The Enchantress (30 page)

Surely, she was about to awaken.

Gilbert Ross paused, but Laura was too embarrassed to look up and meet the priest’s gaze. Just as she’d been too jittery to return the nods of approval of the well-wishers who had gathered outside the chapel.

What must they all be thinking? she wondered. Everyone must know the truth. They must know that she and William had spent the night in her chamber. Why else would no one even look surprised at the hastily arranged wedding?

No planning. No period of courting, asking, waiting. No discussions between family. No reading of the banns of marriage.

Not that she deserved any of it, considering the fact that she initiated everything last night. It was a scandal because she herself had created it. And then she had gone back to sleep, only to be caught totally off guard when Maire and Janet had come to her door. What must they have thought when she looked at them with total incomprehension as they spoke of getting her ready for the wedding ceremony?

What had he said last night about keeping her? He was going to keep her, he said. She had not even had a moment to think that his words had been an offer of marriage.

Laura absently stared at the bundled sprigs of dried rosemary she held in one hand and remembered the clumsy way she’d received the two women. Tongue-tied and graceless upon hearing the news.

And yet here she was. She was marrying William Ross. William Ross!

Another wave of shame reddened Laura’s face at the memory of how foolish she must have looked to the two women. The bedchamber had been in total disarray. Indeed, she had quickly covered herself by pulling on William’s old shirt. Even as they helped her bathe and dress, she could not quite grasp the reality of the moment.

Mortified by all these thoughts, she wrapped her trembling fingers tighter around the dried branches and focused on the flickering candle on the altar.

“‘Gilbert tells me they’re a sign of fidelity, lass.”

At the sound of his amused whisper, Laura glanced up and looked for the first time into the face of her future husband. Her pounding heart raced even faster at the sight of the rakish grin, the heavenly blue eyes watching her with such confidence.

The bundled sprigs of rosemary dropped from her hand, and she stared at it on the gray stone floor for a moment.

William leaned over and whispered again, a note of mock seriousness in his tone. “I hope you’re not trying to tell me something.”

Gilbert turned with a warning cough and a threatening scowl before continuing on. Laura scooped up the rosemary branches and glanced at William. He was smiling broadly at her.

A moment later, Laura ran a sweaty palm down over the wool of her skirt. Behind them, the congregation stirred restlessly in the little chapel, waiting in anticipation of the final exchange of vows. If she could only last that long herself.

She looked up in surprise when William’s hand reached out and entwined her fingers in his own. Laura let out a shaky breath and held onto him as if her life depended on his touch. Gilbert’s voice rose and fell in the measured cadences of the prayers.

“By his Shirt, this is the longest service I’ve ever heard.” There were lines of mischief dancing in the corners of his eyes. “He is punishing us.”

Gilbert frowned at the two and stepped down from the altar. He motioned for William and Laura turn and face each other.

Gazing up at her future husband, Laura held her breath. Ruggedly handsome, William Ross was dressed impeccably for the occasion. She stared at the white linen shirt hugging his broad chest, at the silver and gold broach of the ancient Ross clan, at the luxurious black and red of his tartan.

His head was high, and he was completely at ease, completely in command. He looked comfortable, confident in spite of the throng gathered around them and in the courtyard outside. Laura only wished she could be as unaffected by all the eyes that were upon them.

His thumb caressed the back of her hand, and she gazed up into his eyes. The provost was asking him to speak his vows.

Her heart pounded. Her spirit soared. Her life somehow became complete in that single instant as she watched him repeat each word without releasing her from his gaze. She realized that from now on, for Laura Percy, nothing else mattered, no one else existed, but the man standing before her.

And then it was her turn.

******

Sir Wyntoun MacLean, standing behind the groom, watched as the couple exchanged their vows. Beside him young Miriam, dressed in a deep blue dress, was beaming at the scene unfolding before the altar.

The knight focused his gaze on Laura Percy. Laura Percy Ross, he quickly corrected himself, for in a few short moments Nichola Percy’s second daughter would have a new name.

