Page 20

20: OIL AND WATER

AINSLIE BOYD STARED at Bonnie for a long while, her eyes so wide that their whites gleamed in the light of the lantern hanging on the wall behind them.

Wiping nervous palms on her apron, Bonnie waited for her friend to get over her shock, to offer her congratulations.

However, when the head laundress answered, it wasn’t the response she’d hoped for.

“Lord have mercy on ye, Bonnie Fraser … what have ye done?”

Bonnie’s pulse quickened, the dampness on her palms increasing.

She’d been nervous to come down to the laundry and tell Ainslie about her impending nuptials.

Yet, since the laundress had played a part in this, she’d made herself do it.

The seneschal was also likely to approach Ainslie about her dress, and Bonnie wanted to prepare her.

“Fear not,” she replied, managing a smile.

“I told Duncan Stewart that I ‘borrowed’ yer wedding dress without asking ye. No blame will be cast upon ye.”

A shadow crossed Ainslie’s kindly face, and she shook her head.

“Och, lass … I don’t care about that.” She broke off then, glancing over her shoulder at where one of the laundry maids was watching them, her expression keen.

“Get back to work, Esme,” Ainslie snapped, in an uncharacteristic show of bad temper.

She then turned to Bonnie once more.

“Ye promised me ye would be careful.”

Bonnie heaved in a deep breath, her cheeks warming.

“The magic of the occasion got to me,” she admitted.

“Before I knew it, Iver Mackay and I were spending the evening together … and then we took a walk on the walls afterward.”

Ainslie raised a hand to her bosom and murmured an oath under her breath.

“Ye were alone with him?”

“Aye, but none of that matters now, Ainslie … this time tomorrow, I shall be Iver’s wife.”

Ainslie swallowed, and the look she gave Bonnie was a blend of pity, exasperation, incredulity, and fear.

“Do ye really believe it’s as simple as that?” Bonnie opened her mouth to answer, yet Ainslie cut her off.

“Our worlds are like oil and water … we don’t mix.”

Bonnie shook her head.

“They can … sometimes.”

Ainslie folded her arms across her chest, her mouth pursing.

“Tell me one occasion where a story between two people from such different ranks ended well?”

Bonnie’s pulse quickened further.

Curse it. She wished she’d kept her happy news to herself now.

Better she said nothing to anyone and just wed in secret before leaving Stirling Castle without fanfare.

She’d thought Ainslie would be pleased for her, yet she wasn’t.

Silence stretched between them before the head laundress broke it.

“Ye can’t think of one, can ye?”

Bonnie didn’t answer.

Truthfully, she couldn’t.

However, she wasn’t going to admit such.

A sickly sensation washed over her then.

Ainslie’s reaction had dented her newfound confidence.

Now, old insecurities rushed in, dousing her excitement.

Why the devil would Iver Mackay want to wed the likes of ye?

Heart racing, Bonnie stepped back from the head laundress.

“Please don’t say a word about this to anyone,” she said, trying to mask her reaction.

No, she shouldn’t have confided in Ainslie.

A lifetime within these walls, and she had so few she could trust.

Ainslie nodded, even as her mouth thinned.

“I won’t.”

“Thank ye.”

“Och lass, don’t look at me like that … I’m only worried about ye.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Bonnie replied, meeting Ainslie’s gaze once more, even as she felt the prick of tears rising behind her eyelids.

“I can look after myself … I’ve had plenty of practice, after all.”

Seated upon the pile of sheepskins in her attic, Bonnie did let herself weep.

She didn’t usually return to the loft at this time of day.

She should have been lighting hearths in the bedchambers, for the weather had turned cold again, yet instead, she’d retreated to her sanctuary.

Blinking away tears, she glanced around, taking in the space she’d soon be leaving behind.

If Mackay doesn’t come to his senses.

There it was again—her aunt’s mean voice, tormenting her.

Eroding her joy, her excitement.

Of course, it didn’t help that Ainslie believed she was a fool as well.

Inhaling deeply, Bonnie wiped at the tears that streaked her cheeks.

She didn’t understand why, yet she’d never been accepted at Stirling.

She was tired of feeling like an outsider in the very place she’d been born.

A fighting spirit had erupted in her over the past days, initiated by the night of the masquerade ball.

That evening had shown her a glimpse of another existence.

One where she mattered.

And when Lorna and Morag had ganged up on her in the kitchens, she’d struck back.

Drawing a shaky breath, Bonnie tried to claw back her resolve, her excitement.

Ainslie’s reaction had been a disappointment, but she had to rally.

And she wouldn’t make the mistake of telling anyone else.

They’d all find out soon enough anyway, and she’d be the subject of gossip for months to come.

Not that Bonnie would be here to listen to it.

But, unfortunately, Bonnie’s uncertainty didn’t go away—and when she awoke in the early dawn the following morning, doubt plagued her.

Nerves cramped her belly.

And as she lay there, watching pale light filter in from around the edges of the sacking upon the window, she worried that she’d somehow pushed Iver into wedding her.

He’s a decent man … he wants to do the right thing.

But what if he came to his senses afterward, and then blamed her for trapping him?

What laird wanted to be saddled with a chambermaid?

Heart thumping, she pushed aside her blankets and sheepskins and wriggled into her clothing.

She didn’t usually rise this early, but her conscience wouldn’t let her be.

Guilt clutched at her chest. She couldn’t go through with this.

Climbing down the ladder from her loft, Bonnie then descended the tower and made her way through the sleeping keep to Iver Mackay’s chamber.

Aye, she’d remembered where he slept.

