Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Arran stepped back and offered her his hand. She placed her small hand in his, and together they walked down the four flights of stairs back to the Great Hall.
Surprisingly, everyone was still at the table, riveted by a story Fionn was telling them—except for Elsie, who had fallen asleep.
Skye was still in shock, but Arran’s honesty had reassured her.
“Fionn, ye are still here. Tell yer faither that circumstances have changed and I must see him. Go now and see if he is on the road back.”
Fionn nodded. “I’ll finish the story later,” he informed his audience, before turning around and walking toward the door. But then he stopped and turned back. “Ye are the most beautiful lass I’ve ever seen,” he said sincerely, looking at Skye. “When I get older, I will marry ye!”
“Too late, Fionn! Ye should have made yer intentions clear earlier. She’s mine now.”
Disappointed, but only for a second, the young rascal asked, “Do ye have a younger sister by chance, then?”
Arran laughed and tousled his hair, and then pushed him toward the door.
They heard the patter of running feet and then a servant yelling about manners and respect in the castle.
Skye laughed—the boy kept everyone on their toes.
The men rose and offered Arran their congratulations, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulders. Then they bowed to Skye and told her she was too beautiful for the likes of their Laird.
Skye was touched by the relationship these men had with Arran and also Fionn. There was a sense of family here that she never felt within Clan MacKeith.
Arran walked over to his aunt and gave her shoulder a gentle shake. She woke up with a start.
“Auntie, Skye has agreed to marry me,” he informed her.
“Marry? But ye cannae marry again. Ye have a wife already! That lovely girl who was here earlier. What’s wrong with ye, lad?”
Arran explained that he wasn’t taking another wife, but that he and Skye were getting married for the first time. Skye wasn’t sure the old woman fully understood.
After Elsie left the hall, Skye felt anxious. She’d never planned any wedding, and now she was a bride-to-be.
“Arran, I dinnae ken what to do. I mean, I dinnae have a dress, and there is nay time to put together a bridal box. Or a dowry. Is there a priest? I’m assuming we have to get married before Blackwell gets here. Do we have enough time?”
The questions kept coming, and Arran just smiled and winked at her.
Skye paused, wondering if he’d influenced Fionn’s upbringing.
“Arran—”
Arran raised his hand, stopping her. He sent for someone named Astrid and then told one of the servant girls to fetch Nellie as well.
Soon, a short, plump woman emerged from the kitchen door. She had very curly red hair that had escaped her kerchief and shrewd brown eyes. Flour or millet dusted her apron—obviously, she was the cook.
“Astrid, this is going to be a surprise, and I daenae want to alarm ye. But ken before I say this that I have the utmost confidence in yer abilities.” Arran paused to let his compliment sink in. “Tomorrow, I will be wed.”
Astrid’s sharp intake of breath was heard throughout the hall. “And I’m guessin’ ye want a wedding feast? And at such short notice?”
Arran took a step back, letting her rant.
“How many guests? What do ye want on the menu? I’m nae a miracle worker, ye ken. The food isnae going to multiply like loaves and fish!”
Skye wondered if Arran would punish the woman. At Castle MacKeith, the consequences of speaking to the Laird in that tone would have been very harsh.
“Astrid, I ken for a fact that ye do indeed make miracles in that kitchen, but I daenae expect a miracle. There will be nay guests except for Magnus and Fionn, and I daenae expect any special fare. But is it possible to make a cake?”
“Arran, that is really nae necessary.” Skye turned to the cook. “Please, Astrid, daenae go through any trouble for this. There’s just nae enough time.”
Astrid looked at Arran and then at Skye. “I’ll see what I can do, but I cannae promise miracles, me Laird.” She turned to leave the hall, but then stopped at the door. “And Arran,” she called back, “I like her!”
“Well, there ye have it.” Arran grinned. “Ye have the cook’s approval. What more do ye need?”
“She’s quite, uh, feisty,” Skye remarked.
“Astrid practically raised me when me faither was in mourning and sometime after he recovered. Aye, she is feisty, but her value extends far beyond her cooking skills to me.”
This clan is so odd. Nay one seems afraid…
Nellie entered the room and stood before them, looking like she was about to burst.
“Nellie, I’ve called ye to tell ye that—”
“Ye’re getting married!” she squealed, jumping with joy and clapping her hands together.
