Chapter 6
The day of reckoning had come. Struan entered the church, flanked by his friends.
Kai had managed to find an outfit that was both Struan’s size and in fashion.
Such miracles were typical of Kai, who possessed an uncanny ability to get his hands on virtually any item, which had led to his being appointed quartermaster at a shockingly young age.
The other men were also dressed in their best civilian clothes, Struan having rejected the offer of them wearing regimental colors. “I prefer to think of you as my friends, not my fellow survivors,” he told them.
Struan was all too aware that he had completely failed to meet his bride before the fateful day, and now he was profoundly regretting that lapse.
Calan had taken the initiative to send her flowers for the past four days, and told Struan he’d done so only this morning.
“I knew you were distracted,” he’d said kindly.
A few more people filtered in, most coming to greet Struan and his friends, even though they were strangers.
One man introduced himself as Nicholas Alpin, Elspeth’s uncle and McGregor’s brother-in-law.
He was joined by his wife, Rosalind, who was as unlike McGregor as it was possible for two siblings to be.
She was an apple crumble personified: humble, sweet, welcomed by nearly everyone. She even had round, apple-like cheeks.
“So you’ve swept our little Elspeth off her feet, have you? About time! I thought the poor lass would never esc…that is, leave her childhood home,” she said.
“Luckily we got Elspeth’s letter this week, reminding us of the wedding.
Can’t think how the original invitation never reached us,” Nicholas added.
While his wife seemed completely sincere, there was a questioning note in the man’s eyes.
Not hostility, just an awareness that something was strange about this situation.
“It was good of you to come,” Calan answered for Struan. “Don’t mind telling you that I was surprised when I heard too. But glad. MacInnes makes a miserable bachelor.”
Calan’s natural charm worked as it always did, and the uncomfortable issue of the wedding’s timing was passed by.
Then there was another flutter of activity at the church door.
The McGregors had arrived. The father, of course, was dressed as nattily as he had been when he met Struan in the gaming hell.
The wife was no less impressive, in a green ensemble that put Struan in mind of a fashionable dragon.
Two younger women wore light-colored gowns that would not have been out of place at a London wedding (he knew that the dark-haired one was Elspeth’s blood sister, Mairi, and the blonde one was her stepsister, Averill).
The dark-haired one spotted Struan and his friends immediately, and glared at all of them.
“Should we check that one for weapons?” Calan murmured.
“Why bother?” Duncan rumbled back. “Safe to say she’s armed to the teeth. Someone definitely doesn’t approve of this marriage.”
Struan ignored them, because he’d seen the third sister—his bride. He got only the slightest glimpse of her before the other women whisked her through to the parish house. But that was enough.
She looked completely different than she had when he’d spied on her doing the laundry with the servants.
Now Elspeth McGregor wore a pale yellow dress.
Like the gowns of the other women, it was high-waisted and loose below the waist. But he was uncomfortably aware of the young lady’s figure, especially the upper part, which was so carefully framed by the low neckline of the gown.
The color was not unlike watery sunshine coming through after a multiday rainstorm.
But the woman’s smile was anything but pale.
She practically beamed, a joyous expression that frankly unnerved Struan.
He was sure she hadn’t seen him.
Struan departed the semicircle of his friends, saying he wanted to speak alone to Elspeth’s father, which was true. But it was more that he didn’t want them to overhear.
McGregor looked smug when he saw Struan approaching. “Ah, the bridegroom in all his splendor!” he declared with obvious mockery. “I’m sure the bride will be speechless.”
Struan pulled her father aside. He hissed, “She doesn’t know the details of the arrangement, does she?”
“No. You were clear about that condition, and I happen to be in full agreement. Women are unreliable, and it’s foolish to tell them more than necessary. I explained that you admired her from afar and preferred to do things your way. You will forgive the slight exaggeration about admiring her.”
Actually Struan didn’t think it was an exaggeration, though he recognized the man’s meaning.
He said, “You don’t think she has any inkling at all?”
“Elspeth is an exceedingly simple soul,” her father said. “She believes what she’s told.”
“And you will never tell her the origins of this marriage arrangement. Even afterward.” Struan scowled at him. It was easy, because the more he spoke to McGregor, the more he despised the man.
