Page 14 of Highlander’s Wild Lass (Wild McLeans #1)

13

C elestia spent most of the night in bed staring up at the ceiling. Nothing she did helped her get to sleep; not counting to a thousand, not quietly muttering nursery rhymes, not even sleeping on her stomach which usually always worked.

Today was her wedding day.

Anthony’s entire family would be in attendance, as would hers. His ghastly uncles would, of course, be there. And most of the clan and some of the other chiefs and lairds Anthony had not managed to anger from rejecting their daughters.

“Mistress,” came the voice of her maid, Dara, followed by three rapid knocks. Dara never waited for Celestia to answer, she always waltzed right in, tearing open the bedroom curtains to let in the sun.

Dara was just older than Auralia—she had the oddest shade of auburn hair and the wildest gray eyes.

Celestia groaned when the first beams of light hit her. “Dara, I wish ye wouldnae do it that quickly. Ye nearly blind me each time.”

“Sorry, Mistress. I meant to open them a few minutes after the other, to give yer eyes time to adjust—but I’m just too excited for today.” Dara turned, fidgeting in the spot she stood. “Will ye get up or will I have to throw the covers from ye?”

“I’ll do it myself,” Celestia said, throwing back the covers and placing her bare feet on the cool wooden floor.

Dara turned again, this time to thrust open the sashed windows and let in the light breeze. “It’s a beautiful day for a weddin’, Mistress. Ye ken what they say about sunny days and weddin’s?”

“I daenae, Dara. What do they say?”

Dara hurried into the bathroom just off Celestia’s new bedroom. “They’ll be here with the hot water in a minute, best get undressed!”

Celestia guessed she wasn’t ever going to learn what they said about sunny days. She watched Dara bustle back out of the bathroom, stand in front of her, and frown.

“What?” Celestia said with a scowl. What little she had come to know about her newly appointed maid over the six days she lived in the castle, she quickly came to understand that the girl was a bit scatterbrained and very superstitious. “Daenae look at me as if ye have just watched someone die.”

“Well, it’s just that...nay, I shouldnae say.” She turned to go back into the bathroom.

Celestia felt awake now, very awake. “What terrible omen must ye tell me?”

“Ye must ken the rhyme, Mistress.”

“I’m afraid I daenae ken this rhyme,” she told her.

“Well, if I must, I must.” She cleared her throat and looked Celestia dead in the eye. “ Marry in the month of May, and you’ll surely rue the day.”

“Oh, is that all? Rue the day?” Celestia inquired, she suppressed a laugh from coming forth. “That doesnae sound too bad, Dara. I’m sure the chief and I can overcome that. I’m sure there are worse months to be married.”

“Aye, to be sure. July is probably the worst.”

Celestia opened her mouth about to ask, but four maids breezed through the open door with huge pails of steaming hot water to fill the bath.

“Let’s get a move on. Ye wed within the next few hours.”

“I ken, I ken, I ken,” Celestia said, following behind her maid and flapping the sleeves of her nightdress.

The maids filled the tin tub, just large enough for Celestia to kneel in and wash. It was a huge step up from the simple buckets she and her family used to wash themselves.

“Do ye need any help?”

“Nay, Dara. Please do whatever needs to be done until I’m finished.”

Dara pointed to the robe and a pile of linens to dry herself off with. “Those are for ye when ye’re finished, Mistress.”

They nodded at each other, and Dara shut the door behind her.

She knelt in the hot water, chills erupting on her skin until she was used to the heat. It was heavenly. Mrs. Duncan must have heated the water with sprigs of lavender and citrus because it smelled just like that.

Celestia fidgeted around in the small tub until she was sat on her bottom, fully submerged in the water. She took the small piece of fabric that had been draped over the side and began washing herself.

She was not alone five minutes before there was a knock on the door.

“Cellie?”

Auralia.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“Are ye nervous?”