Arran turned to Skye. “As ye see, ye cannae keep a secret here.” He shook his head and then turned back to Nellie. “Aye, we are getting married. The wedding is tomorrow, and Skye needs yer help.”
He’d barely gotten those words out when Nellie grabbed her hand and led her out of the hall. “Now, daenae worry about a thing. I ken what we need to do, and we’ll have ye ready for tomorrow in nay time.”
Arran sat in the chair in front of the fireplace, reflecting on how his life had changed in the three days since he’d walked into Braewall.
He hadn’t expected to find Helena and Skye, and now he was marrying the woman he’d promised Laird MacKeith he’d return.
But that was before he’d made his intentions clear.
Some promises need to be broken.
His thoughts drifted to what marriage with Skye would be like, but soon Magnus joined him in front of the hearth, interrupting his reverie.
“Tell me what yer plans are, Arran.”
“I’m going to marry Skye Pressly, Magnus.”
Magnus sat up straight, opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. After a moment, he nodded his head. “Aye, I see how that could work. It’s yer best chance at getting the lands returned to the MacArthurs. And the lass would be free of that menace.”
“It’s the only way,” Arran murmured.
“Ye ken, whenever I visited MacKeith, I ran into Helena a few times. Mostly, he kept her locked away. But when I did see her, she was a kind and beautiful woman. She didnae deserve the treatment she got. And Skye, she always had spirit, and it was evident she loved and protected her maither.” Magnus paused.
“I have to ask then, does Skye agree with this proposal? Completely?”
Arran thought back to their meeting at the fourth-floor window. “Nae at first. And we talked and argued a bit. But she agreed eventually, so we’re gettin’ married first thing tomorrow.”
“Then it shall be done.” Magnus then looked at him gravely, a tinge of guilt in his eyes. “Arran, I’ve kenned ye all yer life. And I ken yer character—ye would never hurt a woman. But I’ll be watching out for young Skye, as I’ve always regretted nae helping her maither.”
Arran wanted to tell him that Helena lived, but that was a secret he wasn’t ready to share. It would be too dangerous while MacKeith was still alive.
The rest of the day was a whirlwind. Nellie whisked Skye upstairs and summoned two other servant girls. Her chamber was like a hive, busy and buzzing with women rushing about and discussions about how to style her hair, oils to scent her skin, and a schedule to have her ready in the morning.
Skye was dizzy, and she tried to keep the details straight in her mind.
“How did ye catch our Laird, me Lady?” Nellie joked. “Ye are a bonny lass, for sure, but there have been others who tried to snare him.”
Skye shrugged. She didn’t want to go into all the details, but she thought lying wasn’t a good option either. “I guess he is doing it to protect me. I’m in a bit of trouble with Laird MacKeith—I cannae go back there.”
Nellie nodded her head vigorously. “Nay, me Lady. Ye cannae even consider that. We’ve all heard how it was with yer lady mother. Some men are nae fit to walk upon God’s footstool. But is that the only reason he’s goin’ to marry ye?” Nellie asked, eyeing her shrewdly.
Skye looked down at her fingers, feeling her face grow hot. “There might be other reasons,” she said slowly. “At least I have one or two. But I’ve nay idea why he passed by all those other lovely lasses and settled on me.”
There was a bubble of feminine laughter, while Nellie looked at her as if she were daft. She turned to the young maids and said, “Lasses, I do think she’s blind.”
“What do ye mean?” Skye asked.
“Have ye seen the way he looks at ye, me Lady? Half the time he looks besotted with ye, and the other half he looks like he’s going to jump up and ravish ye in front of everyone!”
Skye’s face turned several shades of red. “Och, stop, Nellie!”
The maids were also blushing and giggling, but Nellie continued. “Tomorrow when he sees ye in yer gown, he willnae be able to keep his eyes off ye. Ye’re going to have him reeling, and then all he’ll think about is the ravishing, I tell ye!”
The room erupted in laughter again, but Skye was sure the woman was exaggerating.
“Nellie, I dinnae have a dress other than the one I wore when I arrived and this one that ye lent me. I like this one better, but perhaps I should press it before morning.”
Nellie gasped. “Ye willnae be wearing that day dress, me Lady. Arran had a word with me and we have a better plan.” With that, she bustled out of the room.
“Goodness, does she ever slow down?” Skye asked the young maids Nellie left with her.
“Nay, me Lady, she doesnae,” they both replied with smiles.
