“This is Leo’s sister,” Beatrice elaborated. “Violet, this is Eloise, me cousin.”
“Oh, will wonders never cease.” Violet spun around as another woman entered the courtyard. “This is Claire, me cousin from London. She just arrived today for the ceilidh.”
Claire approached much more slowly and shyly than Violet had.
Everyone is probably shyer than Violet.
Beatrice wondered how the two women could be so different.
They remained silent for a long moment, as if no one was quite sure what to say. The shouts of the children filled the quiet until Violet laughed and threw her hands up in the air.
“Well, Beatrice, we have a lot to get ready for now, aye? Nay time to be sittin’ around when there’s a cèilidh to plan.”
“I havenae the foggiest idea what to do,” Beatrice admitted.
Violet wiggled her fingers in her face and shook her head. “Ye daenae have to do anything. It’s a MacSween affair. Let me handle it.”
“Ye can join us for the amusement tonight though, before all the plannin',” Eloise piped up.
Beatrice pressed her lips together. “Amusement? Tonight?”
“Aye, amusement.” Eloise reached down and pulled her to her feet while nodding at her ring. “Do ye nae remember, Bea?”
Violet was a force to behold as she whipped the entire clan into a frenzy in preparation for the celebration.
Beatrice could only watch, awed and slightly envious of how masterfully the woman could plan, command, and lead even the stubborn men who had leered at her.
“Me father isnae happy,” she muttered to Eloise when the whole clan and the families were seated in the Great Hall for dinner.
“Aye, but when is he ever?”
Toasts were made, cheers rose, and Beatrice felt a flutter in her stomach unlike anything she’d felt in her life.
It’s just me nerves. Nothing serious.
She caught Leo staring at her from across the table. He shifted in his seat when she stared back intently.
Her father remained tight-lipped and sullen for most of the night, though her mother tried to enjoy herself and speak to her about the dress she was going to be fitted for the next day. Beatrice pretended to be more excited than nervous.
As the drunken clansfolk stumbled off to their homes, Violet pulled Beatrice and Eloise away, a wicked glint in her eyes. Claire, Shona, and a few other maids followed behind them, and they slipped out of the castle into the lashing night.
“Where are we goin'?” Beatrice asked.
Suddenly, she was sprinting alongside the other women, no one concerned enough to give her an answer.
They came to a stop at the bank of a slow-rushing river, the water so dark it was almost black. Only the diminutive crests of white from the speed of the rapids reflected what little moonlight penetrated the low-hanging clouds.
“It’s a tradition, lass. Ye ken that!” Eloise exclaimed, her eyes glimmering even in the hermetic night. “Into the river we go!”
Raucous cheers rose, before everyone ran headlong into the water, splashing and slipping and falling into the chill without any concern. Beatrice felt the wet fabric cling to her skin. Her hair tumbled out of its careful braids, and her feet danced across the smooth, mossy rocks.
Laughing as the river churned around her, she reached into her pocket and curled her fingers around the ring there.
I make me own fate. I am me own master.
She fished the ring out of her pocket and tossed it absently into the fray. Where it went, she didn’t see, and what would happen to it, she didn’t care.
All of this is for show. I am promised to nay man.
