The next morning, Elspeth was awakened far too early by her sisters.
“You are marrying the mercenary!” cried Mairi. “I still can’t believe it.”
Her eyes flew open, remembering. Yes. She was! She would marry Niall today. She could hardly believe it herself. Her heart swelled—almost painfully—with love and happiness.
Cat planted an elbow in her stomach.
“Today!” And then her brow wrinkled. “Do you even like him?”
“I do!” she exclaimed. She loved his big, honorable heart—and every other virile, muscular inch of him, every scar and tattoo included. Very much so.
“I am soooooo envious,” moaned Derryth, stretching out beside her, and propping her face on her hand. “Have you kissed him?”
“Aye,” Elspeth whispered in a secretive tone. “More than once.”
“Bleah!” Cat shouted, wiping her lips.
Mairi, ran toward the window, pushing open the shutter. “You must look outside.”
“Why?” Elspeth groaned, wanting to stay beneath the covers a few moments more.
“Just come and see,” insisted Cat, following her elder sister and waving her arms.
“I’ll stay here,” said Derryth, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Seeing it again will just make me more envious than I already am.” But her lips smiled.
Elspeth dragged the blanket with her, for the morning was cold, even with the fire Ina had arrived early to light.
She looked outside, over Cat’s head. Surprise stole her breath … for spread across the valley, just below the castle walls, were men—some mounted, and some standing—all in precise, equally spaced rows. They continued almost as far as the eye could see, and behind them, a vast array of livestock and wagons.
“It is the mercenary’s men,” Mairi explained.
Elspeth blinked. There were far more than one hundred warriors. By her estimation, there had to be at least three hundred.
“There is Niall!” cried Derryth, who had come to stand at the window after all. She pointed, but Elspeth had already spied him, riding before the first row of warriors, broad-shouldered and commanding, his cloak rippling on the wind behind him. Deargh and several other men she did not recognize followed along behind.
A blush rose to her cheeks, thinking of how passionately he had made love to her the night before, and kissed her so ardently before sending her inside the castle, to sleep alone in her bed, an unmarried woman for the last time.
“It is quite an impressive sight, is it not?” A woman’s voice commented from behind them. Turning, Elspeth saw Bridget at the door, with a small chest in her hand. “The MacClaren is pleased, as you can imagine.”
At seeing her, the smiles on her sisters’ faces faded.
Bridget stepped inside. “Young ladies, your maids are waiting to help you prepare for your sister’s wedding. Hurry now, you don’t want to keep them waiting.”
That left Elspeth alone with their stepmother, who set the chest on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I told your maid I would help you prepare for your wedding.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” she answered, secretly wishing for Ina. “I am happy for your help.”
“That is very nice of you to say, when I have not always been very nice to you.” She smiled, and bit her lower lip. “I want to … apologize to you for that.”
Elspeth saw the sincerity in Bridget’s manner, and it touched her deeply. “I know it was not easy for you to come here. That your marriage to my father was not a love match. That you are young, and he is old.”
Bridget closed her eyes. “That is no excuse for how I treated you. For how I treated your father, and your sisters. For the way I … behaved with Duncan.” She blushed. “I think I believed that if I acted terribly enough, your father might just send me home. However, I am not as wicked as you may suppose. Though it may be difficult to believe, after the way I have carried on with that man … I am still a virgin.”
Elspeth’s eyes widened. “That is a surprise.”
Bridget shrugged—and made a funny face. “Perhaps I shall be one forever. Your father has been very kind, and patient, more like a father than a husband to me. More than my own father ever was. I regret very much being so cold to him. But we have grown closer, in those days when you were gone to the Cearcal. I realized then … I no longer want to go home. That this is my home. My family. I want things to be different now. I want to honor the MacClaren, and our marriage vows. I want to be a good wife to him—” Her voice softened. “If only to give him comfort in his illness.”
Tears welled in Elspeth’s eyes. She rushed forward, and embraced the young woman, because she looked so alone, and in need of friendship and care.
“Thank you, Bridget.”
Bridget returned her embrace, and patted her lightly on the back. Pulling back, she looked at her, her eyes damp as well.
“And while I wish I could be a good mother to you, I really don’t know how.” She grinned, and winced, biting her lip. “My own mother was not very tender or loving. Indeed, she was not a very nice woman at all. When she died, she was little more than a stranger to me. But perhaps you and I could grow to be something more like sisters.”
“I would like that,” answered Elspeth.
“I would like that too.” Bridget sighed, looking happy and relieved. “Did you see, I have brought something for you?” She tilted her head toward the chest.
“What is it?”
“I thought to bring you my own wedding dress, to see if you might wish to wear it. But then I thought—there might be another dress that would mean something more.”