Nausea churned within her as she approached his door.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this—that she was throwing away her only chance of escaping Stirling.

But she had to.

She couldn’t bear it if Iver ended up hating her.

There was no other choice; she had to release him from his rash proposal.

Sucking in a deep breath, she knocked.

It took a while for him to answer the door.

She was raising her hand to knock again when she heard the whisper of bare feet on the stone floor within.

Bonnie’s already thundering pulse started to roar in her ears, and she froze to the spot.

The door opened then, and Iver stood before her—pale hair tussled, and blinking.

He would have slept naked, as most folk did, yet he’d donned clothing to answer the door: braies, which had been hastily laced, sat low on his hips, and an untucked léine.

He looked deliciously rumpled and sleepy.

Heat flushed through Bonnie, the greeting she’d been about to utter deserting her.

Gaze widening, Iver favored her with a warm, if surprised, smile.

“Bonnie … ye are up early. The ceremony isn’t until mid-morning.”

“I can’t do this, Iver.” The words tumbled out of her then.

On the way down, she’d rehearsed what she’d say, and had promised herself she’d get through this with dignity.

But face to face with him, her intentions fled.

She just had to get through this so she could bolt.

His smile faded. “What?”

“Ye are wedding me out of pity,” she gasped.

“And ye will only grow to hate me for it.”

Their gazes locked.

A moment later, Iver stepped toward her, and then, to her surprise, he lifted his hand to her face.

His palm cupped her jaw as if she were made of eggshell.

“Pity isn’t what motivated me, lass,” he murmured.

“I don’t want ye to ever think that.”

“But why then?” she breathed.

His touch was distracting.

Her fingertips tingled; how she ached to reach for him.

“There are turning points in all our lives,” he replied, maintaining eye contact as his thumb caressed her flaming cheek.

“And yesterday, I reached one.” His mouth lifted into a rueful smile.

“Meeting ye made something shift inside me. Ye parted the clouds … and let sunlight back in. I never want to turn my back on it again.”

Bonnie swallowed as the misery that had knotted itself under her ribs slowly unraveled.

“Are ye really sure about this?” she whispered back.

“For soon, it’ll be too late for regrets.”

His smile widened, the gleam in his eye causing her breathing to quicken.

“I’m certain.”

Bonnie Fraser wed Iver Mackay wearing the least threadbare of the two kirtles she owned.

It was a dull brown, although she’d put on her newest léine underneath it.

She’d also worn a blue woolen shawl around her shoulders.

It was lovely, finely woven and edged in gold ribbon, a gift from her husband-to-be.

And Bonnie was grateful for it, as without the shawl, she’d look drab indeed.

Even so, she’d done the best with what she had.

She’d considered asking Ainslie to help her prepare, yet her friend’s unenthusiastic response to her wedding had made her decide against it.

She’d brushed her hair till it crackled and pulled half of it back from her face in an elaborate knot.

She’d then ventured into the Nether Bailey and picked a handful of snowdrops, which she’d woven into her hair.

It was still too early for the rest of the spring flowers, but snowdrops, with their delicate white bonnets, had already raised their heads.

They stood on the steps of the Church of the Holy Rude.

Nestled just under the rocky outcrop beneath the castle, the church’s stone bulk rose above them.

Father Callum, a small, portly man with apple-cheeks and a ready smile, read out the words that would unite them, while Bonnie and Iver faced each other, their hands bound by a length of Mackay plaid.

The feel of Iver’s fingers wrapped around hers—for the first time since they’d coupled against the castle walls—was doing strange things to Bonnie’s already racing pulse.

She couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Earlier that morning, she’d been determined to release him from his promise.

But now, here they were, standing together on these steps, before the stone archway that led into the church, while an icy wind and flutters of snow swirled around them.

Iver’s prediction on the eve of the ball was right, after all.

Winter wasn’t releasing its hold just yet.

At the foot of the steps, two silent figures bore witness to this union.

The seneschal of Stirling Castle and Iver’s brother.

Both wore heavy fur cloaks about their shoulders to ward off the cold.

As the priest continued to bless the couple he was binding, Bonnie glanced Duncan and Lennox’s way.

The former wore a resigned, weary expression, while the latter didn’t bother to hide his displeasure.

Catching Bonnie’s eye, Lennox’s mouth pursed.

Bonnie’s stomach clenched.

It seemed that everyone was against this union.

It astounded her then that Duncan had let it go ahead.

Shifting her attention to the seneschal, she was greeted by a kindly half-smile.

The tension in her belly eased just a little.

As her guardian, Duncan Stewart could have forbidden her from marrying Iver.

But instead, he’d let the choice be hers.

Her throat constricted.

He was a good man, and she’d never forget his kindness.

Another icy gust hit them, the snow swirling more thickly now—and the priest clutched at his robes, hurrying through the rest of his blessings before declaring them wed.

Gazing down at her, Iver’s mouth curved.

It was a slow, secret smile, one that made warmth spread through Bonnie’s chest. It was an expression that made her trust him.

He leaned in then, his lips brushing across hers in a gentle, reverent kiss.

Bonnie’s eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned into it.

An instant later, it was over.

Iver withdrew, and Father Callum was deftly unwrapping the plaid from around their joined hands.

He then thrust the ribbon at Iver and flashed them both a wide smile before hurrying back in out of the biting wind.

Below the steps, neither of their witnesses moved.

However, Iver didn’t glance at Duncan or Lennox.

Instead, he favored Bonnie with another warm smile.

“Welcome to the clan, Lady Mackay,” he murmured.