The thought of her mother tugged at her heart, and tears filled her eyes. She touched a fingertip to the corner of her eyes, trying to stop the weeping she feared would ensue. A daughter should have her mother by her side at her wedding, and here she was, alone.
Well, not exactly alone. Brigid had helped her dress, and once the gown was laced up the back and sleek brown slippers adorned her feet, Brigid sat Tosia on a stool to brush out her hair and tie it back. Her lush sunset locks were knotted, and Brigid had to work her fingers through her hair to pull them out.
Once she was satisfied with the narrow queues that she’d braided back from Tosia’s temples, Brigid then tied them off with ribbons and threads that matched her gown. When Tosia thought she was done, Brigid laid a strong hand on her shoulder, keeping her seated.
“Your groom has sent ye a wee, sentimental gift. Here.”
Brigid thrust a floral crown before Tosia’s eyes, and Tosia gasped.
“I’ve already received far too many gifts. I dinna know where the King found such a fine gown, but he gifted me with it for this day. And these slippers.” Tosia lifted the soft woolen skirt to expose a dainty toe. “I canna accept anything more.”
Brigid clicked her tongue. “From your groom-to-be, ye can. Let’s put in your hair. It matches your gown like ‘twas made for it.”
She spoke the truth. The crown bore slender young fern leaves, sprigs of summer heather, and round heads of purple thistle. Tosia imagined she was fae when Brigid tucked it into her hair.
“There!” Brigid exclaimed. “Now dry your eyes and let’s see if the king is ready to walk ye to the stairs of the kirk.”
So she hadn’t missed the tears Tosia tried to hide. The maid was too sharp by half.
“The king will walk me?” Tosia asked, realizing what the maid had said.
Brigid took Tosia’s hands to help her rise and smiled widely.
“Och, ye are without a guardian and are to wed the king’s second in command. Ye think ye are worthy of anything less?”
Tosia’s stomach fell to her feet. The idea of the king at her wedding made her head swirl. But to have him walk her to meet her groom? She feared she’s faint again.
And the prospect of standing in front of the priest with the Black Douglas himself? If she managed to keep her feet, it would be a miracle.
Though the beastly man had done a fine job of trying to reach out to her, assuage her fears and let her know he was a man, not a demon in disguise, it was a different matter altogether to be marrying the man with the dark reputation.
And then to find her bed with him? Tosia swooned and gripped Brigid’s arm. Better to not faint on her wedding day. The Black Douglas didn’t want a feeble-hearted lass at his side. He needed a strong wife.
Tavish had assured her she could be just that. He’d reminded her of that the day before when he found her in the gardens. She’d believed that her brother would be the one to give her to James, but he wasn’t of an age, only a squire to the great man himself.
“Are ye ready, lass?” Brigid asked, excitement making her voice rise to a glass-shattering pitch.
“Aye,” Tosia squeaked out, lying.
No matter what vows he made or what his men said about him, she would never be ready to wed the monster. She only prayed that she might grow accustomed to him, and that he’d forget about her soon enough.
Tavish waited belowin the hall with King Robert, scrubbed clean for the event. They stood amid the light that dappled through the unshuttered windows, on woven rushes that had been freshly replaced. He smiled up at her as she descended the steps.
When was the last time she had seen Tavish so clean? From his tunic to his tartan to his shoes, he looked more a man than a boy, and Tosia’s heart hammered in her chest at the sight. Though he was growing into a man far too quickly for her, he’d always be her younger brother. Her heart trembled at the man he was becoming, and the joy that she’d be able to experience that growth with him.
She patted his cheek, and he dipped his head with a dimpled smile.There’s the lad I know,she thought as a touch brushed her elbow. She turned to find the king held out his arm to her.
The king himself was a remarkable sight. Clad in black from shoulder to toe, he commanded any space in which he stood. His burnished-brown hair, still damp and glistening in the pale sunlight, was brushed back from his face, framing his cheeks and jaw before touching the collar of his black tunic. He often wore black — unlike other royalty she’d heard rumored to wear bright colors – light blues and purples. The Bruce was a king of his people, and in Tosia’s opinion, he certainly dressed the part.
Had she ever believed to meet the great man? Nay, not in this lifetime. Yet here she was, her arm threaded through his as he led her to his second in command so that she might wed him. Could the world work any more strangely? God’s plans surely were more than her mind could begin to comprehend.
The two men walked on either side of her, ushering her to the formidable stone chapel on the far side of the outer bailey, where the Black Douglas, her future husband, awaited her on the gray steps.
When she reached the pathway to the chapel, she forced herself to lift her eyes and gazed upon the man who would be tied to her for the rest of her life.
More shocking than the soft cheeks of her brother or the refined figure of Robert the Bruce was the bushy, wild-looking Black Douglas, or rather, the lack of him.
He didn’t look like the Black Douglas she’d seen over the past sennight. Gone was the roughly clipped beard and sweeping black waves that reached his neck. Someone had taken a razor to his cheeks, all the way up his scalp on the sides. What remained of his hair was slicked back, a shining black helm in the patchy sunlight. With his face and head shaved, his body seemed larger, more immense under his freshly laundered dark blue and green Douglas plaid. He looked as regal as the king himself.
