A WEDDING IS HELD
Dougal rode ahead of the carriage. He felt a budding sense of pride. In that carriage was the woman he was going to wed. He had asked his father if he could borrow the coach and, strangely enough, he had agreed.
I have never seen him like that, not ever before.
Dougal had asked his father if he could step out of whatever plans he had for him. If he could marry the woman he loved. For, he said, he would do it in any case. He would just prefer to do it with no ill will.
His father had agreed. Quietly, as if he would not raise his voice too loudly. Dougal was not sure what had come over him. He had been astounded by the transformation. Perhaps the shock of discovering how far the hate between his sons had grown had made him cast aside his own ambitions. On the other hand, perhaps he had simply decided there was more to life than trying to chase power. Either way, he had accepted Dougal's decision without causing an argument, for which Dougal was intensely grateful.
He had, in fact, done his best to make things better for the pair – sending to the prior for the loan of their skilled physician to tend Joanna's arm, sending the carriage to take her home.
So now, Dougal rode towards the north, a carriage rolling along behind him, armed escorts behind that.
They were going home to Dunkeld. To get married.
It makes sense to hold the wedding there.
Dougal recalled his discussion with Joanna about that particular matter.
“We will have a hard time, making Lochlann hospitable,” she had said.
Dougal had considered that. It was eerie, the place, he had to agree. Even though now the ghost would cease to haunt it, word needed time to spread. They might be left with two servants.
“True,” he had replied. “We should have our wedding somewhere cheerful.”
As they had looked at each other, they had both known what it would be. Dougal had to agree that Joanna's home was the most cheery environment he had ever been in before.
“Dunkeld.”
Now they rode towards Dunkeld. The air was still cold, the heart of winter soon approaching and yet he scarcely noticed.
He was too busy noticing the sky, the clouds, the birds that twittered overhead, flying to the shelter of woodlands.
He was hardly ever so cheerful, and his own light mood surprised him with its newness.
They were almost home.
At Dunkeld, the carriage stopped outside the gates. Dougal looked up. He recognized one of the gate men, who hailed him happily as he waved.
“My lord! Welcome back! Are you here on a visit, sir?”
“I'm here with the lady of Lochlann,” he said. “And the lady of Dunkeld. If you would be so kind as to open the gates now?”
The men threw the gates open and they rolled in. Dougal rode into the courtyard, smiling at its sudden welcome.
The carriage would not pass through the gates, so the doors were opened. Dougal helped Joanna down. Pale and easily tired, Joanna stood beside him, panting, and looked up at her home.
“We're here,” she said.
“We are.”
“I cannot wait to show you everything!” Joanna said. Dougal smiled.
“I look forward to seeing everything, with you as my guide.”
The last time he had been here, he had scarcely had time to see the place, it was true. Now he was here, with three weeks at least before the wedding, they would see it together.
“Well!” Amabel said. “What a good thing. Where's everyone?”
A woman appeared on the steps. Joanna looked up at her. Dougal saw her face change.
“Alina!”
She walked up the steps and went as quickly as she could, wheezing with exertion when she reached the top. The woman stood where she was, hands clasped, face calm.
“Welcome, daughter,” she said gently. “It is good to have you returned.”
Joanna embraced her.
Dougal felt his heart soften and then walked slowly up the steps, hesitating so he did not disturb their closeness.
He heard a cough and looked down.
“Mummy.”
He smiled at the fair-haired girl, and then looked behind her.
“Mamma!”
A small red-haired girl, with round cheeks and a small nose, launched herself down the steps.
Amabel shouted with delight and caught her up, holding her at her chest as she collapsed in helpless giggles.
“Amice! My rascal! How are you?”
“Happy.”
Dougal stood aside, watching the scene as, first, the two daughters and then later all the boys in the castle, erupted from the doors.
“Mamma!”
“Auntie!”
“Cousin!”
He watched as Brodgar launched himself at his mother, then Conn and Leona embraced Joanna, who was crying as she held them, tears running down her cheeks. Alf was behind Conn and he hugged her in a crushing embrace as well.
He heard someone step, heavy footed, onto the stairs. He looked up at Joanna's father, the lord of the fastness.
Broderick smiled at him. He did not do anything to interrupt the tearful exchange, but went to Dougal.
“Welcome back.”
Dougal smiled. He clasped his hand, feeling real warmth as he did it.
“Thank you, sir.”
They both stood, watching as Alina bent down to ruffle Leona's hair and Joanna put her arm around both children, while Amabel battled up the steps, Amice clinging to her, Brodgar at her side. Alf followed them.
