too, Amelia,” he said, blushing a little as he turned to her. “I really am so pleased for you both and I wish you all the joy and happiness in the world.”
Amelia smiled and thanked him. He was so different from before and she could never have imagined that she would find herself genuinely liking him. She was delighted that Philip was marrying Catherine and she told him as much, as together the party returned to the Great Hall of the castle for the celebrations to continue.
“I am just sorry all this was not discovered earlier, before I behaved so appallingly,” he said.
“If one cannot have a fresh start on a wedding day then when can one?” Amelia said. “Let us leave the past behind and celebrate the present, not to mention the future, when we shall be gathering for your own nuptials with Catherine, more happy days to come.”
And this was a happy day, indeed. The Great Hall, which was generally unused, had been lavishly decorated with foliage and fresh spring flowers. The high table was laid with the castle’s finest crockery and covered by a pretty lace cloth.
The guests sat at the long trestle tables, looked down upon by portraits of Feargan’s ancestors. His mother’s was there, and Feargan had her portrait hung in pride of place above where he and Amelia were to sit.
Feargan led his bride to her seat and raising his hands he called for order. The guests had taken their seats and a hush went over the gathered assembly, all eyes upon the Laird.
“Me friends, I am a man of few words, but I welcome ye here and I thank ye for celebratin’ this special day with us. I am overjoyed to ken that the rest of me life will be spent with this lass and once again I tell ye that I love her and will love her for the rest of our lives together,” he said, and a cheer went up from the crowd. “Now, let us feast and celebrate!”
The feast which proceeded to unfold was quite something and Feargan was amazed at just what the castle kitchens had produced. To begin they enjoyed a milk broth, made of barley and with mutton and beef. To follow was an astonishing selection of beef, legs of mutton, and several dozen fowls, served with loaves of bread and oatcakes.
There was a magnificent salmon, three in fact, dressed with sorrel and a most delicious sauce of cream and mustard. Not to mention sides of venison and an excellent jugged hare. Last came the puddings, swimming in yet more cream, and little flavored cakes of honey and berries, mixed with oatmeal and accompanied by dried winter fruits.
This was washed down by copious amounts of claret, brought especially from Workington Hall, by order of the Earl. When the tables were finally cleared, bottles of whisky and a bowl of punch was brought, so that the merriment of the evening went on long into the night. Many and varied toasts were proposed, firstly to the bride and groom, and then to the Jacobite cause, and the other guests.
Soon the singing began, humorous, raucous and bawdy, before the guests rose from their places and took to the floor. The band of peasants with their primitive instruments now struck up quite a tune and the dancing began in earnest.
“Will ye dance with me, Amelia?” Feargan said, taking her hand and leading her from the high table.
The trestle tables had been pushed back and already most of the guests were dancing the jig. Far too much liquor had been consumed to allow for any sort of co-ordination but there was a merry atmosphere in the Great Hall, which was now lit by candles and a great fire burning in the hearth.
Philip and Catherine were dancing together and Alexander Galbreth had invited the housekeeper to join him in the jig. The crowd parted for the Laird and his new wife and together they danced around the floor, the musicians gaining ever faster momentum as they went.
“Enough, goodness me, I shall fall over if I jig any faster,” Amelia said breathlessly, as she and Feargan stepped from the floor.
“Ye shall have to practice, lass, ye will be expected to dance many a jig over the years to come,” Feargan said, taking her in his arms. “Perhaps we shall leave the guests to their dancin’ though,” and he took her hand, leading her from the Great Hall, towards the stairs.
“It has been a wonderful day,” she said, as he took her in his arms and kissed her. “And I know I have found the man I shall love forever.”
“I am glad ye feel that way. I love ye so very much, Amelia, and I want to spend the rest of me life with ye,” he said, and he led her up the stairs to their chambers.
It felt strange not to go their separate ways at the top of the stairs. He led her through the quiet corridors, the sound of revelry still ensuing from the Great Hall below.
“Will we be missed?” she said, as he led her through the door into his chambers.
“If we are, they shall ken where we are. They used to say that the bride and groom should be put to bed, and I’m surprised Catherine daenae mention it. But I think we can put ourselves to bed,” he said, and bolting the door, he took hold of her and kissed her passionately.
His hands ran down the beautiful ivory gown and she arched her back in pleasure, as he kissed her neck. His hands discovered her breasts and caused her to sigh deeply, as she felt him stiffen against her, their bodies entwining, like the words of their marriage vows that day.
“Oh, Feargan,” she said, her hands clasping him tightly, feeling his manhood expanding beneath the kilt and a cry of satisfaction coming from his lips.
The gown now fell to the floor and he led her to the bed, her whole body quivering with excitement, as once more he began to explore her with his lips. He gently laid her down, running his hands across her body and removing his tunic.
His kiss was gentle, and he worked his tongue across every part of her body, sending a tingling sensation running through her, his touch warm and arousing.
She arched again, as his finger traced a trail between her legs and he stiffened even more, kissing her neck, as she felt his penetration. She let out a heavy sigh, the gentleness of his touch a contrast to the intensity which now she felt as he pushed ever deeper into her.
Clasping him she rocked back and forth, allowing him to ride her, as they became one flesh, in their love for one another. He paused for a moment, sinking down into her, catching his breath. She worked her whole body on his member, bucking back and forth, as he let out a groan of pleasure.
She could feel herself rising to orgasm, but had no desire for this to stop and rolling to one side she instead took him i
n her mouth. Tasting his manhood and letting out her own sigh of satisfaction, as her climax mounted once more.
His fingers once more found her bud and he worked his way inside, causing her to tense and moan in pleasure. She had never felt such intensity before and it seemed as though he would send her reeling to orgasm any moment.
He pulled himself from her mouth and lifted her onto himself. Causing her to shudder, as she rocked up and down, riding him, his member deep within her.
“Feargan, Feargan,” she cried, as her whole body climaxed and he too let out a deep cry of pleasure, his seed pouring into her as together they felt the intensity of their love making.
Gently he took her in his arms, his seed wet between her legs and the two lay together side by side. His arms felt strong and protective around her and she buried herself in his muscular chest, the hairs bristly against her own smooth skin. She kissed him and whispered in his ear once more of her love for him.
Highlander's Hidden Destiny (Steamy Scottish Historical) Page 26