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Chapter 22
31 December
Ailie stood before the mirror in her room in the inn, admiring the gown Rhona had helped her to put on. Behind her, Muriel raised her quizzing glass to study the gown’s fabric. But Ailie had no doubt the pale gold muslin with sprigs of heather embroidered in gold thread had been the right one for her Scottish wedding.
Her maid’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “I canna believe this is yer wedding day.”
“I expect you thought never to see it,” Ailie teased.
“Enough of that, Aileen,” Muriel protested. “The gown suits you. I do believe you made a fine choice. The man as well.”
The afternoon before, Muriel and all the wives had hurried Ailie from the inn’s dining room to immerse her in a flurry of gowns, petticoats and ribbons in search of the gown that would transform her into a bride. They had insisted Ailie try on every gown they had brought with them that might qualify. The whole affair reminded her of the time they had gathered in the parlor in Arbroath to decorate baskets. That auspicious day seemed like ages ago and now she was to be wed the man she had come to love, spy though he be.
In the end, she had decided to wear the gown Rhona had suggested Ailie bring with her to Stonehaven.
“Ye can wear it for Hogmanay,” Rhona had said. She could not have known how fitting the choice would prove to be.
When the wives asked her why she chose that gown, Ailie explained, “Heather is the flower of good fortune for a Scottish bride.”
This morning, Muriel asked to come to Ailie’s room to help her dress for her wedding. Since Ailie had been nervous the day before, she believed Muriel had come more for encouragement, which endeared the countess to her.
Muriel sat watching Rhona brush out Ailie’s thick hair that she would wear long. In the mirror, Ailie caught the wistful look on Muriel’s face. “What are you thinking, Countess?”
“Just the memory of another bride long ago.”
Ailie imagined the countess as a young woman, beautiful and spirited. Even in her sixties, she was still beautiful. “You are remembering when you were a bride?”
She smiled. “It was a day much like today when two impetuous people wed in a precipitous manner and loved very well.”
“Oh, Muriel.” She went to the countess and kissed her cheek. “Thank you. It means much to have your blessing.”
When Ailie’s hair had been brushed till it shone, Rhona took a sash of Ramsay tartan and fixed it over Ailie’s right shoulder, securing it with a brooch at her waist. “This is the plaid of yer mother’s clan. With the sash, yer bridegroom will have no doubt he’s marrying a Scot.”
“Humph,” Muriel muttered. “I believe Nash Powell is well aware of that. More’s to his credit that he prefers Aileen to the ladies in London who would jump at the chance to have him.”
Last night after dinner, Nash had walked with Ailie along the harbor, sharing his vision of their future together. “You will never have to worry about my fidelity,” he assured her. “There will be no other for me.” Ailie believed him and the knowledge she could trust his love had calmed her bride’s fears.
When Rhona left Ailie and the countess alone, Muriel came to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you downstairs, Aileen. Don’t be long. I’m certain Nash is champing at the bit to get you to the church.”
Alone in her chamber, Ailie went to the window to gaze out at the harbor. How appropriate she would marry on Hogmanay, the end of one year and the beginning of another. It would be a new year and a new life for her.
In the hall outside her door, she heard Emily say, “Everyone is ready, Ailie!”
Before she went to join the others, she scratched a few lines in her diary.
31 December
They are calling for me so I must go, but I had to record this day. I am to be wed to Nash Etienne Powell in Dunnottar’s Parish Kirk. Yes, I know he’s English, but so is Emily. After all, love recognizes no borders and considers no obstacles insurmountable. I have forgiven him for not telling me what he was sworn to keep secret. Doubtless, there will be many more occasions when each of us must forgive the other.
A new life awaits me and I am excited for it to begin.
Nash turned away from his brothers’ teasing and fixed his gaze on the top of the stairs, impatient to see his bride. A moment later, she appeared, a golden goddess with a blue tartan sash across her shimmering gown. Behind him, the conversations ceased.
Ailie descended the stairs and he held out his hand, his heart swelling in his chest. “My love, you are truly the most beautiful bride.”
She blushed. “And you are ever so handsome.” He had worn the gold brocade waistcoat and dark blue tailcoat with velvet collar over his buff trousers because Muriel had insisted. Now he understood why. He and Ailie complemented each other in dress, a matched pair for their wedding, as he believed they would be in life.
William had arranged for carriages to transport them to the Dunnottar Parish Kirk in Dunnottar Woods a half-mile south of Stonehaven, and he had persuaded the minister to call the banns yesterday to allow them to wed today.