Then he and Broderick went into the hall.
Dougal smiled at him. “I trust you have a facility for a gathering?”
Broderick nodded. “We can hold fifty at the high table,” Broderick said smilingly. “How many do you need to seat?”
Dougal let out a shaky breath. “I think we'll all fit well,” was all he said.
Their plans were for a quiet wedding.
Later, with all the reunion done with, Dougal sat with Joanna in an upper room. She was resting, her face pale, cheeks flushed bright and she was smiling.
“I am so pleased to see them all,” she said softly.
“I am, too,” Dougal said. He had enjoyed meeting everyone anew more than he could have guessed. The way he was already included, as if he had always been there, gave him joy.
“I hope I will be well, soon.”
Dougal squeezed her hand. “You will recover. I know it. But don't let them tire you, dear.”
Joanna smiled. There were tears in her eyes. “I will try,” she said. “I am so glad to be here and see them all again.”
“I am so glad you are here.”
They sat quietly together and watched the sun setting across the valley outside.
Arriving at Dunkeld did wonders for Joanna's health. Alina had re-bandaged the wound and spent a whole afternoon working on it, scraping out the dead tissue, anointing it with a pungent mix. She frowned at Dougal when she finished, as if to make comment on the physicians his father supplied.
Dougal had to admit it healed after that.
By the time the winter was at its coldest, the snows starting to fall, thick, soft, and silent, on the heath, Dougal and Joanna were ready to be married.
It was a quiet ceremony, as they had asked. Dougal's uncle attended and all Joanna's family. The two little girls – Leona and Amice – carried flowers before them, and Amabel wove flowers in Joanna's hair. Alina had sewed the veil and she helped Joanna down the steps where she would walk to the aisle on her father's arm.
Dougal, waiting in the chapel, the light pale through the clerestory window, was sweating though it was icy there.
He could not quite believe she was about to marry him.
Joanna.
He stood there, waiting for the bride to arrive, and he remembered a thousand different things – Joanna's smile in the rainstorm. Her hand on his in the darkness. Her laugh at breakfast. Her touch, reassuring in the midst of fear.
I love this woman more than I have ever loved anyone, ever in my life.
He felt the warmth of that fill him.
Now, finally, he would swear that before all present, and in the eye of everyone in the whole world, should they be there to ask or see.
As if he had conjured it, he heard the sound of footsteps in the aisle. She was here! He focused on the altar, though he could not help turning round as he heard her footstep behind him.
Joanna. He smiled at her and she smiled back.
Then they heard the priest clear his throat, and they turned to face him.
“Volo,” Dougal said, much later, as he asked him to make his vows. I do.
“Volo.” Joanna's voice filled him with joy. He studied her through the gauzy veil that covered the flame paleness of her hair.
She wore a long white gown, lace covering the fine linen beneath. It lapped the floor behind her, the skirt narrow, falling from a waist clasped with a silvery kirtle that offset her figure. The veil too was long, woven of finest gauze from France. The veil fell from a garland of dried flowers. He breathed in, smelling their fragrant smell.
He looked down at her, heart full of wonder.
She was his wife.
At least, it seemed that way now, for the priest had just said something and he was beaming at them, encouragingly.
Dougal looked at him and he smiled more fully.
You may kiss.
That must have been what he just said, Dougal thought. He smiled at Joanna. He saw the flash of white and knew she grinned back. He was suddenly impatient, and he lifted the veil, drawing it back to see her face. His fingers trembled as he let go the edge, then stroked it back.
He leaned forward.
His mouth touched hers.
They kissed.
Her kiss tasted sweet and her mouth was warm and clinging. He drew her into his arms and kissed her and kissed, as if he was dying and she was his life's spark. As if he was alive, and she was his exultation.
Then, turning to face the crowd, he smiled, taking her hand.
Everyone lifted to their feet, smiling, calling out congratulations and wishes for a long life.
“Slainte!”
“Slainte!”
“Blessings on you!”
Dougal turned to Joanna, and Joanna looked up at him. She smiled.
They were man and wife.
The procession from the chapel to the great hall was a blur. Family of all descriptions came to congratulate them, the children shouted noisily and they were chorused, deafeningly, by the guard as they walked through the doorways into the warm, fire-lit place.
Joanna was brighter than the furnace in the grate as she smiled at him. Dougal smiled back.
All he recalled of the walk was the feeling of her hand in his, the sense of her body beside him.
They were man and wife.
They had a life of love ahead of them and now, finally, they were free to live that truth.