“A little,” Celestia said, bringing the linen up her chest and around her neck. The wedding was not what was causing her nerves, it was after, when she and Anthony would retreat to his bedchambers.

To consummate the marriage.

What happened in his study the night before Beltane was a fit of passion, she couldn’t stop herself. Her mind had been shrouded in fatigue from the day and the longing she nearly always felt when Anthony was nearby.

“Yer goin’ to look beautiful. Anthony will be thrilled.”

Celestia just made a noise that sounded like she agreed. She draped the cloth back over the side of the tub and dunked her head, wanting to get the scent of the water in her hair.

She came back up with Auralia’s head peeking in.

“Auralia!” She quickly crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“What!” she said, “It’s nothin’ I havenae seen before.”

“Still,” Celestia whispered harshly. “What if the maid sees?”

Auralia rolled her eyes. “Dara’s seen ye naked too, Cellie. Quit bein’ odd.”

Celestia relaxed a bit, keeping her arms wrapped around her chest. “Are ye happy with yer dress?”

Auralia moved the linens on the stool and sat. “Oh, how could I nae be? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ll ever wear.”

“Until ye get married,” Celestia countered.

Auralia blushed, busying herself with refolding the linen that lay on the top of the pile. “Maybe.”

A sly smile erupted on Celestia’s face. “Maybe. . .one of the two gentlemen ye danced with at the festival?”

“What?” Auralia asked, quickly looking up at Celestia. “They were just friends from the village. Just lads I ken from goin’ to market.”

Celestia held her hand out for one of the linens. “Whatever ye say, Aurie. But I’m sure ye’ll make the smartest match out of all of us.”

Auralia huffed, looking as if Celestia had said the most absurd thing. She handed her a linen all the same. “Ye’re mad if ye think I can beat out marryin’ a chief.”

She took the linen from her sister and stood, wrapping herself in the thick fabric. “Ye never ken—”

“Mistress!” Dara yelled from the bedroom. “Make haste!”

Celestia exaggerated her eye roll for Auralia’s benefit, who only laughed a quiet little laugh. “She’ll be the death of me.”

“Stop it, she is nae so bad. I like her enthusiasm.”

“That isnae the word for it,” Celestia said, stepping out of the small tub.

“Lady Gordon has come, Mistress!” Dara yelled again, closer to the bathroom door.

“Please, Dara,” Eleanor said. “Ye daenae need to shout so early in the mornin.”

“Apologies, m’lady.”

There was a mumbling of sorts that Celestia could not make out, but when she and Auralia came into the bedroom there was only Eleanor.

“I sent Dara to bring us breakfast, and some tea and wine.”

“Lovely,” Auralia said, still wrapped in her dressing gown. “I hope they bring that delicious blaeberry tea.”

Eleanor smiled. “That is one of Mrs. Duncan specialties—she grows an entire patch of blaeberries near the orchard.” Then she turned on Celestia who was drying off her hair with a second cloth. “We must get ye ready. The priest needs us in the kirk just before noon.”

Celestia eyed the small, embroidered bag Eleanor held in her hands.

“From Paris. George and I were there just before we found out I was with child. The Parisians love to rouge their cheeks and lips, I figured I might put a bit on yer lips and cheeks.”

Celestia nodded hesitantly. “Nae too much though, please.”

“Only the slightest little bit. I’m not partial to the amount Parisians put on themselves, but I’ve experimented and found that a little bit goes a long, long way.”

Celestia sat down on a plush armchair near the windows. Eleanor placed the bag on the dresser, plucking a small round metal pot from it, and placed it down. She placed a round fluffy pouf beside it. She took out another round pot, this one bigger than the last.

“This is just a bit of creamy oil perfumed with flowers and some other scents,” Eleanor said, popping off the lid. The smell of orange blossom and rosemary filled the air.

She tapped her fingers against the stiff oily substance and warmed it in her hands. She then patted it softly into her cheeks, neck, and forehead. “I’ve been told it helps keep the skin lookin’ youthful.”

