Chapter 15
If the ceremony at the kirk was overwhelming, the cèilidh was something else entirely.
The grand hall, normally lined with tables and benches for dining, had been entirely transformed.
There was an open space in the center with a band playing songs that were foreign to Margaret’s ears where the head table normally sat.
As Ryan led her into the hall, she observed the tapestries hanging from the wall and the gaiety emanating from the maids as they rushed around. Already, there was a crowd amassed. Apparently, these were the people who had been unable to snag a place in the kirk for the handfasting ceremony.
Along with the music, a host of savory smells tickled her nose.
Along the wall furthest away from them, there were tables upon tables of food that she was sure she’d never seen before.
While she’d been given a variety of new things at mealtimes since arriving, it seemed there were more Scottish delicacies that she had yet to sample.
“Are ye there, Me Lady?” Ryan asked, leaning in close. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide.
“I am,” she confirmed, torn between stepping in closer to his side for comfort and pushing away so she had space to breathe. “This is just…”
“Aye, I imagine ye daenae celebrate like this in England,” he said, surprising Margaret with the understanding in his words. “We should get somethin’ to eat.”
Without giving her a chance to say no, Ryan led her to the other side of the room. Then, he let go of her hand and passed her a plate. Under his breath, he said, “Get whatever ye want, aye?”
Margaret nodded, taking in everything. There were smoked fish, something she thought was called Arbroath Smokie, and Scotch pies.
She glanced further down, recognizing a platter of haggis but not the pastries resting next to it.
When she looked back at Ryan to ask for his opinion, he was speaking with Colby.
That’s all right. I don’t need him to pick out what I eat.
Selecting her meal wasn’t the issue though. She was overwhelmed by more than just the choices laid out in front of her. Not only that, despite being surrounded by people with more coming into the great hall by the second, she felt lonely.
All her life, when she imagined her wedding day, she’d always thought her family would be there. The traditions didn’t matter to her, but their presence did. If it weren’t for Duke Cunningham, she would have invited them, regardless of the way her aunt and uncle would have reacted to her husband.
If she didn’t fear Cunningham intercepting an invitation and finding her or worse, going after her family as they traveled to attend her wedding, they’d be here. Unfortunately, though, that was a risk she couldn’t take. So, she was married without her family’s support.
Everything was so unfamiliar—the music, the food, the people. For the first time since she arrived here, true panic took hold of her. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe, and her hands shook so hard, she was worried she’d drop the plate in her hands.
As her vision started to become speckled, Ryan’s body pressed against hers. She looked up at him, unable to speak or explain what was going through her mind. That wasn’t an issue though. There was another flash of understanding in his eyes before he turned to Colby.
“I’ll talk with ye in a bit,” he said to his friend, clapping his hand over his shoulder. “I’ve got to teach me Sassenach about proper food.”
“Ach, she’ll love it,” Colby said with a grin. Then, his gaze flicked from Margaret to Ryan. “Congratulations to ye both. Enjoy yer celebration.”
Ryan gave Colby a nod before taking Margaret’s plate from her hands. He moved steadily down the table, picking food out for her. She followed along, surprised that he had taken everything into his own hands. And when he finished serving her, he quickly made a plate for himself.
“Come now, let’s sit and eat,” he said, guiding her to a table that was clearly set aside for the two of them. “Ye look like ye could collapse at any moment.”
“I’m fine,” Margaret said, and now, it wasn’t a lie. With his simple show of care, she was feeling steadier.
“Aye, ye say that, but ye daenae look it,” he countered, pulling out a seat for her.
As she lowered herself to the seat, Margaret poked his side and said, “Well, perhaps I’m just hungry.”
“Normally I’d tell ye to keep yer hands to yerself,” he said, catching her wrist as she moved to jab him again, “but now that we’re married, ye can touch me as much as ye like.”
“I… Ryan!” she sputtered, her face flushing.
“Ye should eat, Margaret,” he said, smirking at her as he picked up a fork and scooped up some of the chopped potatoes from her plate.
She glared down at the utensil before reluctantly opening her mouth and allowing him to feed her. As the flavors burst on her tongue, she made a satisfied sound. Ryan watched her, seeming satisfied with himself.
“That’s delicious,” Margaret said, surprised that such a simple-looking dish could taste so good. “What is it?”
“Stovies,” he said, already scooping up another portion for her to try.
“I—” she began, getting cut off when he shoved the fork between her open lips. She glared at him but chewed, savoring the richness of the meat. When she swallowed, she asked, “And what was that?”
“Mutton,” he said. Then, he paused and asked, “What were ye about to say?”
“I just wanted to thank you,” she said as a blush overtook her. “Though I might take it back now that you’ve decided to behave as though you were an animal.”
“I wasnae aware that feedin’ me wife made me an animal,” Ryan told her with a smirk.
“It does when you catch me unaware,” Margaret huffed.
“Ach, so prim and proper,” he scoffed, passing her the fork. “Ye pick yer next bite, then.”
“Gladly,” she said, scooping up something at random.
As she ate, Ryan took his time to name each dish.
There wasn’t a single thing on her plate that wasn’t delicious.
She was surprised, truthfully. She was certain that he’d pick out something that was an acquired taste simply to see her squirm.
Instead, he’d piled her plate high with the best that Scotland had to offer.
“Ye’ll want to save some space in yer stomach for dessert,” Ryan warned when he finished explaining how haggis was made. “Me cook’s—well, our cook’s now—scones are the best in the Highlands.”
Right. Everything here is ours now. What an odd feeling.
“I’m not sure how I’ll stop myself from eating,” Margaret admitted, smiling down at her plate.
