Ranulf raised an eyebrow at his brother-in-law. “And if the wedding itself forces the letter-owner to reveal themselves, the more the better, eh?”
He slapped Seamus on his upper arm, shoving the man to the side. Seamus was a large man, but Ranulf’s body reflected that of his heritage, giant Vikings of years past who defied the seas and settled in Scotland. He had quite an arm on him.
Seamus did not deny the truth of Ranulf’s suggestion. It was the same that Seamus had shared with his sons regarding the missing letter.
He nodded at Ranulf. “Aye. The more the better. The same is to be said ofuisge-beatha.Let’s leave the more somber conversation here and find our drink in the hall. ‘Tis time to celebrate this marriage!”
“Adaira! If ye dinna make haste, ye’ll miss your own wedding!”
Sorcha’s voice carried up the stairs as Adaira scrambled around her chambers like a storm.
The keep had been a mad flurry the morning of Adaira’s wedding. Unlike her brothers, who had married out of necessity and arrangement, her wedding was one of love and politics – joining the houses of Glen Coe with Keppoch – and her father, uncle, and grandfather could not be more pleased. Her marriage to Sawny was seen as a powerful move in the Highlands, one that their enemies, from the Campbells to the king himself, would surely take note of.
And their allies, including the exiled King James, would note their hold on the Highlands as well. Many lairds and chieftains hoped this union would be a sign to James that his authority and support in Scotland was well-established and encourage the rightful king to return.
To say the air was thick with excitement and celebration was an understatement.
But Adaira cared for none of that. All she cared about was her wedding to Sawny, the man she loved more than life itself. Everyone else could keep their politics – she could keep Sawny.
The castle overflowed with visitors who resided in the keep, before spilling into tents and familial crofts inside and outside the walls. And with those guests came foodstuffs, breads, mead, and enough whiskey to feed the Highlands for a year.
And though it was a bright, dry, late spring day, the lit candles across the entirety of the keep made it look as if the stronghold was on fire.
The gown they had sewn for Adaira rivaled any a queen might wear. The wide, square neckline of the pale blue brocade gown was trimmed thickly in silver thread, an intricate pattern of whorls repeating along the waist, the hem, and at the draping sleeves lined with layers of lace. The color flattered Adaira’s hair and made her eyes sparkle.
She and her mother had worked on it for months, taking care with each stitch and every detail, until Adaira resembled a sky-kissed fairy creature from the old stories – shiny and ethereal. The bodice was cut low enough so the full round of Adaira’s upper breasts pressed nearly to her neck, over a line of rich creamy blue fabric in a ruched fringe caressing bountiful skin.
The waist was cinched tight, accentuating her abundant breasts and wide hips. Gold and cream lines braided across the front bodice, and gold braid laced up the back. The long ends of the braid fell down her backside and along the train that dragged a foot behind her, stitched with gold and silver thread and ribbon that glinted in the sunlight. The folds of the skirt draped in smooth lines to the floor, and she had to lift the front to walk.
She both looked and felt like a princess.
As a gift (not her lukenbooth, as Sawny had clarified), Sawny had found a pair of leather shoes stitched with gold at a reputed cordwainer at Glenfinnan that was crafted with the most beautiful curls of golden threads that made the shoes sparkle in a shimmery glow as she walked. Sawny had said they reminded him of her hair, a golden cascade, and he could not resist. So he’d spent valuable coin on a pair of shoes.
The moment she received them, she knew she would save them for their wedding day.
“That day, and every day after, I want to see ye in these shoes,” he’d told her, then his gaze darkened in that sultry way that made her heart lurch under her breast and his voice lowered until it was husky. “And naught else. Wear only those to bed on our wedding night.”
As Adaira slid her feet into the shoes, she thought of those words and planned to remove all her clothing, except the shoes, later that evening.
A smiling Grace arrived with one of the kitchen maids, Una, and they finished pinning up Adaira’s hair as Sorcha called for her again. The housemaids had such a talent with pins and ribbon, and had woven long waves of Adaira’s hair with a ribbon in a loose braid at the back. Grace pulled rogue tresses free and pinned some of them up with tiny heather and rosebuds, while the rest of her hair flowed around her shoulders.
When Adaira admired herself in the glass, she saw the flowers and ribbon in her hair complete her portrait as a golden blue fairy. It was like she was bathed in an ethereal light.
Heavenly, Sawny had told her.
She felt heavenly. Never had she felt so beautiful in all her life.
Una gasped when Adaira spun around.
“Sawny will no’ be able to wait until after the ceremony. He’ll take one look at ye and drag ye from the kirk and consummate it before the priest can say a word!”
Adaira grinned at the kind woman and blushed at her suggestive comment.
She was notwrong, though.
“Thank ye, Una. But I’d no’ look like this without your talented hand. Come.” She reached out a hand toward Grace and Una. “Let us head downstairs afore my mother loses her voice.”
With Una following them, Grace held out her arm so Adaira could use her as leverage while she held up her skirts as they slowly descended the stairs.