Nellie returned ten minutes later, carrying a creame white dress in her arms.
Skye couldn’t believe her eyes. “Oh, Nellie, where did ye get that dress?”
Nellie smiled and held the dress up, letting its full length fall to the floor.
The gown was crafted from the finest wool and was adorned with intricate lace at the scoop neckline. The lace overlaid the full-length sleeves and fell across the top of the bride’s hands. The bodice was adorned with delicate embroidery depicting thistles and heather.
Skye reached out to touch the fabric, marveling at the intricate details. She’d only seen work of this quality from her mother.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Nellie nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Aye, it belonged to Arran’s maither. She wore it on her wedding day, and now Arran says if it fits, it’s to be yers.”
Skye gently took the dress from Nellie and held it against herself. She thought about the story of Arran’s parents’ love. A love that was sealed on the day his mother wore this dress. Her heart swelled.
“It’s perfect,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Such a privilege. Here, someone take it quick, before I start to cry.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. But Nellie was quick to shush them all.
“Enough of this, ladies,” she said, wiping her eyes. “We’ve got much to do. Try on that dress, me Lady, and let’s see if there need to be any tweaks.”
The maids rushed to Skye’s side and helped her remove her day dress. Nellie reached up and slipped the wedding dress gingerly over her head, letting it drop down her body.
Skye had never worn anything so fine. Living in hiding for the past three years, she had seen the care and attention given to brides on their wedding days.
The care, the traditions, and the love passed down from mothers to daughters was something she had watched from a distance, and she’d secretly longed for it.
But Blackwell made it an impossible dream. Her mother had held out hope that one day she’d marry, but Skye never believed it would happen.
It’s happening now. Maither, I wish ye were here…
Before she teared up again, she directed her attention to the maids bustling around her. Even though it should have been her mother helping her into her dress, she was grateful for their care and attention.
Nellie stood behind her and pulled the fabric around her waist. “Nae much to be done here. I’ll tuck it in just slightly.”
Skye felt her mark the spot with a pin.
Nellie straightened, stepped in front of her, and turned her attention to the bust. “I think we need to lower the neckline a bit, me Lady. Ye’re quite blessed with a generous bosom,” she noted lightly.
The maids giggled again.
“Nellie, ye daenae have to go to such trouble,” Skye interjected gently. “This dress is beautiful as it is. I daenae want ye to stay up all night, sewing.”
“Nonsense! It will take me nay time at all!” Nellie shook her head.
Skye didn’t argue further, standing still as Nellie added a few more pins.
“There, that will do it!” Nellie announced shortly. “I’ve got several pins placed, so let me help ye get this off.”
Skye almost hated taking the dress off, but once she was undressed down to her shift, the younger maids jumped into action.
She was ushered to the dressing table, on which a pan of water and several curling rags sat.
Her hair was combed thoroughly and dampened slightly with the water, and then small sections of her hair were wrapped in the rags.
“I sure hope Arran doesnae see me like this!” Skye proclaimed, her head now looking more like that of Medusa.
Nellie laughed. “The curls will look beautiful on the morrow. Dinnae worry!”
Skye yawned loudly.
Nellie shook her head sympathetically, looked at her from head to toe, and seemed satisfied with their progress.
“Rest is what ye need, me Lady,” she said firmly. She gathered her basket and then the dress carefully. When she was at the door, she turned back to Skye. “I’ll tell the Laird that ye will be resting this evening, and I’ll send ye up a dinner tray.”
Skye nodded her head in agreement. It wasn’t long before a tray laden with cheese, bread, jam, dried meats, and a pitcher of barley water was delivered to her room.
She crawled into bed shortly after eating, but her mind wouldn’t let her sleep.
Can I do it? Can I marry Arran?
Again, she weighed her options. Marrying Arran seemed to be the answer to her problems, but one thought kept nagging at her.
What if the council still rules in Blackwell’s favor and he keeps the lands? Then, all of this will be for nothing. Will Arran throw me out then?
Over and over, a voice in the back of her head whispered that she was just a means to an end, a way to get what Arran wanted and nothing else. In her heart, she wanted love, not a marriage to settle a grievance.
The memory of their kiss seemed burned into her heart. The thought of it tumbled around and around in her mind, wearing the rough edges off her doubts. At last, she was too worn out to argue with herself any longer, and sleep claimed her.