Page 93 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
The wedding between Edward MacAlpein and Charlotte Bolton took place in a meadow outside the gates of Castle MacQuarrie three months later. This was so that practically the whole town that lived in the shadow of the castle could attend the ceremony and—more importantly in many eyes—the celebrations afterwards.
“My goodness,” said Charlotte delightedly, “you Highlanders really do know how to celebrate with the proper gusto!”
She was sat at the long head table and looking out over the beautiful meadow, filled with feasting tables and eating, drinking, dancing guests. Currently, she was having all the little knots of the ribbons on her wedding dress retied by a young woman that Edward had mentioned was his second-cousin—no Scottish woman would have a knot tied during the wedding ceremony, it was bad luck.
Charlotte looked down at the ring that fitted perfectly around the third finger of her left hand. It was a simple band of yellow gold with a beautiful emerald set into it.
“It really is beautiful, Edward,” she said, smiling at her ring and then looking up at her husband who sat next to her.
Husband, what a thought!
Edward was looking as handsome and well-scrubbed as she had ever seen him. He was sat, resplendently dressed in a crisp new linen shirt and brand new great kilt, in the seat of honor at the head table. Charlotte was on his left, his father on his right.
“Aye, it’s a bonnie ring, is it nae?” he said, smiling warmly back at her. “It was me mither’s.”
Charlotte nodded.
“Ye ken, ye are nae supposed to have anythin’ green at a weddin’ in Scotland,” Edward said.
“Why not?” Charlotte asked.
“It’s the color most associated wi’ the fairies,” Edward said. “But mither always had a bit of a wild streak in her, ye ken? She loved to be out and about among the hills, by sun and stars. Is that nae right, Faither?”
The Laird leaned forward so that he could see Charlotte past his son’s broad chest. “Aye, it’s true,” he said. “Me dear wife was her own woman. She did nae answer to many. That is why I loved her so. Ye remind me o’ her sometimes, Charlotte, and there is nay higher praise I can give ye but that.”
Charlotte leaned across her new husband and squeezed the Laird’s hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much for everything you have done. I’m sure your wife would have been so proud of you—of both of you.”
The Laird gave her hand a brief pat in return, cleared his throat noisily and buried his nose in a goblet of ale.
Edward kissed Charlotte on the cheek. His own cheeks were scratchy. He had shaved a day or so before the wedding, but he had duties to attend to out on the borderlands and had only arrived back at the castle the night before.
A beard suits him very well, anyway. And I like that about him, that he has more to worry about, more cares, than just whether he is freshly shaven.
“Now, that ye are all retied,” Edward said to her. “Perhaps ye would fancy havin’ a go at reelin’ wi’ me?”
“Reeling?” Charlotte asked.
“Dancin’,” Edward said, with a grin.
Charlotte looked dubiously at the Highlanders flinging each other around with gay abandon in front of the stage on which the band played.
“I don’t think I should like to be a fool in front of everyone,” Charlotte said. “I feel as if I would be letting you down with my inadequacies. Everyone is very...enthusiastic.”
Edward gave one of his bark-like laughs. “Oh, aye,” he said, “every man and his dog is enthusiastic when he attends a free weddin’, as opposed to a penny weddin’.”
Charlotte shook her head. “A free or a penny wedding?”
Edward waved a hand. “I just mean when the grog is paid fer by the Laird, there’s nae many men or women who are apt to grumble about it. Besides, they have plenty to be thankful for because o’ ye, Sassenach.”
They danced for most of the evening, Edward teaching Charlotte the steps to many of the more popular reels. The night seemed to fly past in great swathes, so good a time did Charlotte have. She had little free time for eating and drinking, so keen were people to bend her ear on her life before she met Edward, to how things were south of the border.
There was a tree that stood on the edge of the meadow in which the wedding ceremony and celebrations were held. It was a great, beautiful spreading sweet chestnut. During one of the rare moments in which Charlotte found herself on her own, Edward grabbed her and led her away to the tree.
“This is important,” he said to her when she asked him what he thought he was doing.
In the purple shadows under the huge tree, Edward drew Charlotte to him and kissed her tenderly. The passion, which seemed to always be lying dormant within Charlotte’s breast and loins these days, awoke at her husband’s touch. Her hand moved down slowly down until it found his thigh, then slipped up under the edge of his kilt and—
Edward growled low in his throat and stopped her wandering hand in its tracks.
