The Loveless Marriage Read online

  “I was suddenly afraid,” Fyna told him. “Then I knew what I must do.”

  Her father bent and kissed her cheek.

  “You have always been fey since you were a baby,” he said, “and I thank God for it. Always obey what your instinct tells you. It is the way God speaks to you and protects you.”

  “That is what I thought myself,” Fyna replied, “and I am very grateful.”

  Nevertheless, she could not help wondering whether being fey and, having saved her from Hamish, would also save her from the Earl.

  She had not dared to pray that the marriage would not take place.

  She knew that it must go ahead if the Clan was to be saved.

  But how could she herself be saved?

  When she had slept in the Tower the next night and the following night preceding the Wedding, the question was still with her.

  It was there not only at night but also at the back of her mind and in her heart during the day.

  The only relief for her during the day before the Wedding were the clothes that Yvonne MacSteel brought her after tea.

  Fyna had been worried in case at the last moment she had no Wedding gown and nothing else to wear.

  She had had a number of fittings, but Yvonne had refused to part with anything that she was creating until the last moment.

  Fyna knew that the women were working day and night and other women in the village helped by looking after their children, feeding their husbands and cleaning their houses.

  “They are all so kind,” she said to Yvonne when she heard about it.

  “They love you, mademoiselle,” Yvonne replied, “and they are very proud and grateful that you should do this to prevent this terrible fighting and the stealing of sheep and cattle.”

  “I can only hope that it will stop it completely,” Fyna sighed.

  She could not help wondering if, when she was married, Hamish would continue to go on behaving in such an appalling manner.

  She had expressed this fear to her father, but he had merely said,

  “I have told the Elders that they have to deal with him. Since they will be supported by the rest of the Clan, he will find it impossible to go on behaving so abominably.”

  “I just hope you are right, Papa,” Fyna said.

  She was in fact somewhat doubtful.

  Now, as she waited for Yvonne MacSteel, she was afraid for herself after tomorrow.

  How could she bear it if the Earl despised her?

  If he thought that she looked ugly, he would be ashamed that she would be his wife.

  Then the pride that had been in the MacSteels for generations rose within Fyna.

  It told her that whatever she wore she would still be herself.

  She was, whether the Earl believed it or not, his equal in breeding.

  The MacSteels might be a small Clan, but they were very nearly as old as the McBraras, and their history was just as impressive.

  ‘I will not allow him to look down on me or my people,’ Fyna told herself firmly.

  She knew also, because she was a woman, that she wanted to be admired for herself.

  Yvonne MacSteel arrived at The Castle in an open cart.

  Behind her was, Fyna saw, a large bundle covered with clean sheets.

  Fyna did not say anything as Yvonne directed the menservants to carry it upstairs tp her bedroom.

  She followed, wondering a little apprehensively just what she would be seeing when the sheets were removed.

  The bundle had been placed on her bed.

  When the menservants withdrew, Yvonne undid it.

  First she lifted out the Wedding gown and, when Fyna saw it, she gave a little cry of delight.

  It was not exactly what she had expected, but she knew well, however, that it was very beautiful and very becoming.

  With an instinct which could have come only from a French woman, Yvonne had made the gown of white chiffon.

  It was very different from the conventional satin that was worn by every bride.

  When Fyna put it on, it clung to her figure and made her look like a Greek Goddess.

  The soft folds of the chiffon revealed how graceful she really was and it made her look very young and very slim.

  The train, which fell from the waist rather than from the shoulders, was very much more elaborate.

  It had little pieces of ermine on it, lace and embroidery that shone in the sunshine.

  This glittered like the small tiara that Fyna would wear over the Wedding veil that had belonged to her mother.

  “It is lovely, Yvonne,” Fyna cried. “Thank you – thank you for designing anything so – unusual and so beautiful.”

  “You will look sylph-like,” Yvonne said. “I knew when I looked in a book at pictures of the Greek Goddesses that that was how you should appear at your Wedding.”

  She then produced Fyna’s going-away dress, which was also rather different from what she had anticipated.

  It too was made of some soft material that was the colour of the trees in the woods while the bodice was the paler green of the river.

  The bonnet that went with it had three green ostrich feathers tightly curled and ribbons in the same green would tie under Fyna’s chin.

  “It is so pretty!” Fyna exclaimed. “I feel as if it has grown from the trees themselves.”

  “This,” Yvonne said, lifting out the material Fyna had found that belonged to her mother, “is a gown that could have been thought of by the nymphs you believe live in the river.”

  It certainly seemed to gleam in the same way when Fyna put it on.

  It had the high waist, which was a little lower than it had been when the King was the Prince Regent.

  There was another day dress and those, Yvonne said, were all that she could supply for the moment.

  “I have two or three more in preparation for Monday,” she said, “and the rest will have to follow you when you go away on your honeymoon.”

