Page 17 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess (Scottish Duchesses #2)
Chapter Thirteen
“ è ist ri gaoth nam beann gus an traogh na h-uisgeachan.” Listen to the wind upon the hill till the waters abate.
“I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Five days had passed, a mere handful of sunrises and sunsets since the scandalous whispers at Lord Harrington’s ball threatened to tear Catriona’s life—and her heart—to shreds. Yet, her entire life had irrevocably shifted with those two little words.
Marry me.
The wedding was a modest yet elegant affair, befitting their station but devoid of excess.
Catriona wore a gown of ivory muslin, the high waistline trimmed with delicate lace and a ribbon of pale blue silk.
Her dark hair was swept into a refined chignon, with a fine gauze veil fastened by a cluster of ivory roses.
The duke stood tall beside her, his coat of deep navy cut to perfection, a subtle sprig of myrtle pinned to his lapel to match the blooms in her modest posy.
The ceremony was held in the hushed sanctity of a private chapel, tucked away in the outskirts of London. The small gathering of witnesses stood as stiffly as the carved angels in the stained-glass windows, watching the couple before them.
Lady Craigleith stood by Lady Marchant, her face etched with a relief that did not quite resonate with Catriona. Lord and Lady Northley were also in attendance with Eliza, her eyes brimming with a quiet support that warmed Catriona’s chilled heart as she looked at her.
Lydia, in the most beautiful white gown, stood silently, clutching a small bouquet of white roses. Lord Hargrave stood near her as Richard’s closest friend to complete the somber tableau.
There were no joyous rings of bells, no celebratory toasts with heartfelt sentiments, nor any tender glances exchanged at the altar between husband and wife.
The vows were spoken clearly, if not warmly, the exchange of rings a cool formality.
When the brief ceremony concluded, a hesitant trickle of congratulations followed.
Lady Craigleith’s composure finally cracked as she approached the newlywed couple, tears welling in her eyes with every step. She reached out for the duke’s hand, her grip surprisingly firm as she shook it.
“Your Grace,” she choked out, her voice thick with the emotion she had worked so hard to suppress. “Thank ye, sincerely. Thank ye. Thank ye for everythin’. For taking care of me daughter, for thinkin’ of our home in Scotland and all that it means…”
The duke, visibly uncomfortable with the public display, responded with a stiff nod and released his hand from her grip.
“It was a … practical arrangement, Lady Craigleith. But I am happy that I can be of service to my wife’s family.”
Lady Craigleith then turned to her daughter, her hand cupping Catriona’s cheek gently.
“Yer faither,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she closed her eyes. “He would have been so proud of yer strength, me love. I dinnae say it enough, but I am proud of the woman ye are—fire and all.”
Catriona swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “Thank ye, Maither.”
“I shall stay with Lady Marchant for a while longer before returnin’ to Scotland once all of the particulars are settled,” her mother continued, her gaze filled with concern. “Should ye need me.”
Catriona tried to remember a time she had been away from her mother for an extended period, just now realizing that this was a fork in the road for their journey together. It was time for her to make her own way.
“Duchess. It is time we departed,” the duke said as he held her gaze, breaking her from the moment as she considered the new road ahead for her.
Catriona squeezed her mother’s hand as she kissed her goodbye. “Goodbye, Maither.”
Her mother leaned in close, her breath warm against Catriona’s ear.
“Remember, lass, the night holds more than just the vows,” she whispered, her gaze steady. “A man expects the fullness of what’s promised.”
As her mother’s words lingered in the air, Catriona felt the weight of the unspoken burden settle heavily upon her shoulders.
The future, now a series of unknowns, seemed to stretch out before her, and with it, the quiet, suffocating pressure to fulfill expectations she was not certain she could meet.
Richard, Catriona, and Lydia occupied the main carriage, their silence punctuated by the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestones as they made their way from the city to the countryside.
Lydia’s governess followed in a separate vehicle, along with the few servants who had attended the ceremony to see to any of their needs.
“Be still,” Richard ordered as Lydia began to fidget.
She shifted in her seat, her small feet swinging restlessly and hitting the carriage.
Richard’s nerves were frayed by the morning events, and he had no more patience to give, which was not saying much given his usual temperament. He shot her an urgent glance.
Catriona’s spine stiffened at the sight, and she turned to Richard, her eyes flashing with annoyance at his orders.
“She is a bairn, Yer Grace,” she said, challenging him. “Aye, it is perfectly natural for her to become bored from time to time and seek to entertain herself.”
“She needs to learn to conduct herself with a modicum of decorum,” Richard retorted, his voice low.
“Perhaps,” Catriona countered, her tone unwavering, “ye could try engaging her, rather than barkin’ orders. She is nae a member of yer staff, or a business matter to be handled.”
A tense silence descended once more as Richard refused to say any more on the subject. He was too tired.
“Do ye ken any stories, lassie?” Catriona asked her playfully.
Lydia shook her head, her gaze downcast as she wrung her hands in her lap.
“Well,” Catriona said, a small smile gracing her lips.
“How about I tell ye one? It’s a tale from me homeland.
” She lowered her voice, drawing Lydia into the narrative.
“Have ye ever heard of the selkies? They are magical ocean creatures who can transform from seals into humans when they reach land, and they can even?—”
“Selkies?” Richard interjected, his brow furrowed as he tried to follow Catriona’s train of thought. “That is hardly an appropriate tale for a child.”
He knew inside his heart that he was overreacting to her polite attempts to entertain his niece.
Despite his protest, Lydia’s eyes were wide with fascination, her earlier restlessness forgotten as she tapped Catriona’s leg in a silent urge to continue. His niece leaned forward, gaze fixed on Catriona as she ignored him.
“It was young Oonagh, from a village further down the coast,” Catriona began, “She was a curious lass and nae much older than ye are. She was always explorin’ the hidden coves. One stormy mornin’, she was pokin’ around the shore lookin’ for seashells when she spotted it!”
Lydia shook in her seat just for a moment, in anticipation of the next detail as she hung on to Catriona’s words.
“Aye, it was a sealskin, dark and sleek as night, tucked beneath a cluster of seaweed-covered rocks just a way from where she was standin’.
Now, Oonagh had heard the old stories. But when she saw it there, it sent a shiver down her spine she was never able to shake.
She thought, surely it must be a seal… ”
“So, she stood there, lookin’ on as the figure rose from the water.
And aye, it was nae a seal, but a man. Stark naked and shiverin’ like a leaf in the wind!
He looked at Oonagh with such profound sadness that her heart ached for him.
His eyes pleaded with her, and Oonagh, bless her little brave heart, understood.
She knew, somehow, that the sealskin was his, and that without it, he was trapped on the land… ”
Richard noticed how the gentle rocking of the carriage and the soothing cadence of Catriona’s voice lulled Lydia into peaceful sleep. The girl’s head lolled to the side, coming to rest against Catriona’s shoulder, as the latter absentmindedly stroked her hair.
Catriona’s eyes were warm with kindness as she looked down at Lydia. The picture was the epitome of tenderness.
Everything that I cannot be.
Trapped within the confines of the carriage, the silence settled once more. It was only broken by the unyielding rhythm of the horses’ hooves, which were now matched by the beating of Richard’s heart as their eyes met.
He didn’t dare to blink away as they held each other in that liminal space.
This was to be their life: quiet carriage rides, with the sleeping child nestled between them.