Chapter 43
GARRAIDH CASTLE, ISLE OF SKYE, SEAT OF THE MACLEAN CLAN
Slade’s heart squeezed as if gripped by an iron fist. Slade and I are getting married, she’d said just days earlier.
He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
But he could fail her like he’d done Sylvia, and she could die and leave him, broken, destroyed, and praying for death.
That tended to happen to the women he loved.
He had loved his mother. Even though he was very young when she died, she had been his world.
He’d barely survived Sylvia’s death. Fifi’s death would kill him.
It would drain the light from this world, burn the heavens to ashes and leave his soul in eternal hell.
He blinked at the gray light outside a northwest-facing window of the fourth-floor solar breathing through the tightness in his chest. The silvery-blue waters of Garraidh Loch outside the window crashed onto barley colored sand.
But he couldn’t afford this fear of failure.
“I want you to take a wife and settle down,” his father had said to him in the library that same day before he and Peter had gone into Broadford and ran into Fifi and Faye Ross.
His father had explained. “Tara had a riding accident. She can no longer bear children. When Sadie comes of age and takes a husband, she will lose her movable goods through her husband’s rights of jus mariti.
She’ll retain ownership of MacLean’s vast estate, but her management will be limited by law,” Chisolm had said.
So, Slade’s father was putting the MacLean’s estate in a trust for Sadie, to be managed first by Lachlan, second by Slade, and third by Slade’s male heirs.
Slade would do anything for Fifi. And he would do anything for his father and Sadie, and so, fear of failure wasn’t an option.
The deed had been done, this very day, three days after Fifi had said Slade and I are getting married, and two days after he and Fifi had handfasted.
He’d wanted his friend and clergyman Raghnall here, but because of old losses and animosities, his father had chosen the local minister most used by the MacLeans.
A knock sounded at the solar door breaking into Slade’s thoughts.
He pushed away from the windowsill and strolled to the door, pulling it open.
Light fluttered in from the lamps in the corridor.
The faint noise of revelry and bagpipes filtered up from the lower floors of the south wing of the castle where lingering wedding banquet guests remained.
The MacLeans’ cook Iona stood outside the door. She was a heavyset woman in her fifties. Her round cheeks looked flushed, no doubt from being one of the busiest people of the day.
“What are ye doing here alone in the dark?” she asked.
Slade grinned at her when a warm cinnamon scent rose up from the covered tray she held. “I was waiting for this,” Slade said.
Her smile was crooked. “Ye’ll be telling me ye need plum pudding to seduce your new bride? What about using that handsome face the good Lord gave ye?”
He took the tray from her. “Well, I prefer to be fully armed with all available artillery tonight.”
She threw back her head, a hearty melodious laugh escaped her mouth. “Ye better get a move on. Your guests will come knocking soon to inquire about you bedding the bride.”
As Iona turned around and headed down the corridor, Slade made out three familiar silhouettes ascending the stairs, heading in his direction.
The burly outline of Egan at the back of the three was easy to spot.
Slade placed the tray on a nearby sideboard, turning to the trio.
Egan’s attitude towards him had been chilly at best since the Black Hog’s.
Next to him was the lean outline of Daegan MacDonell, his second favorite foster brother.
The three of them had been inseparable during their training days with Angus MacDonell, until Slade had joined the army and left the Highlands.
Leading the three in his direction was Peter, who tilted his head towards Slade. “I was told Scots regard the groom’s bedding of the bride with importance. Can I be of assistance, Colonel?” Peter said.
Slade cocked his head towards his friend. “The day I need help from you to bed my new wife, I expect there’ll be snowflakes flurrying in hell,” Slade said.
Daegan, who stood behind Peter, guffawed. “I believe Peter here was referring to guard duty. Nonetheless, it appears you are standing at the wrong door. Why don’t we provide you with a safe escort to the door of the marriage bedchamber?” Deagan said, with a wink.
Slade regarded Daegan with mild amusement. “I am capable of finding it all on my own.”
Egan, standing next to Daegan, narrowed his eyes at Slade. “We’ll still be escorting you to make sure you don’t get lost on the way,” Egan said, in a hard tone.
