Chapter Eleven
Clenching her toes nervously in flat black slippers, Catriona could feel the hard silver coin tucked under her left instep. Lady Jean had given it to her for luck.
Luck. She almost laughed nervously, standing beside the Earl of Kildonan in her father’s kirk at Glenachan.
A handful of witnesses sat in the front pews, including Aunt Judith, Finlay, Lady Jean and Sir Harry, Mr. Fitzgibbon, and the Glenachan housekeeper and two maids.
The whitewashed interior of the church was dim, the evening light relieved only by the glow of candles.
A chill in the air and the sound of rain against the windows reminded her of the night that had brought about this sober little wedding.
She wore her best day dress of cobalt-blue silk, the bodice and skirt trimmed in bands of black ribbon. Wide sleeves spilled over creamy half-sleeves trimmed in black embroidery. Meant for teatime and visitors, the pretty gown would suffice for this.
Lady Jean had suggested arranging late yellow chrysanthemums from the garden inside the church, but Aunt Judith had insisted Catriona be married without flowers or even a veil in accordance with her sinful status.
Instead, she wore a little black bonnet with trailing black ribbons and carried a small Gaelic Bible that had belonged to her mother.
She felt she looked a somber, ordinary bride; even the exuberant waves of her red-gold hair had been subdued beneath a bonnet more appropriate to a funeral.
Certainly it marked the end of life as she knew it. Evan had tried to convince her a far better life lay ahead; she was unsure, though a thread of hope ran through uncertainty.
The dark little church, her father’s grim voice and the silence of others, the chill in the air and the steady patter of rain suited the plain and sober little wedding.
Yet as the brief ceremony continued, and though she avoided Evan’s gaze, she felt a fluttery excitement dance inside of her, striving to lift her spirits.
She had not expected to marry, so she tried to appreciate that at least, while her father’s solemn, sacred words washed over her.
It was not a love match, this hasty wedding, but good marriages made for other reasons could succeed. She reminded herself that her precious dream was coming true, though not in a way she could ever have imagined.
And her groom did not look like a man forced and resenting the moment.
He looked like a prince from a fairy tale, so handsome in his black coat and green-and-black kilt.
His dark hair waved over his brow and his hazel eyes were brilliant in the candlelit glow.
He was a beautiful man—there was no better word to describe him.
And here he stood, willing to marry the Plain Girl.
Then he met her glance and gave her a brief private smile, warm enough to reassure her for a moment. Throughout, he had been gracious about the union, while she held back doubts and secrets.
Reverend MacConn spoke the vows in Gaelic and then English, and gave the groom instructions in Gaelic. Frowning, Evan opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.
Heart pounding, Catriona waited, wondering if he did not understand the Gaelic—or if he had just changed his mind.
“I will,” he said then. Catriona breathed out in relief and repeated her own vows in turn. Then Evan took her gloved hands in his own.
Her father pronounced them man and wife, and a wave of dizziness sank through her, as if she could feel a ribbon of magic binding her to Evan.
She closed her eyes and could not shake the sense that she was caught in a dreamlike state where time moved slowly and the thud of her heart overtook all other sounds.
“It is done,” Evan murmured, and lifted her hand to kiss her fingers through the glove. A kiss sometimes shared was not allowed in her father’s kirk, she knew. And no public kissing would be tolerated here, not with her aunt sitting in judgment.
But the touch of his hand, and his quick formal kiss on her gloved fingers stirred her, heart and body and soul. Married. Another wave of disbelief went through her, and she clung to his hand as they walked toward the door, past their sober guests.
*
Sheer panic set in like a blast of cold wind. What had they done? Dear Lord. Married!
Heart pounding, Evan waited, giving no sign of the sudden doubt that assailed him, while he stepped into the rectory office to sign the registry book with Catriona.
But a breath, two breaths, helped steady him. Despite a moment of trepidation, he was sure this was a wise decision and a proper conclusion in the situation.
He waited as she wrote her name with a dipped feather pen. Catriona Elspeth MacConn. He had not known her second name. He knew very little about his bride.
His mother was Elspeth too, and he wondered what she would think of her new daughter-in-law. The dowager countess was on an extended holiday in Spain, unaware of what had happened in her son’s life. Earlier, he and Jeanie had posted letters that she might not receive for weeks to come.
