Page 81 of Bride of the Mad Laird
It was impossible not to be enchanted with such a beautiful garment.
After she’d bathed in the copper tub and washed her hair in the rose-scented water, Elspaith helped her dry off and, as she sat by the fire in her robe, the maid combed and brushed the shining mass of her hair and bound it into a thick braid which she coiled at her nape.
She donned the gown and Elspaith fussed over the girdle, making sure it was tied in a knot that would not unravel, and adjusted the sleeves so that the lace fell just so.
It was altogether grand, and something Lyra would never have allowed herself to dream of during the long, drab, days at the nunnery.
There were new silk slippers for her feet, and finally, Claray entered carrying a small velvet pouch.
“A gift from Laird Tòrr, me lady, fer yer wedding day. They belonged tae his maither, the Lady Sorcha.”
Lyra drew in a breath.A precious gift from Tòrr?
Her hands shook a little as she pulled the purse strings and opened it. The purse contained an exquisite necklace of deep blue sapphires interspersed with florets of tiny seed pearls while the earbobs were a matched pair of pearl and sapphire drops.
She could scarcely breathe at their loveliness. “Thank ye Claray, please convey me thanks tae the laird fer such a wonderful gift.”
Claray nodded approvingly, smiling broadly. “He would have brought them tae ye himself, but he was warned it was bad luck fer the groom tae see his bride before the ceremony.”
Lyra gave a delighted laugh as Elspaith fastened the sparkling necklace at her throat and threaded the earbobs.
“We understand this isnae the wedding we were all planning, Lady Lyra.” Claray said, “But all of us will dae what we can tae make it as beautiful as it should be. Taenight the ceilidh will be yer wedding ball, and the feast shall be fer yer marriage.”
She curtsied before she left the chamber. “All of us are wishing ye and Laird Tòrr the best fer yer future happiness.”
Finally, Elspaith arranged the filmy veil over Lyra’s head and shoulders, keeping in place with a delicate silver fillet.
The maid stood back and gazed admiringly at Lyra.
“Why, Lady Lyra, I’ve ne’er seen such a beautiful bride as ye.”
Lyra’s mood had lifted and she was aglow with happiness. “I thank ye Elspaith. It is ye who has made me beautiful, along with Purdie’s sewing, and Lord Tòrr’s gift.”
She was ready at last, when there was a knock at the door.
It was Edmund, looking handsome in his kilt and jacket, his hair neatly combed and tied with a leather thong.
“Allow me tae escort ye tae the chapel, me lady, ‘tis nae fitting fer a bride tae walk alone.”
Although Lyra guessed Tòrr had instructed Edmund to keep her safe, she was charmed by his chivalric gesture as she took the arm he proffered and they made their way down the stairs and across to the chapel.
The usual morning mass was over by the time she entered, but the chapel remained packed with well-wishers as Edmund walked with her to the altar where Tòrr waited with Father Pádraig.
Every nook in the chapel was filled with briar roses tied with pink ribbons, and a large bunch of roses and lavender had been placed on a small table near the altar. Lyra marveled at the care Claray and all the servants had taken to ensure the day would be as memorable as possible, even with the shortest notice.
“Yer beauty dazzles me eyes,” Tòrr said softly as she took her place beside him.
She flashed him a smile, suddenly shy. She would have liked to tell him how he dazzled her in his finery, standing proud with his head high, his classical Grecian profile and the gloss of his dark hair.
Her heart was pounding, her fingers damp. As Father Padraig intoned the holy Latin words of the service, she felt herself drifting, a jumble of terrors appearing in her mind.
She gave her head a tiny shake, wanting to dislodge MacDougall from her thoughts at this divine and irrevocable moment in her life. But, try as she might, his shadow loomed like an insidious and unstoppable threat to her happiness.
A quiethufffrom Tòrr jolted her away from her strange, uncharted thoughts to find herself surrounded by silence.
Tòrr provided her with a gentle nudge.
“I’ll ask again,” Father Padraig muttered. “Dae ye, take this man...?”
