Chapter Seven #4
Wilkie turned to Kade. Kade held out his hand for a handshake, but Wilkie grabbed his brother in a bear hug, cursing and disengaging with a flinch when one of Kade’s blades poked his muscular bicep.
They both laughed as Wilkie rubbed his arm.
“Once you’re settled at Glenlochie, we’ll expect you and your new wife without too much delay. ”
Wilkie Mackenzie’s eyes turned to me, and he contemplated my face, my hair, my dress.
It was the closest I had been to him and I could see now more than ever before why he was legendary for his looks.
His eyes were an almost royal blue, darker in the middle and lightening at the edges.
His features, if studied individually, were perhaps overly bold, but when placed together presented a perfect configuration, a symmetry.
He resembled his younger brother strongly but there was an ease to him that Kade lacked.
Where Wilkie’s inner glow conveyed reassurance and strength, Kade’s relayed volatility.
It was a volatility, however, I could reflect in the light of all that had so far happened, that intimidated me less than it had even one day ago.
Wilkie smiled lightly at my scrutiny and leaned to kiss my cheek.
“’Til soon, sister. Do not fear him. He’s bullheaded as a mule, but I think you’ll tame him easily enough. His bark is worse than his bite.”
At this, Roses, who stood next to Wilkie, linked her arm through mine and gently led me from the men.
I followed willingly, although somewhat surprised by her closeness.
Her long white-blond hair was loose and strands of it brushed against my arm, as soft as feathers.
Her scent was of sunshine and youth, floral somehow, and earthbound.
“I hope you don’t mind if I speak with you,” she said.
Her speech was inflected with the lightest hint of an accent I could not place, with rounded vowels that caught the ear.
Her voice conveyed a strength, I thought, that belied her slender, small shape and the fairness of her hair.
And I knew her story, as an outcast—a servant—swept into the arms of a most coveted, handsome nobleman.
I couldn’t help feeling a touch of admiration for her.
To elevate herself through such a vast social divide, from the kitchens of the Ogilvie keep to the private chambers of Wilkie Mackenzie, even before he knew of her bloodline, was inspiring indeed.
To undertake such a journey—both social and geographical—on her own and with such apparent poise and honesty, and to admit her very humble origins: it stirred something in me.
Awe, maybe. Or a yearning to possess courage of that kind.
I thought she deserved her good fortune.
“Of course not,” I said, and she smiled.
“I do not know him well, your husband. Yet I see the way you look at him, if you’ll forgive me. And I know your marriage was arranged by your father.” She paused, as though awaiting a confirmation of sorts.
I gave it. “Aye.”
“I wanted to tell you that I was very afraid of him at first. His first impression is one of danger, and he does little to assure one otherwise.”
Again she paused. I agreed, wondering where she was going with this.
“Yet I have never had anything but kindness from him. He is thoughtful, and honorable, as all the Mackenzies are. I’ve seen him with his family. He is trusted, and adored, and he gives love as much as he receives it.”
I looked at her, struck by her beauty. Her hair caught the sun and glowed white. Her eyes reflected the shade of the grass.
“I’ve never had a sister before,” she said, somewhat shyly. “I know you have many. But I hope you’ll think of me as such. We’re so looking forward to visits from you, and Wilkie plans for us to visit you as well in the coming months.”
I appreciated her kind words. “I would enjoy that very much, Roses. I wish you all the best with your new life at Ossian Lochs with Wilkie. I know you’ll have every success.”
Unexpectedly, she hugged me to her, holding me close. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Roses,” called Wilkie. “’Tis time.”
We drew apart, and we walked back to where the men were congregated. Roses smiled and waved as Wilkie helped her into the largest carriage.
“You might see us sooner than you think,” Kade said to Wilkie. “If Campbell’s rebellion reignites as it threatens to.”
Wilkie’s half smile was laced with the confidence of a warrior who knew his own strength. “Unlikely,” he said.
“Be well, brother,” Laird Mackenzie called after him as Wilkie climbed into the carriage after Roses, “and send your messengers at the first sign of trouble.”
We watched their carriages grow smaller for a time, the prance of the horses, the clouds of dust that rose then settled in the midday sun.
Kade stood next to Laird Mackenzie some distance from me.
And as I contemplated my husband, I saw for the first time not only a fierce, brawny warrior but a man who might be capable of sadness, of kindness and, most of all, of love.