Egan still hadn’t fully forgiven him for the scandal that injured Fifi’s reputation. The Dunbars had all but branded Fifi fast and loose when gossip of her kiss with Slade had been cast about. The rumors had turned to ashes thankfully when word of their wedding had started spreading three days ago.
“How long are you going to hold that one indiscretion against me?” Slade asked Egan.
Egan harrumphed, folding his massive arms glaring at Slade.
Daegan threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t know what happened at the Black Hog’s, but you two need to bury the poleaxe, preferably not in each other’s backs, and move on. This strife betwixt you is starting to give me gray hairs, and I am far too young and attractive to have them.”
Peter chuckled while a smirk broke out on Egan’s face.
Slade sensed an opening and extended his arm in a friendly gesture towards Egan, the proverbial burying of the poleax.
Egan’s jaw muscles worked for a split second before he accepted Slade’s hand.
“You did the honorable thing in the end. I can’t remain angry at you.
We are brothers now by marriage, after all,” Egan said, yanking Slade towards him for a slap back hearty hug.
The gesture was warm, and brimmed with brotherly affection.
After Egan released Slade, Peter cleared what suspiciously sounded like emotion from his throat. “It may not seem like it, but we are clogging up your door on your wedding night for a sound reason.”
“And the reason is?” Slade asked, picking up the tray he’d set aside.
Peter’s expression turned earnest. “Your brother is deep in his cups and is telling everyone he intends to put the newlywed couple together in the marital bed in front of numerous witnesses as the bedding ceremony tradition dictates. We came to warn you.”
Slade’s shoulders stiffened, and he pressed his lips together. That was just the gauche type of behavior he’d expect from his brother. As it stood, Phoebe was already skittish. He didn’t want anything else to frighten her.
His entire wedding flashed by in a murky medley of images.
The tremor in Fifi’s hands as they’d signed the marriage contract this morning.
Her nervous coughs during the reading of their vows, as if she’d been short of breath.
The flash of panic in her eyes as they’d parted an hour ago, for her to go and prepare for the bedding ceremony.
Was she afraid of the marriage bed? Or of him?
Daegan made a rather overdone chivalrous bow. “I humbly offer my services as guard for the night to keep your brother and other guests away from the marriage bedchamber,” Daegan said.
“And I’ll be guarding too,” Egan said to Slade. “While I know you’ll be a good husband and protector for Phoebe, I don’t want anyone upsetting my little sister.”
Slade refrained from telling Egan that Fifi was anything but defenseless. Egan clearly had no clue his sister was more capable than most women, certainly more capable than any women he himself had ever met.
“I’ll join the watch too, Colonel,” Peter said, in an amiable tone.
The rigidness in Slade’s shoulders eased. He took in each of the men standing in front of him as warmth permeated his chest. “Well gentlemen, I accept your offer, and moreover I thank you for the magnanimous gesture. Now let me not keep my bride waiting any longer.”
Slade left his three sentinels heading down the stairs to guard the entrance to the floor from below. He then made his way down the hall to the wedding chamber and knocked. The door cracked open, and Lucia popped her head out, bouncing curls framed her beaming face.
“Oh, Colonel, it’s you. Breena and I were preparing your bride, but as you are now here, we’ll leave.”
She looked back, motioned to someone, then slipped out of the chamber past him, followed by her maid Martha. Breena, Egan’s betrothed, followed them, her countenance pleasant but her gaze on Slade watchful as if trying to determine what sort of man he was.
Slade entered the lofty wedding chamber. Still holding the tray with one hand, he closed the door with the other. He turned around and his eyes landed on Fifi. His pulse hammered, and his desire flared. Good God, he was a fortunate man.
Instead of the modest, creamy silk taffeta wedding gown she been adorned in earlier, she now wore a plush, forest-green velvet dressing gown tied at the waist, accentuating its tiny circumference compared to the shapely swells of her breasts and the luscious curve of her hips.
His mouth watered and his nethers stiffened.
He leveled his eyes with hers. “I brought you a present,” he said, indicating the tray in his hand.
Her auburn hair was brushed to a shimmering satin gleam, falling down her upper body in glorious fiery ringlets. He couldn’t wait to sink his fingers into its rich thick silkiness, to touch her, and draw her mouth to his.