The final few days before the wedding became a blur to Ailsa as she kept herself busy with the preparations. Only Tamhas and Mrs Noranside would be in attendance at the wedding ceremony, but Logan insisted upon a dinner and reception afterwards, when he planned to introduce his new bride to his friends and neighbours. A few she knew already, as they were also Contullach’s neighbours, but most would be family friends of the Rathmores and people who lived and worked at Ardvarrick.
Logan’s English relations would not be making the long journey north from Hampshire, but his aunt had put together and forwarded a selection of gowns for Ailsa as a wedding present, based on the measurements and description of her that Logan had supplied. The gowns needed little alteration and Ailsa chose for her wedding day a yellow satin embroidered with acanthus leaves on the hem and sleeves. When she tried on the gown for the first time, she was surprised at the heady scent that rose up from the sweet-smelling herbs stuffed into the bone-stiffened stomacher.
The matching shoes, too, were something new for Ailsa. They were fashioned in the same yellow brocade as the gown and very elegant, but Ailsa was unused to heels, even though Logan told her they were very modest. She spent the best part of the two days before the wedding walking around the house in the shoes to accustom herself to them.
On the wedding day itself, Ailsa woke early to a golden sunrise. It promised to be a balmy September day and she decided to stroll outside and calm her nerves before Shona dressed her in her finery. The house was looking particularly resplendent in the morning sunshine and, inside, the rooms had been swept and polished until everything glowed. Garlands of pine branches scented the air of the entrance hall and fresh flowers had been collected to decorate the morning room where the private ceremony was to take place. As Ailsa returned to her bedchamber to put on her gown, she made a mental note to thank Norry and the maids for helping her with all the preparations.
The maid had just finished arranging Ailsa’s hair when Logan knocked on the door of her bedchamber.
‘May I come in?
‘Of course.’ She shook out her skirts and turned to greet him.
‘The minister is here and waiting for us. I have come to escort you downstairs, if you are ready?’
Ailsa stared at him in silence. He looked so handsome that he took her breath away and she was quite unable to respond.
Logan saw her confusion and he gave a self-conscious laugh as he glanced down at himself.
‘I hope you approve of my new coat, madam?’
She knew nothing of London fashions, but she thought privately that he looked magnificent. The dove-grey coat was trimmed with silver braid while the wide cuffs were paler and matched the brocaded waistcoat. His unpowdered hair was caught back with a length of silver braid and a diamond sparkled from the lace at his throat.
He went on, ‘Perhaps you would prefer me to be dressed in a tartan plaid.’
She smiled at that. ‘You would look very fine in it, Logan Rathmore, as you know full well, but your aunt and uncle had that suit made for you and it is only fitting that you wear it.’
‘Then it will have to do.’ He came closer. ‘I have brought you this. Norry had them made up for us. For luck.’
He held out a small bunch of white heather tied with a green ribbon, identical to the one pinned to his own coat.
‘Oh, how kind.’ Ailsa took the sprig, but her fingers fumbled with the pin and Logan took it from her.
‘Here, let me do that.’
She held her breath as he deftly fastened the heather to her gown, trying to conceal how much his proximity affected her, setting her heart thumping and her skin tingling with desire. When his fingers brushed her breast, she thought her face would burst into flames and kept her gaze fixed upon his cravat.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, when he had done.
She knew her cheeks were crimson and she was grateful that he made no mention of it.
He said, ‘I know we agreed we should not exchange presents, but I thought you might like this.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a book.
‘Oh, Lovelace’s poems!’ She held the small leather-bound volume reverently between her hands. ‘But this is your copy.’
‘I know how much you enjoy his poetry and I wanted you to have it.’
‘Th-thank you.’ She glanced up at him shyly. ‘Could we perhaps write both our names in it, and the date, to celebrate our wedding?’
His evident pleasure at the suggestion was all the reward Ailsa needed.
‘An excellent notion,’ he told her, smiling. ‘However, we cannot do that now, I will not risk either of us having inky fingers when we make our vows!’ He stepped away a little and proffered his arm. ‘Well, ma’am, shall we do this?’
The thought of what was to come sobered her. She stepped up and put her fingers on his velvet sleeve. As they set off down the stairs she was glad of his support, for her eyes were not quite clear and she was obliged to blink several times. How kind he was! And how blessed was she, that such a man would want her for his wife.
In the drawing room, the minister was waiting for them. Norry was there, in her finest gown, and Tamhas, resplendent in new tartan trews and jacket. He was the Laird’s groomsman and his only relative, but since only Ailsa’s aunt and uncle and Màiri had been invited, she hoped that at the reception to follow, Logan’s lack of close family would go unnoticed. The room fell silent as they entered and Ailsa clung to Logan’s arm, afraid that if she let go, her shaking limbs would not support her through the coming service.
