PREPARING FOR A MARRIAGE
Chrissie walked briskly along the upper hallway, her heart soaring with love. She had sent a rider, heading off as fast as he could go, towards Glencurrie and her family there. She had exhorted the man to change horses as often as he could, for, though the ride could take three days, she needed the answer soon, before next week.
“Uncle will agree to my request.”
She knew he would. Uncle Sean and Grandfather Ulrich spoiled her. She would not want for anything. He would make provision for her cousins from here to be housed there, too. Amabel and Alina could attend her wedding!
She rushed to the bedchamber to ask Ambeal for her advice. They had little time, but they had a store of bolts of fabric – those gifts from Sean which had not yet been used – to use. They would find some fabric for a wedding gown.
Ambeal was astonished. She squealed, hands covering her mouth. Then she stared at Chrissie.
“My dear lady! But we cannot possibly be ready so soon...”
“Yes,” Chrissie said firmly. “We will be. We have a week. We can make it happen.”
They went up to the attic where Morne, the old steward, kept the household things. Coughing as they were revealed from dusty oilskin covers, Ambeal and Chrissie exclaimed in delight as bolts of silk and damask, lace and satin and linen came to light for the first time in years.
In the end, they settled on a butter-yellow silk. It would take little time, for the rich fabric would speak for itself. They chose a plain style, a high waist and slightly gathered skirt harking back to a much earlier fashion. She would wear a long lacy veil.
“Oh! This is so exciting...”
Chrissie could not keep the wonder from her voice as Morne cut the fabric and then they skipped downstairs, brandishing their treasures. They would not sew a trousseau – what was already made would have to be sufficient, they decided. They would focus on the dress and have it all done and ready by Saturday, when they would have to set out for her uncle's home. That gave them three days.
“We can sit in the turret room,” Chrissie offered. “There's more light there, and the fire is warmer.”
“Yes, milady,” Ambeal nodded, her strawberry curls tousled as she ran a distracted hand through her hair.
Chrissie embraced her impulsively. “I'm sorry to have been so wild, Ambeal.”
“Oh, milady!” Ambeal blinked rapidly, blinking back tears. “'Tis nothing, so it is. Nothing at all.”
They embraced and then Ambeal fetched the silk and they started to cut the dress.
As Chrissie stood in a shaft of sunlight, Ambeal cutting the panels while the cloth draped her, she wished Blaine could have been here to see. He would like what they had chosen, she thought. At least, she hoped he would...
Stop being silly, Chrissie. Blaine will like it. Yellow suits you. And this silk is most becoming.
She smiled at herself in the slightly-warped silver mirror across the room. It showed her a pixie-like face, peering out from a cloud of blonde curls, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth a prim bow of pink. She smiled, rearranging the pixie-like features.
Mayhap I am pretty after all.
Later, she and Ambeal sat in the turret room and sewed. Ambeal had invited another maid, called Stella, to come and join them. They all sat together and sewed and the two women chatted while Chrissie worked, content to listen.
“...and I hear the McDonnell are all in disarray. Something about the laird...”
“Hush yersel', do!” Ambeal said, flashing her eyes at her and then directing her gaze towards Chrissie who sat sewing, pretending to be oblivious to their chatter. She had guessed something, then, of the encounter. Chrissie was pleased she sought to protect her, though also annoyed. She could face news of him, despite what he had done to her.
He is dead, and they are lost without his guidance.
Chrissie was surprised by the flush of pleasure she felt, knowing the Laird of the McDonnell was dead. She had never felt that about any living creature before. However, now she did.
“Whist, Bell. We should all know. It means the threat of war's gone.” Stella said.
Chrissie nodded quietly. It did. Her family was safe, and so were Amabel and Alina. At least from that quarter. Who knew what else would happen, for the nature of the clans was always volatile, and the Lochlann holdings were so extensive, so long established, that there would always be some to dispute their rights to them.
I no longer need to be concerned, Chrissie thought, feeling a strange sense of aloofness as she listened to the maids whisper among themselves. She sewed the silk, marveling at how the needle glided through so easily – so different from working with linen or velvet – and knew herself utterly divorced from the news of Lochlann.
Where they would go, she and her husband, she was not sure. Blaine had suggested Dunkeld, and privately she thought it was a wonderful notion. Her family – Alina and Amabel – were there. The children were there. It would be a haven, the place she would have wished to live most.
“...an' so, now there's no threat from the north, you'll be goin' across country?”
“Aye,” Ambeal replied easily, not looking up from her work. “We're goin' south for the weddin', so we are.”
“At her da's place?”
“Aye.”
Chrissie smiled to herself. She imagined the wedding. It would be a winter wedding, with a long sleeved dress, and holly and ivy in the church, for good fortune. The night after...
She smiled. She was surprised at how eager she felt. She would have expected herself to be afraid, to be revolted. To hate the idea of a man touching her the way...the way...but it was Blaine. Blaine was her love. The man she had, she realized, always wanted. She was not afraid of him. She knew it would be wonderful, with him.
Sitting with her stitching, listening to the maidservant's chatter, her imagination full of thoughts of Blaine, wedding nights, and wonder, she was content.