“I will abide by your wishes,” her father assured him. “It’s not as if it matters anyway. Soon she’ll be at your home in the Highlands, and who will know the truth there, except yourself? I’ve not told anyone, and I’m here in Edinburgh. So the secret is as safe as it possibly can be.”
The argument was sound, so why did Struan have a sick feeling in his gut?
* * * *
They had dressed Elspeth in one of Averill’s older gowns for the wedding, after both Averill and her mother agreed that it would reflect poorly upon the family if Elspeth wore one of her own gowns, which could charitably be described as utilitarian.
Averill condescended to offer Elspeth the use of a dress that would be appropriate for something as important as a wedding ceremony.
It was wool, an acknowledgment of Scotland’s often chilly weather, even in months that were nominally warm.
But it was a finely woven fabric that took its daffodil-yellow dye well.
Further, it was delicately enhanced with white lace edging that highlighted the lines of the dress.
“It’s a little sweet for my taste now,” Averill said as she presented the dress to Elspeth a few days prior. “I don’t think I’ve worn it since before my trip to London, and I almost forgot I owned it!”
Thus Elspeth was outfitted extravagantly in her consideration, and the family proceeded to the church with plenty of time before the ceremony was to begin.
Elspeth wondered if her father was expecting something to go wrong.
Though what could go wrong with a plan when so little had been planned in the first place?
When they arrived at the church, her stepmother whisked Elspeth off to a side room in the parish house, and then kept her there so that she could make a suitably grand entrance at the right moment.
Elspeth thought she was ready to get married when she left the house, but there were several more steps.
She was fussed over to a degree never before experienced.
Mairi assured Elspeth that guests were arriving and taking their seats in the pews, and that the bridegroom’s guests were there as well.
Though small in number, they were evidently impressive in appearance.
Averill kept peeking out from the end of the hallway, where she could occasionally catch a glimpse of one of them walking by every few moments or so.
“They are all remarkably good-looking,” Averill reported without offering any useful details whatsoever.
“Well then,” Mairi said, rolling her eyes. “Why not walk out and welcome them? Perhaps that’s all it will take for one of them to start courting you. You’re not much use flitting around here like a drunk butterfly.”
“Oh, goodness, that would never do. I have a list of potential suitors and I doubt any of them are on it. I expect they’re all fresh from the war. I’m not going to marry a sometime soldier.”
Elspeth’s stepmother, who had been adjusting the bow around the waist of the gown, now gave Averill a stern look. “Hush. In fact, come with me for a moment. I have something to say to you.” Susan McGregor’s ire toward her daughter was unusual, and it added to Elspeth’s disquiet.
Then it was just her and Mairi.
In a low voice, Elspeth said, “I’m sorry I’m abandoning you to deal with Averill alone.”
“I will endure,” Mairi replied. “Or I’ll kill her. One or the other.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Maybe she’ll go back to visit her relatives in England, like she did last year.”
“Ach, that was a beautiful time, wasn’t it?” Mairi said. “The house so was calm and quiet, and we didn’t have to listen to Her Spoilt Majesty. Granted, after she came back, she would not shut up about the glories of London, which was almost as bad.”
“Thanks to her reports, I think I could find every city landmark without a map,” Elspeth agreed.
“The splendor of the Serpentine! The exquisite shops of Bond Street! The evenings at Covent Garden, when the glow from the lanterns among the trees is nothing less than otherworldly. Ugh!”
Elspeth laughed, for she could hear Averill saying exactly that phrase in her dreamiest tone (and a disdainful expression for certain young ladies who didn’t ever visit London).
“I’m glad they left,” said Mairi. “This is a good moment.”
Her sister pulled out a small velvet pouch from somewhere beneath her gown.
Mairi believed that reticules were ridiculous and all ladies’ wear should have pockets.
She’d slashed all her dresses and sewn in a pocket, regardless of how the resulting weight “ruined” the drape of the fabric (according to Averill).
“You’d never get away with such a look in London,” Averill had declared when she’d first noticed.
“Do I look as if I care what the fashions are in London?” Mairi had snapped back.
This exchange had been repeated several times in subsequent months, with no change in either party’s view, as is often the case.