Even with the windows thrown open the drawing room was warm and airless. Logan wanted to run a finger around his neck. In his haste he must have tied his cravat far too tight. The room seemed much brighter than usual, too, the colourful flowers arranged in pitchers and vases were almost unnaturally vibrant, more reminiscent of high summer than mid-September. He felt light-headed, intoxicated. Only the woman standing beside him kept him steady as the minister began to speak. She was pale but composed, her red curls tamed and caught back from her face in a yellow ribbon. How had he ever thought her anything but beautiful? A cough from the reverend brought him back to the service with a jolt. It was time for him to make his vows.
Ailsa fixed her eyes on the minister’s dour countenance and tried to concentrate upon the words of the service, steeling herself to perform her part. She concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths and was thankful that her voice at least was not quivering when she made her vows. It was a solemn occasion, but she wished she felt more joyous, instead of expecting any minute someone would burst in and denounce her as a fraud. Beside her, Logan made his responses in a calm, steady tone and only Ailsa noticed that his hand shook a little when he slipped the gold band on her finger. Strangely, she found his nervousness reassuring.
To Ailsa’s overstretched nerves the service seemed to go on for ever but then, in an instant, it was over. Her hand was once again on Logan’s arm and he was leading her away to the dining room, where the wedding breakfast had been prepared for them. She was glad to sit down, but she had little appetite and only picked at her food while Logan and the others talked with the minister. Gradually, she began to feel more at ease and eventually she was brave enough to exchange a look with Logan. His smile was reassuring and by the time the meal was over, her nerves had settled and she found she could even look forward with equanimity to the reception that was to follow.
By the time the wedding party left the dining room, the hall and drawing room were overflowing with staff and townsfolk, all enjoying the copious amounts of wine and ale the Laird had ordered to be served. Logan took Ailsa around the room, introducing her to each guest by name.
‘Heavens, you have been back in Scotland for barely a year, Logan. I marvel that you should know so much about your neighbours and tenants, their history and their families. I am impressed.’
‘Thank you!’ He laughed, delighted by her praise. ‘I have made it my business to reacquaint myself with every one of them. It is a bad laird who does not know his people and look after them.’
‘Very true. I must make efforts to know them, too.’
They moved on to speak to another tenant farmer and his family and, after the introductions, Logan was content to stand back and watch Ailsa converse with them. She had a natural friendliness that soon put them at their ease. He listened to her talking of the harvest to the husband and discussing cheesemaking with the wife. She even managed to draw a little conversation from their shy and tongue-tied daughter. Norry was watching from across the room and, catching her eye, Logan gave her a nod and a smile. Ailsa was acquitting herself well—she would make a fine Lady Ardvarrick.
As the conversation continued around him, he was distracted by the yellow ribbon holding her hair in place. His thoughts drifted. He imagined how it would be when all the guests had departed and he could finally take his bride to bed. How easy would it be, he wondered, to free those burnished locks and let them fall over her shoulders? Should he untie the ribbon before or after he had slipped the gown from her shoulders and covered her neck and breasts with kisses?
Ailsa squeezed his arm and he almost jumped. It was time to move on, to speak with more guests, to receive their congratulations and exchange pleasantries when all he really wanted to do was to sweep his bride into his arms and carry her upstairs, where they might enjoy one another’s bodies in a comfortable bed for as long as they wished. That was something he had been thinking of almost constantly since they had lain together in the bothy, but it must wait a little longer. Dutifully he summoned up a smile and nodded to the farmer and his wife before leading Ailsa away.
There were so many guests, so many strangers to meet that it was some time before Ailsa was able to speak to her aunt and uncle. She noticed them standing a little apart with Màiri and, since Logan was talking of estate matters with Tamhas, she excused herself and slipped across to join them.
‘Well now, Ailsa, you look very grand in your London fashions,’ Màiri greeted her, a slightly envious note in her voice.
‘Why, I thank you.’ Ailsa smiled, determined to remain on good terms with everyone today. ‘Ardvarrick’s aunt sent this up for me.’ She smoothed her hands down over the gown. ‘I confess the wide skirts and high heels give rise to no little anxiety. I am very much afraid I shall trip up before the day is out.’
‘Nonsense, you move very gracefully, my dear.’ Morag leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
Fingal was scowling beside her. He said, ‘I hope you think this is worth it, when you realise what you have given up.’
‘Do you mean her music?’ Màiri gave a shrill little laugh. ‘What is that compared to being the Lady of Ardvarrick? She can have anything she wants now.’