Auralia stepped forward, peering down at the substance. “The French think of everythin’.”

Eleanor laughed and offered Celestia and Auralia to pat themselves with it. Celestia loved seeing Auralia interested in things other than just books, all these new experiences were sure to serve her well throughout her life.

“We’ll let that settle on yer skin, while I brush yer hair,” Eleanor told Celestia.

* * *

Anthony peered out his window at the sun, it was nearing noon and he was already dressed for the ceremony. He could hear the commotion of the guests all the way up here in his study.

He never felt the weight of his kilt before, but the scratchiness and coarseness of the fabric seemed unbearable at the moment. He fidgeted with his belt and adjusted the buttons on his waistcoat.

“Will ye please have a drink and take a breath?” Sebastian said from behind him. “All will be well.”

Anthony eyed the horizon, imagining clans McDunn and MacPherson coming over the ridge eager to see that this wedding did not happen. But they would not dare. There had not been war between their clans in nearly a century.

“Just a dram, Anthony,” Sebastian nudged.

Anthony sighed. “More than a dram, Bas. I’ll need it today.”

“Are ye truly nervous? I thought ye wanted to marry the lass.”

“I do, of course, I do. Doesnae everyone get a bit nervous just before they walk down the aisle?”

There was a tremor in his hand that he did not like. It was nervous, for sure, but why was he nervous? He had been plain with Celestia and told her that this marriage was strictly an arrangement to care for her family and to get him out of marrying another chief’s daughter or appointing one of his cousins. But there was something there lingering in every heartbeat; something there every moment he spent with her.

Sebastian shrugged, filling two glasses up with whisky. “I wouldnae ken, I’ve yet to get married.” Sebastian was dressed in a kilt like Anthony’s and the clan brooch neatly fastened to his plaid.

Anthony took the glass from him and gulped down half of it. He slapped Sebastian on the back, grabbed his velvet frock coat, and together they headed for the courtyard where they would meet Celestia, his sister, and Auralia would process to the kirk.

Chester and Hugo awaited them in the kirk, seated in the front row with their father.

“A blessedly sunny day,” Sebastian said once they were in the courtyard.

Anthony mumbled a response of agreement back to him as he fumbled with his cuffs and checking—for the third time—if his mother’s ring was still in his sporran.

“Oh,” Sebastian gasped.

Anthony looked at him, confused, and then followed his line of sight as Eleanor and Auralia came into the courtyard. Auralia was dressed in navy blue with some silver embroidery inlaid into her bodice while his sister wore her husband’s clan tartan of forest green and pale red around a plain yet expensive-looking green frock.

And then they stopped. Eleanor flashed him a knowing smile and looked back as Celestia came out of the doorway. When Celestia stepped into the sunlight it was as if all the air in his lungs abandoned him.

He was breathless for the first time in his seven and twenty years. Her hair was down with some of it braided and intertwined with pieces of white gauzy fabric and sprigs of heather.

The dress was a thing of beauty, cinching in at the waist and accentuating her chest in the most heavenly way. He would thank his sister for such an amazing dress later and hope he had enough restraint in him to not tear it from her body later tonight.

He stepped forward, grabbed her hand, and laid a kiss on her knuckles. “Ye look stunning, Celestia.”

She bobbed her head as she looked him over. “Ye too.”

He felt a bit weak-kneed as they took their first step towards the kirk. He couldn’t be sure if it was the second glass of whisky he downed or just nerves, or something else entirely.

“Daenae be nervous,” he whispered to her as they passed out of the courtyard and onto the narrow grassy trail to the castle kirk. It was a rare thing for a small Scottish castle to have a kirk all its own, but one of his ancestors, near two centuries ago, had one built.

The walk was short and scattered with guests that had not been able to obtain a seat inside the kirk. They were watching them eagerly and the small children were waving and throwing flower petals at them.

“Ye are the one that’s tremblin’, not me.”