“Another dress?” Elspeth repeated softly.
Bridget nodded. “I persuaded your father to allow me to look in your mother’s things.”
Emotion struck Elspeth at the center of her chest, stealing her breath. Her eyes widened, and filled with tears. “It is my mother’s … wedding dress?”
Bridget nodded, blinking shining eyes. “Your father loved her so dearly. As he loves you. I told him it was only right that you should have it, and he agreed.”
Elspeth touched a hand to her cheek. “I did not know such a dress even existed. He never said.”
“Well … what are you waiting for?” Bridget encouraged. “Open it, and see.”
* * *
“Are you ready?” asked Deargh, looking inward.
“Aye, that I am,” Niall said, striding out from his quarters for what would be the last time.
“This is what you’ve lived your life for.”
“And it feels right,” he said, his heart tight in his chest.
He had dressed well, in his finest. As a highlander. He had received a small bundle this morning, delivered with his breakfast by a servant woman who he could only assume to be a Kincaid. Inside he had found his father’s dagger and a small brooch—his wolf brooch, which he now wore pinned on the linen shirt underneath his plaid, beside his father’s larger one. He pressed his hand against the badges and looked to the blue sky above, silently giving tribute to his family, and deceased clansmen, who because of the treachery of the man inside the castle had gone onto heaven before him. He hoped they watched over him now, and held his men safe from harm.
He crossed the bailey, proceeding toward the castle. A hundred of his men lined the path—some forty of their number being Kincaids, secretly blended among the mercenaries. As he passed the men, they fell in behind him, following him through the open doors—leaving behind a hundred of his warriors lining the parapets above—something the MacClaren had agreed to, as a safeguard show of force against a sudden retaliatory Alwyn attack in the midst of the wedding. More men crowded the bailey, and circled the walls outside.
In the great room, candles burned and fragrant herbs scented the air. The crowd grew silent at his appearance on the threshold. He passed through them, his mind filled with thoughts of the woman who he would marry. He had not only made love to her last night, but had spoken true words of love. He hoped she would remember them, in the difficult moments to come. Once married, he hoped that they could find some peaceful accord and have a meaningful life and children together. Yet now, in these moments, he hardened his heart, for he could not allow his concentration to be swayed by concern for her or fear of the shock she would suffer at learning the truth.
He stepped on the dais to stand beside the MacClaren and the priest. Deargh took his position just behind him. Looking outward, he looked into the familiar faces of Kincaids and mercenaries, mingled among the MacClaren people he had come to know. His heart beat strong and steady, even as the minstrels began to play.
Yet the moment Elspeth arrived … the world about him stopped.
She entered the room in the company of her sisters, who all wore bright ribbons in their hair, and carried a garland of greenery before her. Even Catrin wore a cream-colored kirtle, and looked like a girl today.
Beneath a circlet of silver, Elspeth’s dark hair gleamed, long and shining, over her shoulders and back. She wore a fine, blue-gray gown that shimmered with silver thread and tiny pearls. As she passed through the hall, all eyes turned to her, but her eyes remained focused on him. She shined like a queen. She was his queen, and for the briefest moment … he forgot all but her.
As she neared, he stepped down from the dais. Extending his hand, she accepted it, and together they returned to stand before the priest, hand in hand.
The import of the moment rippled through him, a powerful wave, yet he held himself steady, listening to the words of the priest, who raised his hands to those gathered behind them.
“Doth anyone know any reason this couple should not be married?”
“Nay,” answered many from the crowd—as did the MacClaren, clear and strong.
Looking at both of them, smiling, the priest then asked him and Elspeth the same question.
“Doth either of thee know of any reason why the two of you cannot or should not be joined in holy matrimony?”
His conscience balked, but his course was set. He would not turn back now.
“Nay, there is none,” he answered decisively. Elspeth answered the same, and squeezed his hand. Glancing up at him, she smiled, glowing with love.
“Niall, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her … and honor her … keep and guard her … in health and in sickness … as a husband should a wife, forsaking all others on account of her, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“Aye,” he answered, listening carefully to the words, to be certain he made no false vows.
He would love and honor and keep and guard her through all the days and trials of their life. Even if she cursed and hated him, and withheld from him the pleasure of her love and her body. He would also forsake all others … except for his murdered family and kinsmen, for which he would exact revenge against her father, just moments from now—an exceptional circumstance he felt quite certain he had agreeably worked out with the Lord on a rainy hillside, many years ago.
“I will.”
More words were spoken, words he pondered and ruminated over, and accepted wholeheartedly, not the least of which when Elspeth looked up at him eyes shining and warm, and said, “And therefore I plight thee my troth.”