‘Hold your tongue, child!’ snapped her father. ‘You know nothing about the gift. When it is lost it eats away at the soul.’ He turned his savage glare upon Ailsa. ‘It will destroy you, lassie, as it has done others before you.’
His words struck Ailsa like icy water, but she stood her ground, refusing to allow her dismay to show.
Morag laid a hand on her husband’s arm and admonished him gently, ‘Hush, Fingal, it is her wedding day. Wish your niece well.’
Her uncle glowered for a moment before stooping to buss her cheek.
‘May ye be a good wife to your lord,’ he muttered. ‘And may your house be full of peace and harmony.’
Ailsa dropped a stiff little curtsy. ‘Thank you for your kind blessing, Uncle. And as for my music—’ her head came up and she stared back at him defiantly ‘—why would Logan have brought the clàrsach here for me, if I cannot play it?’
‘Have you tried?’ Fingal fixed her with a searching glare that made her blush.
‘Not yet, but there has been so much to be done...’
‘Hah. I have seen it before,’ he told her in a tone of morbid satisfaction. ‘Contullach harpers have a rare gift. You chose to throw it away and now you must bear the consequences. You are cursed, girl. Cursed!’
‘Fingal!’
‘It is the truth, Morag. It destroyed her mother, and ’twill be the same for her, make no mistake about that!’
Ailsa felt her temper rising and she lifted her chin a little higher. ‘If I cannot play, then it is God’s will and I have no doubt he will bless me in other ways!’
She turned and walked away, desperate to find Logan. Her eyes searched the crowd and she saw him standing on the far side of the room, talking with one of his tenants. She wanted to run to him, to find comfort in his arms, but that would only show Fingal how much his words had affected her. She must play her part, pretend all was well, but although she smiled and chattered with her guests, deep down the little worm of unhappiness gnawed at her. Having married Logan, she had lost the gift that would most have pleased him.
Not that he had said as much. Indeed, when a guest remarked upon the lack of music that evening, he declared it was the custom in English society.
‘Is that true?’ Ailsa asked him, when they were alone for a moment.
‘It is not untrue, my love. Many noble families conduct their weddings in private, without even a reception to follow them.’
‘I thought you were merely saying it because I can no longer play the clàrsach.’
He put his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her.
‘You can play,’ he said. ‘I do not believe you have lost your ability. And, given time, you will play again.’
Ailsa was grateful to Logan. He was trying to spare her the embarrassment of having guests invite her to play and everyone appeared to accept his explanation. Only her immediate family came close to guessing the real reason there was no songs or dancing and when Ailsa passed her cousin later in the evening, she felt a twitch of her sleeve.
‘Does the Laird dislike music so much,’ Màiri hissed, ‘or is the lack of it your choice, to cover the fact that you cannot play?’
Ailsa ignored her and would have moved, but Màiri gripped her arm.
‘I am sure you would like to hear about Kirstin’s wedding.’ Her smile was belied by the spiteful gleam in her eyes. ‘It was a much livelier affair than this!’ She looked up as her mother came up with a group of ladies. ‘Mama, I was just telling Ailsa about Kirstin’s wedding. You were there too, Mistress MacLeod, did you not think it a splendid day?’
‘Aye, it was that!’ The matron chuckled and tapped Morag’s arm. ‘Quite an achievement, Mistress Contullach, to marry off your daughter and your niece in one Season.’
‘Indeed, we have been very fortunate,’ replied Morag. She would have said more, but her daughter cut across her.
‘It was a very different affair from this. My sister’s wedding was in the best traditions of Contullach, was it not, Mama? Everyone brought food gifts, as is the custom. Not that we needed them, but Kirstin is so popular we could not refuse to let everyone show their regard.’ Another sideways glance at Ailsa. ‘And Father found a grey horse to take Kirstin to the Kirk. Greys are very lucky for brides, you know.’
‘With such a husband she will need it,’ muttered Ailsa, hanging on to her temper with difficulty.
She heard sniggers from the ladies.
‘And will ye be observing the old custom of bedding the bride?’ one asked slyly.
Ailsa’s face flamed at the thought of it; all the guests bustling her into the bedroom and putting her into bed, from where she would have to dispense food and drink to everyone. Before she could frame a reply, she heard a deep voice at her shoulder.
‘Alas, no,’ Logan drawled, sounding every bit the English gentleman. ‘A rather outmoded custom, do you not agree?’ He gave an elegant and very visible shudder before continuing. ‘Neither will my bride be throwing one of her stockings over her shoulder for the maids to fight over.’ He slipped an arm about Ailsa’s waist and pulled her closer. ‘Apart from my bride, the only person touching those silk stockings will be me!’