“Well, now that yer the Lady of Castle McGhee, ye can ask for whatever ye like,” he said. “So ye daenae have to stuff yerself at the moment.”
“I suppose you have a point,” she conceded. Then, because she did still want to get to know him despite what she’d witnessed the day before, she asked, “So which dish is your favorite? What do you bother your kitchen staff for?”
When Ryan laughed at her teasing, Margaret couldn’t help but sit up a little straighter, proud of herself for pulling this reaction out of him. She wondered if perhaps her sense of humor just wasn’t meant for the English. She didn’t seem to have a problem making the people of the Highlands laugh.
“Ach, me cook gets tired of me askin’ for neeps, but I love them,” Ryan said, spearing the perfectly cooked turnips on his plate and taking a bite to prove his point. After he swallowed his mouthful, he said, “I cannae get enough of them.”
“Really?” Margaret asked, taking a forkful from her own plate and examining it.
“Is that so surprisin’?”
“Well,” she murmured, tapping her finger against the silverware thoughtfully, “I suppose I was expecting you to tell me your favorite food was a meat-based dish.”
Margaret frowned as Ryan barked out a laugh. She was aware of the way it drew attention to the two of them although she supposed that this cèilidh was in celebration of their union. Perhaps the eyes of all those in attendance were already on her and the Laird.
“Well, nay matter how much ye believe me to resemble a beast, I have more sophisticated tastes than one,” he teased, giving her a true smile.
“I suppose you’re full of surprises,” Margaret said, ducking her head as she blushed at the reminder that she’d called him a beast more than once.
“I’m lookin’ forward to continuin’ to surprise ye.”
After the two finished their meals, and Margaret ate more scones than Ryan thought her tiny body was capable of holding, they remained at their table. The cèilidh was picking up. All the guests had arrived and were flocking to the center of the great hall to dance.
A steady trickle of people had come to their table to offer their well-wishes before shifting to participate in the festivities. Margaret surprised Ryan by enthusiastically engaging with each person who greeted them. It seemed that she fed off the energy.
“The ceremony was beautiful,” Agnes said, gripping onto Margaret’s hand. The seamstress was their most recent visitor, and Margaret was ecstatic to see her. “And ye make this dress look as if it were made for royalty.”
“Thank you,” Margaret said. “But I can’t take credit for the beauty of this dress. This is all your handiwork.”
“I’m just happy I was able to get it finished for ye in time,” Agnes said. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the music changed to something more upbeat. “Ach, I’ve got to get back out there. Ye should join the dancin’, Me Lady.”
With that, she gave Margaret’s hand a squeeze and hurried back to the crowd. Ryan watched the way that his wife’s eyes followed the seamstress. There was still a ghost of a smile on her face, but there was a tinge of longing there.
He surveyed the room, attempting to pinpoint the reason for that expression. There wasn’t anything odd or out of place. Though after a few minutes, Ryan realized the reason Margaret seemed so distraught.
She wants to dance, but she willnae tell me. She must think I wouldnae like to. While she’s nae wrong…
Abruptly, he stood. Her head whipped toward him, giving him a quizzical expression. Then, when he offered her his hand, she took it hesitantly.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he pulled her toward the center of the floor.
The guests moved to accommodate them, smiles on their faces when they realized the couple would be joining them.
Ryan spun Margaret toward him, keeping hold of one of her hands as he rested his other on her waist. She hesitantly grabbed onto his shoulder, her head cocked to the side as she awaited his response.
“I’m dancin’ with me wife,” he said as he began to guide the two of them in time with the music.
“But why?” she asked, letting herself be swung around.
“Ye wanted to dance, did ye nae?” he said simply. “I’m keepin’ me wife happy.”
Margaret flushed a gorgeous pink, and that was all the answer he needed. So, he led her through each dance step he’d ever learned. Starting with the easiest of them, he increased the difficulty steadily until they were given a wide berth by everyone in attendance.
At first, she was a bit stiff. It was almost as if she didn’t want to lose herself in the music that surrounded them. But slowly, her body relaxed. She picked up on the steps, and a genuine smile graced her features.
I want to keep her smilin’ like that. She’s truly the bonniest thing I’ve ever seen. I cannae remember the last time I enjoyed dancin’ with a lass like this.
“Are ye havin’ fun?” Ryan asked as he spun her closer to him.
Their chests were pressed together. He could feel the pull of each breath she took. In the light that surrounded them, Ryan could see the way her eyes flashed with joy.
“I am,” she replied, grinning openly. “This is much more fun than any ball I’ve attended.”
“We ken how to celebrate here in Scotland,” he said, carrying her across the floor in big, sweeping steps. “And ye’re a natural on the dance floor. Did ye dance back in England?”
“I did,” she confirmed, giggling as they nearly collided with another couple. “My cousin and I would dance often. Even if we didn’t have music, we’d practice for the next ball we’d be attending together.”
“It seems yer practice was worth it,” Ryan noted.
“I’ve missed dancing these past few days,” Margaret said after a moment, her voice low as if she were telling him a secret.
Ryan hummed, letting go of her waist to twirl her around with one arm. A few strands of her hair came loose, mirroring the way her gown flared with the movement. When she completed the rotation, he pulled her close once again.
“Well, I cannae say that I enjoy dancin’ all that much,” he admitted, leaning in so his mouth was against her ear, “but I will dance for ye.”
“Ryan—” she said, breathless but not from the physical activity.
“But I have one condition,” he rasped, feeling her shiver in his hold. When she nodded, he continued, “Ye must promise ye’ll nae dance with anyone else again.”
“Why would I ever want to dance with anyone else, anyway?” she asked, smiling at him when he pulled away.
Aye, lass. Why would ye?