He feared that the news would bring his mother back to Scotland like a whirlwind.
She had been eager for him to marry, and he hoped she would welcome Catriona as kindly as Jean had done.
But his mother, he knew, would have preferred a society girl.
He shrugged. What was done was done, and could not be undone.
He smiled at that thought, took up the pen, and signed his own name. George Evan Mackenzie. He hesitated, then added Earl of Kildonan, Viscount Glendevon. He sensed Catriona stiffen beside him as she watched him write out his titles.
The witnesses to their wedding stood watching in awkward silence inside the rectory office. Jean, eager to pretend her brother’s wedding was a joyous occasion, stepped forward to embrace the bride and give her a tearful, happy smile.
“Welcome to the family, Catriona,” she said. “Evan, congratulations, dear.” She kissed his cheek. “I wish you both happiness.”
“Aye, congratulations!” Harry said magnanimously, taking Evan’s hand and then Catriona’s briefly, as did Arthur in turn. Finlay embraced her, and Reverend MacConn gave her a dry peck on the cheek, while her aunt offered a stiff embrace. Seeing that, Evan felt surprised.
He took Catriona’s elbow to guide her to the door, feeling a sudden, tender sense of protection. He had wanted to extract her from family members who did not value her as they should, but for her brother. Now the deed was done.
Love was not part of a match born of guilt and gratitude. But the hope of it stirred in him. This night could lead to happiness eventually for both of them. It would take time, honesty, and respect between them—if he could regain her trust.
As they crossed the meadow to head back to the manse for a late supper before leaving for Kildonan, he regretted there was no bagpiper to herald them, no tossing of shoes, no singing or carousing filling the air.
His bride had no ring, no veil, no flowers, no dancing or music.
Weddings in the Free Kirk were not usually this dreary, he thought.
But Catriona deserved a fine celebration. And if anyone was meant to be Countess of Kildonan, surely it was this lass. No one could love Glen Shee more passionately than Catriona MacConn. No countess would serve its interests better.
He envied the bond she felt for the Highlands. As a boy, he had loved the Highlands deeply too, before he had been transplanted in the south. But the people of the glen might never trust him. And he was not sure his upcoming plans would improve that.
Soon he would have to tell Catriona about his decision to sell part of the land, rent out the castle, and leave the place, even though he would still be earl.
He also needed to tell her about the guests about to arrive at Kildonan Castle.
Some of them, he knew, were keen to discuss a potential purchase.
Married twenty minutes and already he had secrets.
*
Seated opposite Evan on the leather-covered bench seat of the closed carriage, Catriona tilted her head to better see the castle perched on a hill in a wash of moonlight. Though she had seen it countless times from a distance, she had never dreamed it would be her home one day.
With a quick glance at her new husband, who frowned at the same view, she wondered if his silence during their carriage ride to Kildonan meant he already regretted their hasty marriage. He seemed distant, pensive.
Certainly, she felt a bit stunned herself, as if this were a dream.
It was part nightmare too, given the unbending attitudes of her father and aunt.
Sighing, she looked at the rugged silhouettes of the mountains that rose steep and dark at one end of the long glen.
Just days before, she had walked that way and climbed higher than usual. Now her life would never be the same.
She could only hope she was ready for whatever fate would bring.
The silence in the carriage stretched on. She and Evan rode in her father’s borrowed carriage, while Lady Jean, Sir Harry, and Fitzgibbon had gone ahead to alert the castle staff that the earl would bring home a bride that evening.
She stole another look at Mackenzie—Kildonan, she corrected. As he watched the passing landscape, he looked no happier than she felt. Sudden tears stung her eyes, and she wiped her cheek with a gloved hand. He glanced at her.
“Madam?” he asked softly.
“Just tired,” she said. “So much has happened. Oh, look,” she added as the carriage rounded a curve in the road. “It is a grand place.”
Perched on a hillside above a lochan and backed by higher hills, the castle had a fairy-tale beauty. In the moonlit setting, its pale stone walls, turrets, conical caps, and candlelit windows made it look enchanted.
“An old place, and needs some upkeep, but it will do. Soon you will know every room and every nook in it, Lady Kildonan.”
She gave a little gasp. She was now a countess. She was not ready for that yet either.