Ailsa’s face was positively scorching now, but the older ladies merely laughed and shook their heads at the Laird.
‘Oh, how disappointing,’ cried Mistress MacLeod. ‘Young Màiri here did not win her sister’s stocking, did you, my dear? I am sure you would have liked another chance. You will want to be next to marry, eh?’
‘No, no,’ replied Morag, laughing. ‘Màiri is not yet sixteen. Plenty of time for her to be thinking of marriage.’
Màiri, her colour heightened, turned on Logan.
‘And I doubt you’ll be up for the creelin’?’ When he raised his brows, she tittered. ‘La, sir, have you been away so long you have forgotten how we go on here in the Highlands?’
‘Alas, it would appear so, Mistress Màiri.’
‘Dear me, and you the Laird of Ardvarrick.’ The pitying look Màiri threw at him enraged Ailsa and it was only Logan’s warning squeeze of her waist that prevented her from firing up in his defence.
‘Then let me explain it to you,’ Màiri continued, with silky insolence. ‘The groom has a large basket tied around his neck, which the guests fill with stones. Only his bride is allowed to save him from being throttled by the weight of it.’ She sighed. ‘Ewan is so very strong that it was no hardship for him. He bore it most manfully and the basket was almost full before Kirstin cut him free.’
‘I should have left him to his fate!’ declared Ailsa.
A moment of shocked silence followed, then Logan laughed.
‘What a bloodthirsty wench you are, my dear, to be sure.’ He smiled at the little group gathered around them. ‘Perhaps now, ladies and gentlemen, you can see why I am set against these local customs!’
The tension was broken. Everyone laughed and Logan invited them all to make their way to the dining room, where supper had been laid out.
When he would have followed his guests, Ailsa put her hand on his arm and detained him.
‘I beg your pardon, Logan,’ she whispered, contrite. ‘I did not intend to say such a thing, but Màiri made me so angry!’
‘I could see that, my dear, but she is not worth your concern.’ He pulled her hand on to his arm. ‘Lower your hackles, Ailsa, and let us join our guests for supper. We will show them that a civilised couple do not need such violent means to demonstrate their happiness.’
With a final squeeze of her fingers he led her towards the door, but Ailsa was still in a temper.
‘Very well,’ she muttered, ‘but I still wish Kirstin had let the rope strangle him!’
The guests took advantage of the full moon and clear skies to delay their departure, and it was past midnight before Logan took Ailsa’s hand and murmured that it was time to go to bed.
He pulled her closer. ‘It has been very hard for me to keep away from you for the last few weeks.’
‘Has it, truly?’ She blushed and wished she had the courage to tell him that she, too, would have liked the comfort and reassurance of sleeping in his arms.
‘Damned hard.’ He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to place a gentle kiss on her lips. ‘But taking you to bed now will be all the sweeter for it.’
Ailsa uttered a half-hearted protest as he swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs. She clung to him, her head against his shoulder and a delicious swirl of anticipation gathering inside.
The bedchamber was decorated in rich blues and reds with lavish gilding that glowed in the candlelight. A fire had been kindled in the hearth and Logan set Ailsa on her feet before it.
‘I told the servants they would not be needed tonight,’ he said, his hands on her shoulders. ‘We will be obliged to undress one another.’
There was such a glow in his eyes that her heart began to thud a little quicker. She ran her tongue around her lips and tried to match his seductive tone.
‘I am sure we can manage that.’
His jacket was already open and she put her hands on his chest and began to unbutton his waistcoat. She fumbled a little, but he waited patiently until he could slip off the coat and waistcoat in one smooth movement and toss them over a chair. When she tried to unfasten his shirt he stopped her.
‘My turn.’
He grasped the ends of the ribbon bows that fastened across the front of her gown. Soon the stomacher joined his coats on the chair and he was busy unlacing the red silk stays beneath the open bodice. It was a delicious torture. Ailsa kept her eyes on his face, watching his rapt concentration as he worked. The faint vibration as each lace was slowly pulled free made Ailsa’s skin tingle. She swallowed nervously as he gently removed the bodice and the stays. The satin skirts slipped to the floor with a whisper and billowed around her feet. They were soon followed by the cotton petticoats and her flimsy chemise. Standing naked before Logan, Ailsa felt suddenly shy and she folded her arms across her breasts, eyes downcast.
Logan reached out and gently pulled the ribbon from her hair and the wild curls tumbled down over her shoulders in a fiery cascade. Just as he had imagined.
‘By heaven, you are beautiful, Ailsa.’
