Chapter Twenty-Nine
What cannot be seen or measured, yet can fill a heart?
The answer—love...always love...
— Maeve Montgomerie
“Surely you jest?” Noel paused from buckling his belt over his wine-colored surcoat. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his belly, so he was not in the proper frame of mind for Guillaume’s taunt. Fearing this was naught more than a tweaking of his nose, he tried to judge Guillaume’s mood.
To say Guillaume had been mercurial since the Lady Rowanne’s arrival three days hence was putting it mildly. Still, Noel hardly blamed him. Skena’s cousin was beautiful in a way that grabbed a man’s attention and fixed it. This daughter of the Earl Kinmarch matched the loveliness of her sister Tamlyn, but then ’twas reputed far and wide Hadrian’s three daughters, heiresses in their own right, were lovely beyond comparison. Noel might count Guillaume a lucky man indeed, if not for the fact Rowanne worked at keeping a distance between them at all times. His friend voiced that he had erred in granting Rowanne until the end of April before they would wed. Possibly, he was right in that view. ’Twas apparent being near his betrothed, and yet being held at arm’s length, grated on Guillaume’s generally even temper.
“Jest? Not in the least. When you consider, the rite is not so different than a bedding ceremony where the groom and bride are inspected for flaws, and then the bedding before a priest and half the family.” Guillaume picked up Noel’s knife and tested its balance. “Why wouldst you think I make up such just to vex you?”
Noel chuckled. “You have been in a foul temper and look for a way to vent your sour humors. Sleeping on the pallet on the hard, cold floor seems to do naught to mellow your disposition.”
Guillaume twisted to rub his lower back. “Not doing much for my spine, either.”
“If allowing the Lady Rowanne too much to adjust to your coming marriage was such a bloody mistake, as you feel, then do something about it.”
Balancing the knife on the tip in his hand, Guillaume deftly caught the hilt when it started to fall. “Ah, therein lies the rub. Rowanne is a lady of many secrets. Shadows cloud her heart. And unfortunately, I am a man of my word. I wouldst not wish our union to start off with a lie.”
Guillaume went through balancing the dagger on end again, only this time when it toppled Noel snatched it away and stuck it into the sheath fastened at his belt. “Fill her belly with a babe, then her heart shan’t have room for shadows. And stop avoiding answering me. Were you telling a story about Julian’s wedding?”
Guillaume gave him a wicked grin. “’Tis truth. I swear.” He put his hand on his heart. “He married Tamlyn in their pagan ways. Methinks you are fortunate to wed with Skena in deep winter. No marriage in the circle of stones for you.”
“Ah, well, Julian was always more bold than I. Still, I little care where I marry Skena―or how―I just want it done.” He hung the gold chain about his neck. “’Tis not every day a man weds, eh?”
Guillaume smiled at Noel dressed in clothes he would wear at court. “You are eager to be a married man. Skena will think you handsome.”
“Are you sure this will be viewed as a true marriage?” Noel fretted, admitting he was keen to know Skena was his. “It shan’t be before the church, no priest to speak the words. I want no disgrace or question to fall upon our union.”
“Scots take marriage as a solemn vow. If you declare before all that you take Skena as your lady wife, and she accepts you, ’tis binding as any ceremony before a priest. I have heard of handfasting ceremonies—a marriage for a year and a day. I wouldst never be as foolish as to try that with an Ogilvie lass. They carry wicked daggers called a sgian dubh and wouldst likely go to cutting on body parts if crossed.” Guillaume reached out and took Noel’s hand. Turning it palm up, he placed a small object in it. “This ring belonged to my father. He wouldst have wanted you to have it on this special day.”
Noel stared at the wide gold band with a large yellow stone in it. “I cannot accept this, Guillaume. ’Tis a piece of your father, something to hold and treasure.”
“Michael Challon was your father, too, in all but blood. We are brothers, so this goes to you. May you govern Craigendan with the strength, the incisive mind and kindness, with which he ruled Challon.” He placed another ring beside it. “This one is from me. My mother gave it to me. I thought one day to present it to the woman I married, but oddly, in my mind the ring little suits my lady. As soon as I met your Skena I considered you might wish to give this to her as your bride’s gift.”
Noel was touched by Guillaume’s gesture. “I experienced a great loss when Father and Mother were taken from me. Howbeit, I have never regretted my family, my life at Castle Challon. I could not ask for a better brother.”
“True, we were―and are―lucky. Come, let us go marry you off.” Guillaume picked up the strip of material from the table, which had been cut from the shirt Noel had worn the night the children had found him. “Do not forget this. You will not be able to tie the knot without it.”
