Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

“Murdoc said that wasn’t a real priest who wed us that day,” she said.

“Ach, I should have guessed my uncle would do that. Then we’ll ask Father Brian to bless our marriage.” Ian lifted her chin with his finger. “I want ye looking your loveliest in a fine gown, and every man eating his heart out because ye are mine.”

Sìleas thought of the ill-fitting red gown that sagged at her bosom and made her skin look blotchy and her hair orange.

“I’ll wear a gown of blue, the color of my true love’s eyes,” she said, letting a slow smile spread across her face. “It will be so gorgeous that the women will talk of nothing else for weeks.”

“Ye will do it then?” Ian asked. “Marry me again?”

Sìleas threw her arms around his neck. “I’d marry ye a thousand times over, Ian MacDonald.”

Ian held her tight against him.

“When I was a lad, Teàrlag predicted I would wed twice,” he said with a laugh in his voice. “Teàrlag could have saved me a good deal of trouble if she’d told me it would be to the same woman both times.”

Sìleas looked up at him from under her lashes. “So which wife is it that ye intend to make love to slowly?”

“It will have to be you, mo chroí ,” Ian said, as he kissed her below her ear and eased her back on the bed, “and you again.”

CHAPTER 43

Sìleas and Beitris greeted the last group of women as they entered the gatehouse of Knock Castle. The women cooed and clucked as they surveyed the presents that were laid out for that very purpose.

“Ach, the stitching on that pillow is lovely, Margaret,” one woman said to another.

“But not as useful a gift for a bride as the fine iron pot ye gave her,” her friend replied.

It was only three days since Connor was made chieftain, so the women had barely had time to prepare their gifts. But after Sìleas’s long wait for a real wedding celebration, none of them was complaining. Despite the mild smell of charred wood that lingered in the air, Sìleas was glad now that Ian had insisted they not wait until the keep was livable to have their wedding.

Once the women had finished viewing the gifts and complimenting each other, Beitris called out, “Time for the washing of the bride’s feet!”

Sìleas laughed as the women sat her down on a stool before a wooden tub—a wedding present from Ilysa—pulled off her shoes and stockings, and stuck her feet into the cold water.

Sìleas had not grown up in the company of women. She had always felt awkward among them, particularly in the years when she didn’t fit in with either the unmarried lasses or the women with husbands. More than a few had made thoughtless remarks to her about Ian’s long absence. But today, she felt accepted for the first time—and she was enjoying herself.

Sìleas watched as her mother-in-law twisted off her wedding ring and tossed it into the tub.

“You have the happiest marriage I know, so your ring is sure to bring me the best of luck.” Sìleas took Beitris’s hand and smiled up at her. “I am blessed to have a mother-in-law who is like a mother to me.”

Beitris sniffed and wiped her nose as the women cheered.

Then all the women in want of husbands gathered around the tub. Sìleas shrieked as they took turns scrubbing her ticklish feet and searching the bottom of the tub for the ring. Though Ilysa was younger than she and a widow, Sìleas was surprised to see her standing in line to take a turn. Ilysa had never shown any interest in remarrying before.

Ilysa, however, never got her turn.

“I have it!” Dina shouted. The other women exchanged glances, for they were all quite aware of how Dina lost her last husband.

“Good luck to ye, Dina,” Sìleas said. “May ye be as happy as I am.”

The women finally deigned to notice Ian and the other men who, by tradition, were crowded around the doorway, joking with each other and trying to peek inside. Ian let the women drag him into the room and sit him down on a stool on the other side of the tub from Sìleas.

Ian’s gaze was warm on hers as he put his hand over his heart and mouthed, a chuisle mo chroí . There was a good deal of sighing from the women, but that didn’t stop them from covering his feet in ashes before putting them in the tub.

The feet washing and gift viewing were supposed to take place the eve before the wedding, but they had decided to do it all on the same day so Father Brian could be on his way.

Ian took her hands and helped her to her feet. As they stood together in the tub, he gave her a kiss that made her forget the others were watching—until she heard them shouting their approval.

“I think he could give my Donald a lesson or two,” one of the older women said, causing another round of laughter.

“Out with ye, Ian Aluinn,” another woman said, and Ian let a matron half his size push him out the door.

Before they could close it on him, he blew Sìleas a kiss. “I’ll be waiting for ye in the yard, a chroí .”

“You’re a lucky lass,” Dina said, as the women helped her out of the tub and dried her feet. From the way the other women’s eyes had followed Ian, Sìleas suspected Dina wasn’t the only woman in the room who would have been more than glad to change places with her.

Sìleas wondered where Beitris had gone when she saw her return from the corner of the room with a shimmering silk gown the color of bluebells.

“Ahh, it’s gorgeous,” Sìleas breathed, as she fingered the fine material. “When did ye have time to make it?”

Beitris’s smile was so broad she looked as if her face might split. “I started working on it the night Ian came home from France.”

Sìleas didn’t bother asking how her mother-in-law had known she would be needing it. She lifted her arms as two of the women pulled her gown over her head, leaving her in her chemise.

“Beitris, this one will give ye many grandchildren,” an old woman with pure white hair said, as she pinched Sìleas’s hip.

“She’ll have beautiful babes,” Beitris said, as she dropped the gown over Sìleas’s head.

The gown floated over her in a swirl of cool silk. It fit perfectly, clinging to every curve as if it had been stitched by faeries. Sìleas met Beitris’s eyes and knew they were both thinking of the awful red gown she had worn to her first wedding.

“Thank ye, Beitris,” she said, as they grinned at each other.

“Ach, such luck you’ll have!” the women exclaimed again and again, for a wedding gown that fit well was a sign of good luck.

The women slid thin stockings up her legs and combed her hair. As a last touch, Ilysa tied a sprig of white heather in her hair, another token of good fortune.

Then all the women cooed and sighed, telling her, as they did all brides, that she was the loveliest bride they’d ever seen. When she stepped out into the bailey yard and Ian looked at her, she felt as if it were true.

He was so handsome that the sight of him made her feel as if something had slammed against her chest. The crystal she had given him had been fashioned into a pin that held his plaid at the shoulder, and he wore a sprig of white heather in his cap like the one she wore one in her hair.

Duncan, Connor, and Alex were next to him, dressed in their best and looking fine. Being young and healthy, they were recovering quickly from their injuries, though their bruises still told the tale.

When Duncan raised his eyebrows at her, she nodded and he began to play. His pipes filled the bailey yard with a song of hope and joy. All eyes were on her as she joined Ian to stand before Father Brian.

“I, Ian Payton MacDonald, take ye, Sìleas MacDonald, to be my wife. In the presence of God and before these witnesses, I promise to be a loving and faithful husband to ye until God shall separate us by death.”