  Fyna started.

  She had not really thought of a honeymoon.

  Then she realised that it would take place when she went to Edinburgh to meet the King.

  It was not the sort of honeymoon that she had expected when she envisaged marrying the man of her dreams.

  At least in Edinburgh she would not be ashamed among the Scottish Nobility or among the ladies who might have come with the King from England.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” she said again. “I am so very grateful and I am not so afraid now of what will happen tomorrow as I was.”

  “We have all been prayin’ as we worked on,” Yvonne told her, “that you will find real happiness.”

  She gave a little smile before she went on,

  “That is what I found and I never expected for one moment when I lived in France that I would marry a Scot and leave everything familiar.”

  “Now you like it here?” Fyna asked.

  “I love being with my husband,” Yvonne replied. “I am teaching him to become very French and, how do you say, a very good lover.”

  Because it was something that Fyna did not expect, she looked a little shy.

  “That is what I am prayin’ you will find, mademoiselle,” Yvonne smiled.

  But Fyna knew that there was no answer to this.

  Chapter Five

  The sun was shining when Fyna awoke and she hoped that it was a good omen.

  Her father had arranged that she should be married at noon on the Saturday.

  After they had partaken of the Wedding breakfast, the pipers and the dancers would have their turn.

  Fyna had listened to what he was saying, but she could think only of the moment when she would first meet the Earl.

  This was actually due to happen in the Kirk, where he would be waiting for her when she arrived.

  Because it was such a hasty Wedding, there was no question of her having bridesmaids and her father had said that they were quite unnecessary anyway.

  Fyna was helped to dress by most of the women in The Cast
le because they were so excited by her being a bride.

  She only wished that she herself could feel some of their feverish enthusiasm.

  She prayed for a long time before she was called that she would not make any mistakes and above all that the situation between the Clans would not be as bad as she had anticipated.

  She realised, as she then put on the beautiful gown that Yvonne had made for her, that she was really very frightened.

  She was leaving behind everything she loved and which was familiar to her.

  She was going to another Castle with the man who owned it.

  Because the prospect was so terrifying, she tried just to think of the Wedding and the reconciliation they so hoped for between the Clans.

  She knew that her father was worried that there might be trouble between the MacSteels and the McBraras when the Ceremony was over.

  Fyna, however, had the feeling that, because Hamish had failed in his effort to kidnap her, he would not be coming to the Wedding.

  She prayed that this might be so, but she knew that it might be wishful thinking.

  At exactly five minutes to twelve she came down the stairs dressed as a bride.

  She wore the veil her mother had worn at her Wedding, as several other MacSteel brides had before her and it covered her face.

  It fell over her shoulders and onto her train at the back.

  The tiara of diamonds sparkled in the sunshine and so did the diamanté that decorated the train.

  It was carried down the stairs by two of the women who had helped her dress.

  She knew that Yvonne had gone ahead to arrange the train when she entered the Kirk.

  The carriage was waiting outside and her father did not speak until the horses moved off.

  Then he said,

  “I am very proud of you, my darling. I know that you are doing this to help me and the Clan. You can be sure that they, like myself, will be eternally grateful to you.”

  Fyna did not reply to him at once.

  Holding her bouquet of white heather in one hand, she slipped her other into her father’s.

  “It is not going to be easy, Papa,” she murmured.

  “I know that,” her father said. “But you have always had courage and I am sure that God will not fail you now, as He has never done before.”

  They then drove in silence.

  The Kirk was not too far away and long before they reached it, Fyna could hear the pipes playing outside in the heather.

  There was a huge crowd of Clansmen, both men and women, who could not get into the Kirk.

  Looking through her veil, Fyna realised that a great number of them were wearing the McBrara tartan.

  She knew that this would please her father.

  When the carriage came to a standstill, the Laird climbed out first and then helped her to alight.

  Now the pipers played even louder than they had before.

  She had to walk down a path that was packed with people on both sides of it towards the Kirk.

  She knew that it would be a mistake for her to look round.

  She therefore bent her head and walked slowly beside her father.

  There were children who scattered white heather and wild flowers ahead of her.

  Then, as she walked in through the Kirk door, Yvonne was waiting for her.

  She took Fyna’s train from the footman who had carried it from the carriage.

  The Kirk itself was filled to suffocation and every MacSteel possible had moved in early in the morning.

  Two pews had been kept on the right hand side of the aisle for the Elders of the McBrara Clan.

  Fyna was to learn later in the day that the Earl’s senior gamekeepers, gillies and farmers had insisted on being given seats as close to the Altar as possible.

  There had been resentment among the MacSteels who had arrived there early and seated themselves on the bridegroom’s side without realising it.

  Their Elders, however, had insisted that they should give way to the visitors and another place was found for them on the bride’s side of the Kirk.