She gazed up at him, such a look of trust in her violet eyes that the breath caught in his throat. He would remember this moment for ever. She gave him a shy smile.
‘Now,’ she whispered, ‘is it time for me to undress you a little more?’
‘I think it is.’
He helped her to step over the waves of satin around her feet. He was anticipating the pleasure of removing those fine silk stockings, tied at the knee with yellow ribbons, but first he had to keep still while she removed the froth of lace at his neck and set to work on the buttons of his shirt. As he drew it off over his head he felt her fingers exploring his chest and he closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. He inhaled sharply when he felt her lips on his breast. Desire was pulsing through him, heightened to almost unendurable limits as she unfastened his satin breeches.
‘Enough.’ His body as well as his voice was trembling as he caught her hands.
‘Does it not please you?’
He gave a ragged laugh. ‘It does, sweetheart. Too much!’ Quickly he removed the remainder of his clothes and lifted her into his arms. ‘Time to make ourselves more comfortable, I think.’
Logan carried her to the bed and put her down gently on the covers. She reached for him and he stretched himself beside her, indulging in a long and languorous kiss before turning his attention to removing the final pieces of clothing. He slipped off her shoes and when she reached for the ribbon garters at her knees, he stopped her.
‘No. That is my privilege, and one I have been anticipating all evening.’
The promise in his deep voice set Ailsa’s body tingling with excitement. She sank back against the soft bank of feather pillows and watched as he pulled away the yellow ribbons that secured her embroidered silk stockings. He had bedded her before and she remembered how the white-hot desire had gripped her, driving all other thoughts from her mind. Even tonight, standing before the fire while they undressed one another, she had felt the heady excitement, but now she was suddenly afraid of giving way to it and succumbing to a passion she could not control.
Logan had eased one stocking down barely an inch when she shivered. Immediately he stopped.
‘I go too fast for you.’
She was filled with a new fear, that she would disappoint him.
‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean—that is, I—’
‘Hush.’ He put his fingers to her lips and shifted to lie beside her. ‘We have all the time in the world.’
He turned her face to his, kissing her gently. She moved towards him, gradually relaxing as his embraces drove away the uncertainty. Nothing mattered but his touch, the way his hands caressed her body and her sudden, urgent need. He cupped one breast with his hand and her own flew up to trap it there, that he might feel the swift tattoo of her heart. His kiss deepened, turning her bones to water.
Their bodies came together, his was hard, aroused, and she moulded herself to him. She was light-headed, the blood pounded through her and when Logan began to trail kisses over her body she lay back and let the delicious sensations wash over her—the soft feather pillows and silky smoothness of the coverlet at her back, the gentle touch of Logan’s hands and mouth on her skin, moving lower, across her belly, her thighs. Inside she was hot, aching, but although she lifted her hips, offering herself, he continued to trail those tingling, butterfly kisses down to her knee.
Gently, with infinite care he began to roll down one embroidered stocking. Ailsa closed her eyes, clutching at the bedding. She wanted to scream out, to drag him on top of her and have him fill her, but the slow glide of the silk from her leg was teasing her senses, enhancing the pleasure already rippling through her. It was almost unbearable and yet she did not want him to stop. First one stocking, then the other, each inch of flesh uncovered rewarded with a kiss, until she was completely naked.
Ailsa moaned and gripped the coverlet, fearing at any moment she might explode. She wondered if she could endure more pleasure. He gently eased her legs apart and kissed the inside of her thigh. It was the gentlest touch, light as a feather, but it sent a yearning excitement coursing through her and she shifted restlessly. Then he was holding her firm, his mouth addressing the hot, aching void between her thighs, kissing her the way he had kissed her mouth. It roused her to a state of frenzy that she could not control.
She cried out, bucking beneath the onslaught. She was drowning in wave after wave of pleasure that left her on the point of fainting. She felt a moment of panic when Logan stopped kissing her, but almost immediately he had covered her with his body and he was easing himself into her. He moved slowly, holding her at fever pitch on the crest of a wave until even his iron control could bear it no longer and he thrust into her, once, then again and she pushed back until with a shout he carried her beyond reason. She was flying, falling, her mind splintering like glass as she lost control.
There were tears on her cheeks. Ailsa clung to Logan, feeling his weight on her, his chest heaving as he, too, recovered from the shattering peak of their union.
‘You screamed,’ he murmured. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘Not at all.’ She could not speak above a whisper.
His long sigh of satisfaction warmed her heart. ‘I have been wanting to do this with you since the first time. I wanted you to enjoy it, too.’
‘I did,’ she assured him. ‘It was wonderful.’
‘Good.’ He rolled to one side and pulled her against him. ‘Now we are truly man and wife.’