Chapter Twenty-Eight #7
Alex is there to escort one more granddaughter to her betrothed.
Chrissa woke up and raced to the window, throwing the shutters back and hanging out the window.
Maryell mumbled, “Well?”
“’Twill be a most glorious day. Not a cloud in the blue sky. A perfect day for my wedding!” she declared, throwing her arms up over her head, as giddy as any lass on her wedding day. “I wonder what Drostan is doing.”
“Yelling at someone to let him sleep,” Merelda mumbled, her face hidden under the covers.
A knock sounded at the door and Chrissa giggled. “You’ll not sleep another minute, and you know it.”
Her mother entered with a tray of fruit and cheese.
“You have half an hour to eat,” she said, setting the tray down, “then Mama’s bathing chamber is yours.
We’ll get you dressed and then Aunt Avelina, Lise, and Liliana will weave the flowers in your hair.
” Her Ramsay aunt and cousins had a way with flowers, and everyone in both clans were always clamoring for them to fix their hair.
“My thanks, Mama.” She hurried over, hugged her mother, and said, “And now I’m glad we waited. Everyone is here and I’m so excited. Everyone!”
Her mother turned to leave before glancing back, eyes narrowed. “You’ll not be late for anything. Do you hear me?”
“Aye, Mama. You’ll see how perfect it will be. All of it.”
Perfect wasn’t exactly how it all went, but she did survive the day. Even through all of the following:
Two of the roasted pheasants burned and sent smoke traveling all through the keep.
Chrissa tripped on her dress and rolled down several stairs, though fortunately she didn’t break any bones.
There were so many tents and banners outside that all her cousins had to go out and have everyone move for the ceremony.
It rained late in the morn, soaking everyone.
Two trays of fruit tarts went flying through the air when Maeve screamed upon seeing Daniel and Constance and all their bairns come inside, just because she’d always loved Daniel.
Daniel, always the talented one, caught two tarts flying through the air with his one hand.
The dogs all ate well between the pheasants and the fruit tarts.
But they laughed through it all, and after the rain stopped, tables dressed in ribbons and flowers were arranged in the courtyard and in the hall.
They’d invited so many that the set up overtook the entire archery field and the lists, where there was no parrying allowed.
Her procession was to start out near the lists and would end at the chapel in the courtyard.
Chrissa started out so far away that many would miss the beginning, but with the rolling hills, they’d see her once she reached the meadow.
And so it began.
Chrissa, mounted on a white horse, was led down a path lined with Grant warriors by her wee cousins, Grant bairns bedecked in their feast day finery.
The bairns led her to the base of a hill, where her grandsire and parents waited on horseback.
The plan was for them to climb the hill until they reached the meadow, then stand and wait, overlooking all of their guests, until the ceremony began.
The meadow was full of clanmates and others who came to watch from far and wide.
Menzies, Drummonds, Ramsays, Camerons, they were all there.
As soon as Chrissa reached the base of the hill where her parents awaited her, she nearly lost her composure.
One look at Alexander Grant in his fine leine almost brought her to tears.
He was such a handsome man. And her mother was absolutely beautiful in a dark red gown with a bodice made from the Grant plaid, her handsome father next to her.
Chrissa wore a white under gown with the red Grant plaid draped in folds and pleats over her. She wore her grandmother Maddie’s pearls, and a gold belt rested on her hips. Lise and Liliana had decorated her hair with flowers of red and gold.
“You are beautiful, lass,” Grandsire said. “Grandmama would be proud. The pearls are lovely.” He held his hand out and she took it, the two climbing to the pinnacle hand in hand on horseback, her mother and father riding on either side of them.
When they crested the peak, the crowd beneath them exploded in cheers and applause.
Here the wee bairns of the clan stepped back, making way for each of Alex Grant’s living children, who rode up the hill from the keep and stopped in front of Chrissa and her grandsire on horseback.
Jamie, Connor, Elizabeth, and Maeve looked splendid in their finery.
They led their horses in a bit of a show as they turned in unison and then led the procession while Chrissa’s siblings—Alick, Broc, and Paden—fell in behind their elders.
“Do you think Mama is watching, Papa?” her mother asked, her voice choked with emotion.
“Indeed I do, daughter. And Jake and Aline.”
They nearly reached the portcullis to deafening cheers, but she was surprised at what she saw. The chapel had been moved to a position a good distance in front of the gates at one end of the meadow.