True, he’d failed in his original plan of taking the woman to gain the map to the Treasure of Tiberius. He had never had the opportunity, but then again, he’d never had a clear sense that she had possession of any map. One of his men had even searched her bedchamber, but the effort had proved fruitless.

Wyntoun glanced down at the couple’s joined hands, at the restrained happiness that showed so clearly in William’s expression. Despite his failures so far, though, the knight could not help but feel a certain satisfaction. He’d lent a helping hand to his old friend. He was watching William shake off the ghosts of his past.

He was pleased for the son of a bitch, but his own battle was far from over. In fact, this union made things a wee bit more difficult.

The provost spoke the last blessing. Wyntoun glanced over his shoulder and watched two of his men glide out of the chapel to where he knew fast horses waited to take them south.

The battle was far from over
, he repeated in his mind. His hand absently went to the gold brooch at his shoulder. He ran his fingers over the tiny, colored gemstones, the red hand clutching a blue cross.

He would still secure the treasure. He would not let his brothers down. After all, the Blade of Barra enjoyed nothing more than a fierce challenge.

*****

In his entire life he had never given marriage much thought. But once he’d made up his mind about Laura, the urgency to take her as his wife had come crashing down on him with the force of a river in spring.

Arriving in the chapel first, the laird had waited for some time for Laura to arrive. At first William had entertained notions that she’d decided not to go through with the marriage. Later, when she had appeared at the door of the chapel, he had seen her ivory skin become even paler at the sight of the clan folk jammed into the place. For a moment he’d thought she was about to faint.

But it had taken only a few hushed words. A touch. He had given her his strength and sought out hers. He had felt her assurance grow with every passing moment. She would survive this ordeal, he knew.

As Laura finished her vow, he heard Miriam sneeze behind him. Laura turned with concern to the little girl, though William had felt the same urge to sneeze from the incense. He squeezed Laura’s hands gently and drew her gaze up to his. She brightened again in an instant.

The tender trust that shone in those violet pools was his undoing every time. He felt the hammer strokes of his heart gaining momentum in his chest. As he looked at her, his body ached at the memory of all that they’d already shared. Tightening his hold on her hands, William fought off the confusing rush of emotions that tore at his own insides.

She already mattered too much to him. And her approval of him mattered more than he’d ever thought imaginable. But the nagging feelings--the truth about the past that he’d never shared with her. He had to tell her. He should have told her before now. Frankly, the thought of what her reaction would be scared the hell out of him.

Gilbert completed his final blessing, and the throng around them gave a loud cheer. William saw Laura's bewitching eyes round as she nervously clutched his hands.

Undeserving he might be, William thought, but they were now husband and wife.

He pulled her roughly into his arms in relief. She was his. His to keep.

Her head tilted back, and she looked into his face. He saw the tears glistening in the depths of her violet-blue eyes. He hoped desperately that they were tears of happiness.

“Mine to keep?” he asked huskily.

“Yours forever,” she whispered as he crushed his mouth down on hers.

He blocked out the cheers and the sounds of the piper outside the chapel. He ignored the congratulatory slaps on the back as well as the line of clan folk ready to wish them well. Instead, he focused only on the woman in his arms and tried to convey in a kiss all the emotions that he could not put into words.

Laura was shy, though--more hesitant than even the first time that he’d kissed her in that hut by Walter Sinclair’s castle.

He broke off the kiss, growling his complaint in her ear. “What have you done to my wild and passionate Laura?”

She gently slid her palms up against his chest. “So many are watching us.”

“Let them,” he growled again, taking her mouth in another searing kiss. This time she melted in his arms as his tongue delved inside. Probing, tasting, searching for assurance. He found it.

“Uncle!” The soft tug of Miriam’s hand on his kilt made William abruptly end the kiss. He looked from the blushing, dreamy-eyed woman in his arms down to the lassie standing expectantly at his side. As he reached down and scooped her up, Miriam gave a delighted giggle.

