Page 19 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

Once the congregation followed them inside the chapel, the priest took a knife and with an apologetic shrug, he pierced both of their right palms, hers and the MacKenzie’s, and then pressed their hands together, left to left, and right to right so they formed an infinite knot. The cut stung sharply, but the warmth of Silas MacKenzie’s hand blunted the pain, and their pulses seemed to beat together as one.

Maggie and Finn took up bits of fine rope and strips of tartan, and with a wink from Finn and lots of giggles from Maggie, the two wound their strands around and around Ellen and the MacKenzie’s clasped hands, binding them fast together.

She should have felt trapped by it, like the pinning of her dress, but Ellen focused on the MacKenzie’s captivating eyes. Staring into them was a bit like she imagined standing on the edge of a cliff would be—vast with potential.

“Now you are bound, one to the other, with a tie not easy to break,” the priest recited, and Ellen finally broke eye contact as a twinge of regret fluttered in her stomach.

She intended to sever this bond just as soon as possible, didn’t she? To beg his leave and journey to the convent in France. Would he hold this over her, refusing to let her go? Would she blame him if he did?

“Learn what you need to know,” the priest went on, “to grow in wisdom and love, that your marriage will be strong, that your love will last in this life and beyond.”

She hadn’t considered beyond. Would her soul now be bound to his for eternity? And what would her desertion mean for that timeless union? Would she damn him to an eternal life alone?

Ellen’s breaths were coming too quick and shallow. The priest spoke of love, but what of convenience and alliances? This was a transaction, nothing more.

The priest slid the bindings off their hands, giving each a trailing end of the other’s tartan, and together they pulled the knot tight, sealing the bond between them so that even the most nimble fingers might never untie it.

Ellen stared at the red Mackintosh plaid, no longer her own, cradled gently in his broad palm, as though he might keep it safe for her until she wanted it back, as though he understood what it was to give up her name along with everything else.

The Laird Kintail stepped slowly forward, poured a dram of whisky, and offered it first to Ellen. She took a steadying breath and then a drink, letting it burn all the way down and out her nose and ears like steam, swallowing back the urge to cough so that she wouldn’t embarrass her new family any further.

After an encouraging nod, her father-in-law patted her on the shoulder and then turned to his son, proffering the same cup to him. Silas drank the remainder deeply, and it was done.

She was a MacKenzie now, though she could hardly hear the cheers for the burning whisky and the drumming of her heartbeat in rhythm with the stranger beside her.

Chapter Six

The ceremony was over much too quickly for Si’s liking. All that preparation and fuss, and then no sooner had he fallen into the depths of those sapphire eyes than he was expected to heave himself back out again, shake himself off, and be sociable. He wanted to toss his bride over his shoulder and carry her away to the edge of the world, but they were swept back to the inn by an endless tide of well-wishers and Logan’s scowling brothers. As soon as two revelers receded, five more flooded in to take their place, and all the while the lass clung to the crook of his arm like she was afraid of drowning. Was it wrong that he liked the weight of her fingers digging into him, holding on for dear life?

At the inn, his new mother-in-law presented Si with a dry seed cake. It crumbled, sticking in his throat, and though desperate for a dram, tradition dictated that first he must break a piece of cake gently over Ellen’s head for luck. Careful not to mash it into her hair, Si memorized where each crumb landed so he might brush it all out again when no one was looking, but they were pulled apart before he had the chance, he to dance with the little sister, and she with his father.

He tried to play the attentive elder brother to young Maggie, but his gaze kept finding his bride instead, no matter where she moved. The careful, fearless way she stepped with his father, matching his pace, at ease in the old man’s arms as he could not imagine her being with him. His father’s eyes sparkled with delight, and Si resolved that no matter what else became of it, giving him this day had been worth it all. Besides, he already seemed much improved from a few days ago. Perhaps Mrs. Kynoch’s potions were working wonders after all.

Si couldn’t say when the light had gone out of his father’s eyes any more than he could deny that the lass or the day or maybe just the dancing had restored it. The laird obviously regretted his years in exile, blamed himself for every failed crop and harsh winter. Now he was eager to make amends with his people by proving the Kintail would endure for years to come, serving Si’s future up on a platter, complete with all the free-flowing MacKenzie whisky they could wish for.

The first dance ended, bleeding into the next, and upon releasing his sister-in-law, Si found Alys Leask in his arms, beaming up at him.

“Auntie,” he said.

“You two look lovely together, Si.”

“Och, like a wee goldcrest on the shoulder of a monstrous boar.”

She frowned at him a little, so he kissed her cheek and guided her to the refreshment table.

“That beard of yours is as bristly as a boar. Why didn’t you shave for the day?”

“And be mistaken for a wean too young to wed? Seemed best not to risk it,” he teased.

She smacked at him. “You’re as bad as your uncle.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you came.”

His aunt patted his cheek, not seeming to mind the beard, really. “I’ve missed a great deal more than I’d have liked, but I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Silas MacKenzie,” she chided. “You know, your dear mother, God rest her, would be so proud of you.”

The smile slipped from Si’s face, and he tried to paste a new one back on before she noticed. Just what, exactly, was there to be proud of?

He’d visited the home of his Aunt and Uncle Leask many times during his years in Aberdeen. Their croft was more of a home to him than Castle Leod at this point, but his auntie seldom mentioned her late cousin, and Silas preferred it that way.