“My thanks. I do not want to forget this. I would not want to err in the ceremony.”
They started down the steps and toward the Great Hall. “‘Tis hard to think Julian and Damian are happy in wedlock. Shortly, you shall be, and come spring, Destain and I will take that step. Methinks we must fix our minds to finding fine Scottish lasses for Redam and Dare—and get them to settle close to us. Then, the war weary dragons can truly have peace.”
A shiver of foreboding raced up Noel’s spine. Was peace truly attainable? Would the Scots accept Edward’s rule, or would some Highlander arise to set the torch to the fires of rebellion? Noel dismissed such grave concerns for another time. He was marrying Skena, a start to a life together. He wanted nothing to taint the happiness of this day.
As he entered the Great Hall, Noel searched for Skena. Juniper and cedar branches had been formed into a circle on the stone floor before the fireplace, and Skena―his beautiful Skena―stood awaiting him in the middle of them. She wore a velvet kirtle of deep wine that nearly matched his surcoat. That brought a smile to his lips. He recalled on the morning they announced him to be the new lord of Craigendan, they both independently had chosen to wear dark blue. Her dark auburn hair was free flowing, touching past her shoulders, shorter now since she had cut two hands length away to save herself. A thin circlet of gold crossed her forehead. His heart nearly stopped at the vision that would soon be his lady wife.
“Yes, wishes do come true,” Noel said under his breath. He strode through the opening left in the boughs, going to Skena and taking her hand.
♦◊♦
Skena could hardly find moisture enough to swallow, as Noel came toward her. He was so handsome in the dark colors of wine and black, setting off those pale silver eyes with an unearthly glow. This man was beautiful, but more importantly, he was beautiful inside as well. Falling in love with him would have been so easy, a man who filled her young girl’s dreams. Only, how he reached out for Annis and Andrew, and offered them so much, robbed her of any resistance to him. He would be a fine father, a good lord for Craigendan, and every wish come true for her. As he took her hand, nothing in her life had ever felt so right.
“My lady, never have mine eyes beheld such a vision, my deepest wish come true,” he spoke lowly, as he brushed a fleeting kiss against her cheek.
They stood in the small circle of the evergreens, symbol of enclosing them in the ever-live boughs that purify and protect them, starting their union of true hearts. She smiled as Annis and Andrew broke free from Jenna and came running up, giggling and hiding behind Noel and her. She nodded to the maidservant to let them stay. After all, they would be a part of this marriage as well. Andrew quietened and stood fidgeting at her side, trying to behave lest she send him away. Annis had gone to stand on Noel’s right, and shyly took his smallest finger, hanging on to it.
Skena swallowed to fight the knot tightening in her throat. She was blessed. Sometimes life can be so perfect.
Rowanne placed a small bough of cedar and one of juniper on the fire, and watched as they caught quickly and burned bright. As they turned to ash, she came to the opening at the top of the circle.
“In this sacred circle, Noel and Skena gather to plight their troth of perfect love, and all of Craigendan to bear witness. I must ask—who gives this woman to Noel in a bonding of our ways?”
“I do,” Andrew said loudly.
Then, a “Me,” came from behind Noel. Annis peeked around his hip and smiled.
That drew a laugh from all in the Great Hall. Rowanne smiled, then held out her hand waiting for the long strips of cloth. Noel let go of Skena’s hand to reach inside his surcoat and pull out his cloth for the binding. Her eyes widened as she saw it had been cut from the shirt he wore when she had found him. Skena tugged out the narrow strip of tartan cut from her favorite shawl, hidden in the edge of her sleeve, and passed it to Rowanne.
Her cousin placed it atop Noel’s, and then held them aloft, turning in a circle for all to witness. She tied the two pieces of material in a large knot at one end, and then holding the knotted material between them, she looped Skena's tartan over Noel's wrist, then did the same with Noel's fabric over Skena's.
“With this knot I bind you. May your love endure everlasting so long as this knot remains true.” Turning her brown eyes to Noel, she said, “Speak your words, Lord de Servian.”
Noel surprised all by snatching the tied cloths from Rowanne. He tossed the joined material into the fire. “No one shall have power to undo this knot.” Taking up Skena’s hand, he slid a ring on her finger and then lifted their hands high so all could view. “I take Skena MacIain, Baroness Craigendan as my lady wife, from now until death parts us, and may God grant a blessing upon this union that death takes us in the same breath. I pledge to you, her people, my people, that I will honor her and forsake all others. I will defend you with my life. I will defend Craigendan and its people.”
Rowanne’s smile trembled, fighting the emotions that Noel’s words clearly summoned within her. Blinking away unshed tears, she cleared her throat. “What say you, Skena of Craigendan? Will you have this man, accept him as your lord husband, give over to him to the safe keeping of all you treasure and love?”
