Chapter 20
Rosalyn leaned forward, and Ursula whispered in her ear, “Nay, I’ve never seen a bride more beautiful than you.”
When Rosalyn raised a brow, the healer narrowed her eyes, but she still smiled through gritted teeth as she whispered, “Why would I lie? I have no reason to.”
After Rosalyn gave Ursula a sideways glance, the healer tsked and grabbed her hand. “I’ll let your groom do the convincing then,” she promised, leading her to the back of the procession.
Rosalyn drew in a shaky breath and held it for a moment hoping that might help settle her frayed nerves. She was grateful the white lace veil hid a lot of her face, and she managed to eke out a trembling smile but bit her lip to steady it.
No turning back, she told herself. And if her da was right by it, so was she.
Rosalyn imagined her father looking down on her now as she stood at the end of a long chain of Scottish royalty, hoping he was proud as the parade of sorts began to move toward Edinburgh Abbey. The king had insisted she be married in the grand church, saying his chapel would never be big enough for all the nobility he’d invited.
Rosalyn craned her neck to see around the person in front of her while the Garter knights started the procession up the steps, moving through the abbey doorway. The ripple of movement made its way finally to Ursula, who stood by her side looking as nervous as Rosalyn felt.
The healer must have sensed Rosalyn’s fear, because she gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Here we go,” she whispered.
“No turning back,” Rosalyn said as she walked more briskly now.
When Rosalyn finally reached the abbey’s grand entrance and entered the holy nave, her heart thundered in her chest. But before her fears totally consumed her, the vision of her betrothed standing next to the bishop gave her the courage she needed to proceed.
Rosalyn barely noticed the little girls giggling behind her while they readied her gown, for standing at the end of a long white runner dusted with red rose petals was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
She filled her lungs with one deep inhale, then released the air slowly as she closed her eyes, holding an image of Lachlan that made her soul sing.
Wanting to confirm she hadn’t gone mad, she popped open her eyes again. As she gazed at her betrothed, his steady, charming smile made her believe, at least for now, he was willing to marry her.
Lachlan was dressed in the finest red and gold brocade the Scottish kingdom could provide. His dark beard and mustache were trimmed to architectural perfection. His broad, muscled shoulders framed his masculine waist. Partly veiled by the embroidered gold and red cape he wore, his bare, tanned arms teased her.
Had the king adopted him as his own? For Lachlan looked more royal than His Majesty.
When the king finally reached her side, his eyes crinkled with a smile, and Ursula hooked Rosalyn’s arm on his.
Gasps of adulation rose from the pews as they walked slowly down the aisle. Rosalyn kept her gaze locked with Lachlan’s, as if he was providing the compass to keep her straight on the narrow runner. Once they reached the altar, Rosalyn’s hands were placed into Lachlan’s. Then the bishop wound a silky, golden-tasseled cord around their wrists. Around and around the cord went until it couldn’t go another time.
For a moment, it reminded her of when they were first bound together in the dungeon. She shivered, happy that this union was different, one she hoped would grant all her wishes.
After the handfasting knot was secure, the bishop came in front of them and tossed her a wink. Then he placed his hands on top of theirs before speaking.
“This cord represents the marital bond. It is strong enough to hold you together during times of struggle, yet flexible to allow for you each to grow. As your hands are now bound together, so shall your lives be bound as one. These are the hands of your best friend, holding yours on your wedding day as you promised to love each other today, tomorrow and forever.”
The bishop paused for a moment, and Rosalyn considered the weight of his words. Forever. She was thinking perhaps a year. Could she make a promise before God to bind herself to Lachlan forever? She had been gazing into his eyes at the same time the bishop was speaking and now she closed them for a fleeting moment. But while her conscience was making noise, the bishop’s voice drown it out with his words.
“These are the hands that will work alongside yours as you build your future together. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, comfort you like no other. These are the hands that will hold you when fear and grief fill your mind. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes, tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children, the hands that will join your family as one.”
Children with Lachlan? No, she’d already had his promise of a celibate marriage. They wouldn’t have children. Her gaze moved to Lachlan. He was watching her with such tenderness it took her breath away.
As the bishop began to untie the ropes, he said, “And lastly, these are the hands that even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch. Let us pray.”
Rosalyn bowed her head and started her own prayer with God, asking for His forgiveness if she made promises today she couldn’t keep.
When they both finished, the bishop gestured to Rosalyn that it was her turn to speak. He’d helped her pen the vows she would now pledge to Lachlan.
She cleared her throat and gazed directly into his eyes. “You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you my name, Macpherson, which is mine to give.
“You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require. That is my wedding vow to you.” When she finished, she nodded to Lachlan.
He squeezed her hands when he began. “I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care. To tell no strangers our grievances and take your name, Macpherson, and carry it with honor.” His eyes held hers as he finished the last verse. “This is my wedding vow to you.”
Bishop Passarelli moved to stand between them, taking the closest of each of their unbound hands and held them high.
“A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but the two who can stand back to back, will conquer.” Then he turned to Lachlan and released their hands. “You may now kiss your bride.”
When Lachlan lifted her veil, she couldn’t help but beam with happiness. Somehow, at least at this moment, her fears vanished. They were replaced by a sense of promise his pledge and loving attention could bring to their marriage. He raised her chin, and her damp eyes locked with his.
“You are beautiful, Wife,” he whispered before claiming her lips with a gentle kiss. Not one she’d recognize from any of the other times he’d kissed her.
Applause broke out through the abbey and cheers of huzzah rose about them. Lachlan’s arm circled her waist and he drew her even tighter. To the amusement of the crowd, the kiss continued while the bishop said his final words.
“May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward. May the road rise to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back. May the warm rays of the sun fall upon your home. And may the hands of a friend always be near. And finally, may the heart that loves you be true.”
May the heart be true? Rosalyn pondered the meaning of that promise as Lachlan finally released her and the bishop spun her around to face the congregation and Lachlan followed.
As she stood in front of those who’d witnessed her vows before God, she started to fret. Would she be punished by the Lord if she wasn’t true to her heart?
Before she could dwell upon it further, Lachlan took her hand and led her down the steps from the altar and along the ivory runner still filled with red rose petals. Well-wishers crowded its sides from the pews. “Come, Wife, we’ve many to greet,” he urged, waving at the adoring courtesans.
Rosalyn was not surprised at the grand reception they received. The Scots loved their weddings, English groom or not.
One man at the back of the church caught her attention before they reached the door. She turned to her new husband when she recognized him. “I dinnae know your brother was coming to the wedding.”
“Neither did I,” Lachlan said dryly.