She pressed her forehead against William’s and stared into his eyes. “Thank you.”

Her words were a mere whisper, intended only for him to hear. But William felt the impact of it rock his body. Her look battered his heart and exploded the locks. With those two words she crept right inside.

“You’re welcome.” William hugged the child fiercely to his chest and swallowed the emotions that were knotting his throat.

An instant later, Miriam let go of his neck and turned to Laura. “May I call you aunt?”

There were tears glistening in her eyes as Laura looked from William’s face to Miriam’s. “You can call me whatever you wish, my love.” She opened her arms and the child went right to her--wrapping her arms and legs around the young bride.

“Enough of this hiding away of your wife.” Wyntoun’s heavy slap on his back brought William’s head around. “‘Tis time, you blackguard, to allow the rest of us forlorn bachelors at least a congratulatory kiss.”

“Considering the huge error in judgment she has made in marrying my brother, I’d say she could use a kiss of consolation far more.”

William glared threateningly at Gilbert. “Not a word, friar.”

“provost, Willie.”

The banter continued. The people of Ross clan, who were continuing to gather in the courtyard, crowded around them as the piper led them toward the Great Hall. Many of them jokingly wished Laura the best in taking charge of their unruly laird.

And William growled at them all, inwardly glowing with pride at the sight of his beautiful new wife. In his arms he carried his daughter. Around him the good will of his people manifested itself in a hundred festive signs of affection. He was a happy man, a man blessed with so much.

If only he could find a way to close the door on the ugliness of the past.

To Laura’s surprise, their noon dinner, though certainly festive, was not to be the main celebration of the laird’s wedding.

Soon after the meal, replete with toasts enough to float a king’s warship, the bride was escorted to her chamber by a bevy of women, where she was to rest and prepare herself for the evening’s banquet and revelry. Her new husband, on the other hand, mounted his great horse Dread and rode off with a party of men--including Sir Wyntoun MacLean--to attend to some clan business.

Laura tried not to appear perturbed at his departure, though it was amazing to her how quickly two men could restore a friendship that had seemed to be verging on violence. And just as Maire and Janet had been the ones to tell her of her own wedding plans, they were also left to explain to her about all the visits that the Ross laird had been making among the needy members of the clan.

Unable to remain in seclusion for very long, Laura had soon descended to the Great Hall, determined to help in the preparations that were going on, not only for the evening’s feast, but also for the upcoming Christmas Day celebrations. From all the talk, she soon ascertained that William Ross had reinstated a nearly forgotten tradition of inviting the entire clan to Blackfearn Castle for the Christmas dinner.

As Laura moved about, lending a hand whenever she was needed, it tickled her to see that the entire household was undertaking the tasks at hand with an air of cheerful cooperation. Indeed, the spirit of merriment was in the air. Even Chonny was grousing and fussing in the kitchens with a satisfaction he could barely conceal.

Around mid-afternoon, Laura realized she’d not seen Miriam for quite a while. Going in search of the little girl, she ran into the provost in the Great Hall. The priest was overseeing the carving of the Yule log before the open hearth.

“Mistress Laura. I was hoping to find you.”

Approaching her new brother in-law, Laura scanned the large room for Miriam.

“I’ve ordered several of William’s men to cut an oak sapling and bring it up to the courtyard. But as far as the location of it--where exactly it should be placed for the hanging of apples tomorrow night--I was hoping you’d give us some advice on the matter.”

Laura nodded politely, her eyes still seeking out the little girl among the good-sized crowd hanging boughs of holly and mistletoe around the Hall.

“Also, I was wondering if you would be kind enough to teach Chonny how to make wassail. I’ve laid a wager with Symon that you would know a wonderful recipe.”

“Of course,” she replied, nodding again absently.

She turned around in search of the child. In helping Maire, she’d been to practically every room in the castle. She knew Miriam was not in the kitchens, for she’d just left there. When she was in the upper floor of the east wing, she had looked out the windows into the courtyard and the training yard.