In front of the chapel at the end of the meadow was her beloved. Drostan stood with Magnus, his mentor of sorts in the warrior camp, and the priest. Her husband looked so handsome she nearly cried over that.
Jamie and Connor stopped them just in front of the chapel, then turned awaiting someone.
All the onlookers had to step back to allow the newcomers to join them.
Chrissa and her sire were still at the rear of the procession, but they turned to watch the ceremony, and what a sight it was.
Two rows of Grant warriors in full dress joined them on Grandsire’s right side.
On the left, led by Logan and Gwyneth Ramsay, they were joined by Aunt Brenna, Torrian, Lachlan, and two rows of Ramsay warriors.
To the right of the Grant warriors came another group, Clan Cameron warriors led by Aedan and Jennie, all on horseback, and two more sets of warriors approached them on Logan’s left.
First the Menzies, with Avelina and Drew leading, and then Diana Drummond and Micheil Ramsay leading the Drummond warriors.
The last group to join them was led by Loki and Bella. Their warriors, also in Grant plaids, fell in on the other side of Clan Cameron.
Chrissa had no idea they were all to appear. She peeked up at her grandfather and whispered, “Grandpapa?”
“’Tis to let all in the land know that Clan Grant does not stand alone,” he said proudly, and she could swear his eyes were misting as he beheld the gathering.
“Nor do any of the others. The Ramsays, Camerons, Drummonds, Menzies, Grants. We all stand together. We’ll not be put asunder easily.
Stand fast, stand sure, and stand together. ”
Once the procession had finished, the horses moved back to allow the onlookers to move in closer.
Drostan placed his sword on the ground in front of Alex, Jamie, and Connor Grant. He gave each of them a nod before he came to her, his grin wider than his face, it seemed, and assisted her down. He whispered in her ear, “You are gorgeous. I’m so pleased our day is here.”
Chrissa stood next to her betrothed, soaking him in with her gaze simply because she loved his handsome profile and the many colors of his eyes. He squeezed her hand as the priest continued on in Gaelic.
How she adored this man. Even though there were probably thousands observing them, it felt as if it were just the two of them, the sun shining down on them. When the priest finally said the words, it seemed as though she’d missed the entire ceremony.
Drostan kissed her, his arms wrapping around her, and leaned her back to a bevy of hooting from the onlookers, but he ended it quickly and whispered, “Finally, we’ve both kept our promise.”
Epilogue
The most beloved scene for some, the most hated for others…
And yes, readers still tell me, but I love it.
Alexander Grant sat in front of the hearth and whistled, an ear-splitting noise that all the wee ones in the clan had learned to listen for a long time ago.
He smiled as they gathered around him. John considered himself too mature to sit for bedtime stories, but Alex noticed he never stepped too far away, lingering at a nearby table close enough to overhear whatever tale he told that eve, Coira nearby.
Dyna and Derric’s two daughters, Els and Joya’s daughter, Alick and Branwen’s two sons, and Alasdair and Emmalin’s two young sons sat waiting patiently for Seanair to begin the telling of this eve’s tale.
The new lassie was cradled to Branwen’s chest. Other bairns gathered round to participate in the wee ones’ favorite time of the eve.
Ailith came up to her great-grandfather and leaned on his knee, looking up at him with her odd insightfulness. “Seanair, do you cry? Why?”
Alex patted her head as he thought on the story he planned to tell in his mind, knowing some of the memories would rid him of the odd pricking of tears in his eyes. “Och, wee lassie, you imagine it. I’m not crying, just thinking hard about which tale I’ll tell.”
“The swordfight against Grandmama’s betrothed,” one of the ladies suggested.
“When Growley and Loki saved Gracie.”
“Nay, the battle to save Aunt Kyla,” another offered.
“I love the one where Aunt Jennie believed Uncle Aedan died. Such trickery!”
“When Maddie saved Claray.”
Loki sat in a chair not far away, a bairn in his lap, and nodded to Alex. “’Tis a night for the telling of the Battle of Largs, my laird.”
He glanced over at Loki, who was as much kin as if he’d been born a Grant. “I believe you are right. I’ll tell the tale of that battle. Then I’ll tell you one more tale about a fine lass who came to me long ago and will come again someday.”
The youngest bairns knew not what he spoke of, but he noticed his grandchildren moved closer as did all his nieces and nephews, his brother Brodie, his sister Jennie, and so many others.
As if they knew what he knew.
Out of nowhere, Dyna, Astra, and Chrissa joined the circle, their faces as rapt as if they were still bairns.
It was time.