  Fyna, however, was not aware that there had been muttered protests and some unpleasant observations that were best forgotten.

  Holding on to her father’s arm, she moved up the aisle with her head still bent.

  She was putting off the actual moment when she would see her future husband for the first time.

  When he came forward to stand on her other side, she was then acutely aware that he was taller than she had expected.

  She deliberately did not look up at him.

  Then, as the Service began, she was aware that he had a deep and rather pleasant voice.

  He spoke without a trace of a Scottish accent.

  The Marriage Service did not take long as the Laird had insisted that there should be no address.

  He knew only too well how long-winded the Highland Ministers could be.

  On this occasion, because it was so important, there were four Ministers taking part in the Service, two sent by the Earl and two who normally served in the Kirk.

  The Laird had received requests from other Ministers on his estate to take part in the Service.

  But, as the Kirk was not large and he had been forced to accept those whom the Earl proposed, he had to refuse.

  The bride and bridegroom knelt for the Blessing.

  Then the Earl offered Fyna his arm and they walked together to the Vestry to sign the Marriage Register.

  This was on a table near where they had been married.

  As she signed it, Fyna was aware that her hand was trembling.

  Then, as the bride and groom turned round, the pipers began to play and walked ahead of them down the aisle.

  Fyna had swept back her veil so that she could sign the Register and now she could see clearly that every face in the Kirk was turned towards her.

  As the two pipers reached the door, they were joined by the others who had been waiting outside.

  Now there were six of them, three wearing the MacSteel tartan and three in the McBrara.

  They led them through the crowd to where the carriage was waiting to take them back to the Laird’s Castle and the Marquee where she and her husband would soon be receiving their guests.

  It was open at the sides and the Laird had erected it only so that they could be protected if it rained.

  Everyone could see the bride and groom receiving first their more important guests.

  Then, when they moved away, the crowd surged towards them, eager to be able to say that they had shaken their hands.

  It all took some time.

  The pipers were playing continuously which made it difficult to have a conversation with anyone.

  Only when it was nearly two o’clock did the Laird suggest that the bride and bridegroom should cut the cake.

  “After you have done that,” he said, “the first dancing should take place so that you can have something to eat without being disturbed.”

  Fyna and the Earl moved to where the cake was displayed on a side table.

  After all the trouble the cooks had taken, it was certainly magnificent.

  The Earl cut it with his claymore. It was then carried away to be cut into small pieces so that everyone could taste it and make a wish.

  All the young girls would take their portion and sleep on it to dream of their own future husbands.

  There was a table set at the back of the marquee for about twenty people.

  The bridal couple were then joined by the Laird and the Elders of both Clans and the Ministers.

  As they sat down, for the first time Fyna looked directly at the man who she had married.

  He was, she thought, not in the least what she had expected.

  He was younger for one thing.

  She had thought of him as having a hard and rather cruel face.

  Instead he looked like one of the Vikings she had read about and seen pictures of in her books.

  The moment she looked at the Earl he w
as in fact laughing at something that the Laird had said.

  She felt a little of her fear recede from within her heart.

  She had had no idea that the Earl had looked at her as she walked up the aisle.

  He had been astonished because she was so small and slight.

  He had it firmly fixed in his mind that she would be a hearty, rather heavy woman and for a moment he wondered if this was the wrong bride.

  Then, when Fyna had thrown back her veil to sign the Register, he realised that she was very different from what he had anticipated.

  She was, in fact, very beautiful in a strange way that he had never seen before.

  Then, when they were shaking hands with their guests and he could see her clearly, he knew that all his forebodings had been quite unnecessary.

  His unknown wife was definitely very lovely.

  At the same time he was increasingly aware that she was frightened.

  In all his experience with women, he had never known one who was frightened of him.

  He was so used to them looking at him eagerly with an unmistakable invitation in their eyes.

  When later they sat down at the table, he was aware that his bride was still very afraid.

  This was something that had never happened to him before.

  He would have been very stupid if he had not been well aware that any young woman in Scotland would have been delighted to become his wife, not for himself but because of his position, his title and the history of his Clan.

  In Paris he had been fawned on and even fought over amongst the courtesans with whom he associated.

  In London any woman whom he looked at twice was only too eager to fall into his arms, sometimes before he even expected it.

  As they ate their luncheon, Fyna made no effort to talk to him.

  He was acutely aware of her fear and did not know what he should do about it.

  He wondered whether it was just because she was married to someone she did not know or was afraid of him personally.

  It was quite impossible to have a conversation that was not overheard by the other people at the table.

  However, because they were all men, they were eager to talk to him and not to his bride.

  Outside, the stags that had been roasted over the open fires were being heartily consumed by the Clans.

  There was ale and homemade cider to drink while whisky was provided for the Elders.