“The rings,” said the priest, presenting his open hand.
Niall removed them from a pouch secured at the belt of his tunic—two silver rings, one large and one small, which he himself had fashioned early that morning over a fire in the distant field, with his personal blacksmith assisting. Made from one of the daggers he had carried that night, seventeen winters ago, each ring bore designs that matched several that could also be found etched onto his skin, but most importantly, the wolf’s eye that identified him, and now Elspeth, as a Kincaid.
After blessing the rings, the priest returned them to their hands. He looked into Elspeth’s eyes as he slid the ring onto her finger, hoping one day she could look back on this moment and feel something less than hate for him.
Side by side, they knelt and received the church’s blessing.
He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself for the moment to come. Standing, turning they accepted a cheer from the crowd and the MacClaren, smiling proudly, stepped forward, holding a gleaming longsword in his hand.
His heartbeat slowed … the way it always did in the penultimate moment before battle. Every sensation clarified so that he heard every sound, smelled every scent, felt even the brush of the air against his skin.
“Niall, please kneel and accept the MacClaren oath of fealty.”
His muscles drew tight within his limbs, and he stood ready.
Beside him, Elspeth sighed. Of course she did. She loved him, and believed that by marrying him, she had given him a family, and a home. He took no joy in hurting her. A clash of emotions swept through his veins, painful and sweet.
“Nay, MacClaren…” he answered, looking straight into the man’s eyes. “I cannot.”
The room grew hushed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elspeth’s shoulders go rigid.
“I will never take the MacClaren vow of fealty.” He turned to the crowd, and heard Deargh’s boots as he stepped closer, the hiss of steel as his sword left its scabbard. “Because this is my home. Not yours. I am Niall Braewick, the eldest son of the betrayed and murdered Laird Kincaid and his lady wife. By my right, as his ceann-cath—
He heard Elspeth gasp, but turned his head and looked past her, to level a fierce glare at the MacClaren, whose face had gone stricken and pale. A number of Kincaid men pushed forward, seizing Conall and Ennis and the other members of the council. Elspeth’s sisters looked at him in bewilderment and fear, and rushed to stand with Bridget behind their father, where they too were circled by Kincaids swarming the dais. The crowed moved, in sudden tumult. Voices shouted.
He continued, his voice growing louder. “—I reclaim my birthright … this castle and the wrongfully stolen Kincaid lands … as my own.”
He turned back to the hall, and drew his sword—the Kincaid longsword—and held it high.
“Tha sinn Kincaids,” he shouted, feeling the power of the words thunder through him and the blood of his ancestors course through his veins. “Tha sinn braithrean.”
A chorus of voices joined his, powerful and clear, coming not only from the Kincaids, men and women, young and old, but the fighting men who had sworn their loyalty to him. The air echoed with the hum of swords being drawn, as they moved through the crowd, pushing forward, spreading out, subduing any who appeared as if they might intercede.
“Tha sinn seo talamh.”
He turned toward the MacClaren—but Elspeth stepped into his path, her eyes agleam with tears, her expression somewhere between outrage and pain.
“Niall!” she said sharply, and for a brief moment his heart faltered.
She held out shaking hands, as if she would touch him—but she did not, fisting them instead.
He shielded his heart from her tears.
He looked into her eyes. “Do you remember when I told you that you should have chosen someone else?” he asked quietly, but not without feeling, for he did feel sympathy for her in this moment. He loved her truly, and knew full well that he broke her heart. “You should have listened.”
Conall shouted, “Priest, there is no marriage. It must be annulled.”
“This man misrepresented himself,” Ennis added to that petition. “And no consummation has taken place.”
Niall paused by the priest. “There has been no misrepresentation. I identified myself plainly from the start.” More quietly he said. “And the marriage was duly consummated, after we both pledged our troth.”
Elspeth let out a sound of outrage.
“Is this true?” asked the priest, his face florid with fear and excitement.
With a cry, Elspeth covered her face with her hands.
The priest, nodded, backing away. “The bride confirms … the marriage is valid in the eyes of God.”
Niall felt a moment’s fleeting regret for the shame he had just brought her, but set it aside, as regrets had no place in what he was about to do.
He proceeded toward her father, who stepped backward, stumbling, weakly raising his sword.
Behind the MacClaren, Bridget cried, “Please, no.”
She shielded his daughters.
Niall felt Elspeth’s hand seize his arm—but heard Deargh’s footsteps behind him, and a scuffle as he subdued Elspeth. She let out a strangled sob. The warrior muttered a few fierce, but calming words.
“What say you to this, MacClaren?” He extended his sword, pointing the tip at his enemy’s chest. “Know that your response will determine how the rest will go.”