much
food.’ And Bridie found out that even if you’d been raised as one, it was hard
being a lady at times. ‘She’s always telling me that I laugh too loud, that’s
it not pleasing for a man’s ears…’
‘I’ve never heard
you laugh.’ Bridie said and then thought for a moment. ‘Maybe you just need a
laird that’s a bit hard of hearing.’ And realising that perhaps her honesty was not so welcome amongst the Glenbarachs she went to apologise , except Donalda was laughing
and for the first time Bridie heard her. It was as if the bagpipes were in
attack and about to settle into playing state but not quite there yet and all
Bridie could do was laugh with her. ‘You’ll be fine tonight.’ Bridie said as
they wiped their tears and May came to fetch Donalda to prepare. ‘Laird
Alasdair is a nice man.’
He was.
Alone for a
moment, back in McClelland, Bridie looked out and across the hills, could hear
the chi chi churee call of the snow buntings and they were back for the coming winter.
She’d survived the
last winter, Bridie realised .
And would survive
the next – she’d make sure of it.
No matter how
awful tonight, she’d made it through the bleakest of times. She thought of her
mother, searching the glens and the loch, running through the mist, still
searching perhaps.
‘You can rest now
Ma,’ Bridie said.
For her daughter
was safe and well.
Bridie looked to
the land that she loved and it was time to move on, to put grief, pain and fear
forever aside, and look at her life with love. She had so very much to be happy
about - a daughter she loved, a family now too and she was a lady. But far more
than that she had her time with the laird, a night in his arms, and forever she
would remember it.
She just had to
get through tonight.
A maid brought
with them from Glenbarach sorted her make up and hair
and then the door knocked and it was Donalda and May.
‘You look
beautiful,’ Bridie said to Donalda, for her dress was lovely, even if it did
not much for her figure and her heavy hair was wrapped in a smooth coil but the
poor thing was clearly nervous.
‘Time for your
dress, Bridie.’
‘Why do we all
wear white?’ Bridie asked.
‘So the McClelland
plaid will stand out.’ May said as she unwrapped a sheet. ‘The bride will wear
have a lovely coloured gown on her wedding day, but
for tonight it’s white.’
‘Which is why I’ve
never been chosen,’ Donalda said.
Yes, she had a
point, for white was not the most flattering of colours with the palest of skins and Bridie slipped hers on still way more used to
harsh linen than the feel of pure European silk sliding over her skin.
‘It’s like being
under a waterfall,’ Bridie sighed as it slivered down, and then another layer
was added and the maid tightened the white velvet bodice at the front and, for
the first time ever, Bridie was brought a looking glass.
She’d only seen
herself a couple of times – once she’d picked up Lady McClelland’s
looking glass but Mrs Moffat had told her to put it
down and to not touch the dead’s things and she’d seen her reflection in the
loch of course, but she did not recognise it now.
Her hair fell long
and gleaming but it had been braided throughout too, and the once knotty curls
were sleek and rounded and her eyes seemed huge, her lips did too, for they
were painted.
‘If I looked like
you,’ Donalda said as they waited for Peter. ‘I wouldn’t be nervous.’
‘If you danced
like Bridie,’ May said. ‘You’d be sobbing in your bed.’ She looked to her two
nieces, two sisters, both with the same eyes, the same colouring ,
both similar, yet different and she was fond of them both.
Worried for them
too.
And the longer
they waited for Peter, the more nervous May got and the more cutting she was
as, over and over, she gave her instructions.
‘Bridie, you’re to
say as little as possible tonight. If the Laird asks a question, you’re to just
give one-word answers. Donalda,’
food.’ And Bridie found out that even if you’d been raised as one, it was hard
being a lady at times. ‘She’s always telling me that I laugh too loud, that’s
it not pleasing for a man’s ears…’
‘I’ve never heard
you laugh.’ Bridie said and then thought for a moment. ‘Maybe you just need a
laird that’s a bit hard of hearing.’ And realising that perhaps her honesty was not so welcome amongst the Glenbarachs she went to apologise , except Donalda was laughing
and for the first time Bridie heard her. It was as if the bagpipes were in
attack and about to settle into playing state but not quite there yet and all
Bridie could do was laugh with her. ‘You’ll be fine tonight.’ Bridie said as
they wiped their tears and May came to fetch Donalda to prepare. ‘Laird
Alasdair is a nice man.’
He was.
Alone for a
moment, back in McClelland, Bridie looked out and across the hills, could hear
the chi chi churee call of the snow buntings and they were back for the coming winter.
She’d survived the
last winter, Bridie realised .
And would survive
the next – she’d make sure of it.
No matter how
awful tonight, she’d made it through the bleakest of times. She thought of her
mother, searching the glens and the loch, running through the mist, still
searching perhaps.
‘You can rest now
Ma,’ Bridie said.
For her daughter
was safe and well.
Bridie looked to
the land that she loved and it was time to move on, to put grief, pain and fear
forever aside, and look at her life with love. She had so very much to be happy
about - a daughter she loved, a family now too and she was a lady. But far more
than that she had her time with the laird, a night in his arms, and forever she
would remember it.
She just had to
get through tonight.
A maid brought
with them from Glenbarach sorted her make up and hair
and then the door knocked and it was Donalda and May.
‘You look
beautiful,’ Bridie said to Donalda, for her dress was lovely, even if it did
not much for her figure and her heavy hair was wrapped in a smooth coil but the
poor thing was clearly nervous.
‘Time for your
dress, Bridie.’
‘Why do we all
wear white?’ Bridie asked.
‘So the McClelland
plaid will stand out.’ May said as she unwrapped a sheet. ‘The bride will wear
have a lovely coloured gown on her wedding day, but
for tonight it’s white.’
‘Which is why I’ve
never been chosen,’ Donalda said.
Yes, she had a
point, for white was not the most flattering of colours with the palest of skins and Bridie slipped hers on still way more used to
harsh linen than the feel of pure European silk sliding over her skin.
‘It’s like being
under a waterfall,’ Bridie sighed as it slivered down, and then another layer
was added and the maid tightened the white velvet bodice at the front and, for
the first time ever, Bridie was brought a looking glass.
She’d only seen
herself a couple of times – once she’d picked up Lady McClelland’s
looking glass but Mrs Moffat had told her to put it
down and to not touch the dead’s things and she’d seen her reflection in the
loch of course, but she did not recognise it now.
Her hair fell long
and gleaming but it had been braided throughout too, and the once knotty curls
were sleek and rounded and her eyes seemed huge, her lips did too, for they
were painted.
‘If I looked like
you,’ Donalda said as they waited for Peter. ‘I wouldn’t be nervous.’
‘If you danced
like Bridie,’ May said. ‘You’d be sobbing in your bed.’ She looked to her two
nieces, two sisters, both with the same eyes, the same colouring ,
both similar, yet different and she was fond of them both.
Worried for them
too.
And the longer
they waited for Peter, the more nervous May got and the more cutting she was
as, over and over, she gave her instructions.
‘Bridie, you’re to
say as little as possible tonight. If the Laird asks a question, you’re to just
give one-word answers. Donalda,’
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