Chapter Fourteen
Stirling Castle
Wedding Day
“M’lady,” Alexander growled.
“Highlander,” Elizabeth replied, coming to stand before him.
“Blast me,” he cursed, tossing the veil back from her face. “You lied.”
“But I came,” she said, still unable to breathe past the knot in her chest. The only thing she could think of was what her defiance might bring him. “I sent that letter to make certain nothing happens to you before now.”
“The seal was tampered with when I read it. It had been read by others.”
“That’s what I was counting on. And now we’re here. But if anything happens to you . . . if he arrests you or . . . I’m afraid, Alexander!”
He brought each of her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss on her palms. “Fear nothing, my love.”
Through a sheen of unshed tears, Elizabeth’s eyes traveled over the magnificent warrior standing before her. And he was magnificent. Alexander’s long black hair was tied back. A true Highlander, he was arrayed in his finest kilt and a shirt of gleaming white silk. A tartan of red and blue and green and white crossed his broad chest, and the bright sun flashed on the hilt of his long sword and on the clan arms inscribed on his golden brooch.
“Trust me,” he said.
She tried to build her courage on the look of confidence in his handsome face. His blue eyes shone with love when they locked with hers.
“You and I forever.” He placed her hand on his arm. “It’s time.”
The notes of the bagpipe gave way to a harp as the two stepped into the chapel. The assembled guests turned as one to greet them. Elizabeth’s gaze moved to Queen Margaret, standing to the right of the altar and nodding her approval.
The knot in her chest grew larger as her gaze drifted to the left of the altar where the king stood with his entourage. His displeasure was obvious as he fixed his sharp eyes on them.
Her feet dragged, and a dread weariness filled her. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t force enough air into her chest. The crowd in the chapel disappeared. In her mind’s eye, she saw a scaffold, a bloodstained block, a Highlander being hauled up the torturous steps. Her knees locked and she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Elizabeth didn’t realize that she had a death grip on Alexander’s arm until he took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. His eyes met hers.
“Trust me,” he said again.
Elizabeth made herself look only at the altar. They were almost there. Seven steps. Five steps. Four.
King James moved, drawing her attention. He was whispering something to the warrior towering behind him. The king’s man signaled to two guards of equal size, who immediately moved closer to the monarch.
This was it. The end was here.
They reached the altar. The drum of her heart muffled the priest’s voice as it rose and fell in the measured cadences of the mixed Latin and Gaelic.
Keeping the king and his men in the periphery of her vision, she could no longer focus on anything else. Would he wait for them to exchange their vows before seizing Alexander? Would they drag him from her arms? From the sanctuary of a church? Was she about to lose him forever? How could she live after doing this to him?
Elizabeth sensed a movement behind them, and she looked over her shoulder. A tall Highlander had separated himself from the crowd and was now standing behind Alexander.
“Who is that?” she asked in a whisper.
“Hugh Campbell,” Alexander answered. He motioned to the priest to continue.
She heard the sound of another pair of boots coming up behind them. This time she recognized the man standing in support of their marriage. Sir Robert Johnstone, Clare’s intended.
Alexander squeezed her hand reassuringly. At the sound of others approaching, Elizabeth once again glanced back and felt the knot loosen in her chest. More people kept joining them until at least a hundred nobles and warriors, Highlanders and Lowlanders, were standing in a line of support behind them.
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to the king. His eyes were darting from her to Alexander to the army behind them. For a long moment, a brittle silence reigned in the chapel. She held her breath, feeling only the gentle pressure of Alexander’s hand.
Then, with a flick of his finger, James Stewart waved his guards back into the shadows. He nodded almost imperceptibly to Alexander and turned his face, staring at the altar.
As if nothing at all had transpired, the priest raised his hands in prayer and proceeded with the ceremony. From the grate of iron bands behind the altar, the sound of nuns’ voices responded to the prayers.
When the moment came, Alexander and Elizabeth turned and faced each other as they exchanged their vows. Man and wife. Forever.
She looked up into her husband’s face and remembered the journey that had brought them here. The dangers, the laughter, the passion, the trust.
“I love you, Highlander.”
“I love you, Elizabeth.”
Alexander lifted her off her feet and kissed away the tears on each cheek before capturing her mouth in that ageless symbol of promise and devotion and love.
When he put her down, Elizabeth realized that a crowd had queued up, eager to congratulate them. With her husband’s arm around her, Elizabeth turned to the first one in line.
King James.