Skena had been holding a heavy gold torque in her left hand, hiding it at her side in the folds of her kirtle. Rowanne’s eyes widened when she saw it, recognizing the significance. Skena’s mother had given her the ornate torque, ending in cats’ heads, a gift for Skena’s husband when the time came. Along with her hopes and dreams, she had tucked it away, and had refused to give it to Angus. She had planned on passing it to Annis for when she married—and married for love.
She stepped to Noel and placed it around his neck. “Aye, I will have him, and a good bargain made, for I will have none other from this day forward. I will honor him, support and love him with my whole heart. I wed a man whose name means Christmas on Christmas Eve. No greater gift can come to me.”
Rowanne’s eyes shifted to Guillaume standing to the side of the fireplace on Noel’s right, watching him with unfathomable emotions. Finally, she pulled her attention away. “Then, you are blessed, cousin, for I now bear witness that you and Lord de Servian are wed by our ways. Let no man say otherwise. A 'Mhaidseadh ri dhèanamh—the match be made! May this union bring all the joys you both so richly deserve.”
Rowanne bent to sprinkle a handful of grain on the floor to cover the small opening in the circle of evergreens. “Come, cross the grain as a blessing that this marriage will be fruitful, and then let us feast and celebrate the joyous day.”
Skena squeaked as Noel swept her into his arms and then hopped over the grain, careful not to disturb the line. Everyone laughed and clapped as he carried her to the lady’s chair at the trestle table and deposited her with a flourish. She smiled up at him, full of the blessings that Noel had brought into her life.
Her snowy knight had come on the wings of a child’s wish and changed all their lives. Skena could not recall ever being so happy.
“Skena and I bid you all to partake of this wonderful feast! Come, raise your cup to this new year to be a good one for Craigendan.” Noel raised his goblet in toast, and everyone followed suit.
Several raised their mugs of ale or mead and spoke words of blessings, some from the Englishmen tended to be slightly ribald in nature. All wished them well and saw the hope of a future.
Save one.
Skena tensed as she spotted Dorcas standing in the kitchen passageway, just as she had the morn they announced Noel was the new lord of Craigendan. She held her breath, almost expecting the shadowy figure of Angus to come up behind her sister and whisper to her as he had that time. No one came.
Noel noticed the direction of Skena’s stare, and gently placed his hand over hers.
“She will be gone anon. Guillaume will take her back to Lochshane, and arrange for a marriage to someone in the lowlands. She’s comely enough. With a few coins, someone will take her. Then, you shan’t have to worry about her malice-making ever again.”
“But what about―” she started to say, only he cut her off.
“’Tis over. You are mine now, and I will kill to protect you,” he assured.
As she stared at Dorcas, she shivered, feeling a touch of foreboding. “Mayhap, but I be scared.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “There is naught to fear, Skena. Trust me?”
She nodded. “With my whole heart. Only, I fear what the Auld Ones give, they may take away, as well. I am so happy. ’Tis so perfect. I fear it will all be snatched away.”
“My first order as your lord husband—who you promised to obey―let nothing shadow your heart this day. ’Tis our day. The start of many days to come.” He leaned close and brushed his lips against her cheek.
Trying to shake off the distress that suddenly gripped her heart, Skena ignored the ripples of the Kenning pulsing through her. “I do no’ recall promising to obey you, my lord husband.”
He laughed. “But you shall do so or―”
“You will beat me?” she teased, finally giving him a smile. “I love you, Noel de Servian.”
“Only half as much as I love you, Skena de Servian. Another change I am making as your lord and husband. Any objections?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
She shook her head. “I like that very much, my lord,” and leaned to kiss him to express how much.
A small head popped between them. “Us as well?” She and Noel pulled apart to see Annis―and her poppet―pushing between, wiggling until she could climb on Noel’s knee.
“You want to be Annis de Servian?” Skena asked, so pleased with how the child was accepting Noel. Her daughter nodded, and then snatched the Christmas bread, made with nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon from Noel’s fingers as he held it out for her.
Noel nodded. “Us as well, though I am not sure what you named your poppet.”
She held the dolly up and said with a half-full mouth, “Lady Muriel de Servian.”
As Noel hugged Annis, a pair of small hands came from behind to cover his eyes.
“You canno’ see again until you unriddle who I be,” Andrew taunted, and then giggled.
Skena reached out and placed her hand on Noel’s shoulder, needing to touch this special man who brought magic to their lives.
“I love you, Noel de Servian,” she whispered as she watched him with her children, knowing just how blessed they were with his coming.