picked up the wreath and, under Morag’s supervision, settled it atop Mary Kate’s head. No pins could be used to fasten it, for to use them would be to bring bad luck. For the same reason, every garter, shoestring, hose-point, or petticoat lace on either the bride’s or groom’s person would have to be loosened before they entered the kirk.
Mary Kate worried about that last custom. There would be fervent attempts to rob her of her garters, possibly even before the wedding party left the kirk. She had twisted extra silver and blue ribbons around her sleeves in hopes that the rowdier lads would be satisfied with the substitute, and so long as the word had not yet spread that she and Douglas meant to deprive their guests of a bedding, she thought she would be safe enough. She had heard tales of brides being stripped naked before the altar by enthusiastic wedding guests, but surely Parson MacDole, a stern and dour man, would not allow such goings-on in his kirk.
She wondered what Douglas would think of the highland ceremony. No doubt it would be different from what he expected, for although the Reformed Church of Scotland had been the official church of the realm for twenty-seven years, the resistant high-landers held firmly by the traditions of the old faith while paying no more than lip service to the new. Still, she thought, if Margaret proved to be right and her brother did intend to travel on the Sabbath, it was a good sign that he would not be unduly distressed by any differences.
Her train of thought was interrupted when Duncan gave her another hug. He went outside a few moments later to assure himself that the boys who were to prevent stray dogs from passing between bride and groom—another harbinger of bad luck—were ready to attend to their duties, and soon the pipes began to skirl in the yard. It was time to leave.
Mary Kate hurried down the stairs, stepped into her pattens and out into the garden. The din of the pipes was nearly deafening, but the procession formed quickly. First went Duncan with his particular friends and honored guests, including Lord Strachan and his friends. They were followed by the pipers. Next came the young cupbearer with the silver bride cup, decked with blue ribbons and rosemary, followed by little girls strewing dried rose petals, myrtle, and more rosemary.
Mary Kate followed, escorted by four grinning lads who sported silver; blue, and gold bride laces tied with the ubiquitous rosemary about their sleeves. Behind her, led by Margaret, trailed all the unmarried maidens of the district, carrying bride cakes and garlands of gilded wheat, symbols of wealth and fertility.
Friends and neighbors who had not taken part in the procession awaited them at the kirk door, and soon Mary Kate found herself inside, kneeling beside Douglas, listening to the words that would make her his wife. When she stole a glance at him, it was a shock to find him gazing down at her with enough tenderness and warmth in his eyes to make her forget for a moment the emotional distance that she had attempted to erect between them. She bit her lip, unable to look away until a slight change in the parson’s voice reminded her of his presence and the brief spell was broken. She faced forward, lifting her chin proudly, forcing herself to listen to the parson’s words rather than dwell on the lingering, teasing memory of Douglas’s expression.
An hour later, having promised honor, submission, and obedience to him until the Almighty in His wisdom saw fit to part them in death, and having listened to more than she wanted to hear from Parson MacDole regarding the wifely virtues of submission, obedience, and fruitfulness, Mary Kate stepped forth from the kirk a married lady. She was Lady Douglas and wondered suddenly why she still felt like Mary Kate MacPherson. All the preaching in the world about wifely virtues would not change her, she decided, glancing up at Douglas, who grinned at her in his usual impudent
Mary Kate worried about that last custom. There would be fervent attempts to rob her of her garters, possibly even before the wedding party left the kirk. She had twisted extra silver and blue ribbons around her sleeves in hopes that the rowdier lads would be satisfied with the substitute, and so long as the word had not yet spread that she and Douglas meant to deprive their guests of a bedding, she thought she would be safe enough. She had heard tales of brides being stripped naked before the altar by enthusiastic wedding guests, but surely Parson MacDole, a stern and dour man, would not allow such goings-on in his kirk.
She wondered what Douglas would think of the highland ceremony. No doubt it would be different from what he expected, for although the Reformed Church of Scotland had been the official church of the realm for twenty-seven years, the resistant high-landers held firmly by the traditions of the old faith while paying no more than lip service to the new. Still, she thought, if Margaret proved to be right and her brother did intend to travel on the Sabbath, it was a good sign that he would not be unduly distressed by any differences.
Her train of thought was interrupted when Duncan gave her another hug. He went outside a few moments later to assure himself that the boys who were to prevent stray dogs from passing between bride and groom—another harbinger of bad luck—were ready to attend to their duties, and soon the pipes began to skirl in the yard. It was time to leave.
Mary Kate hurried down the stairs, stepped into her pattens and out into the garden. The din of the pipes was nearly deafening, but the procession formed quickly. First went Duncan with his particular friends and honored guests, including Lord Strachan and his friends. They were followed by the pipers. Next came the young cupbearer with the silver bride cup, decked with blue ribbons and rosemary, followed by little girls strewing dried rose petals, myrtle, and more rosemary.
Mary Kate followed, escorted by four grinning lads who sported silver; blue, and gold bride laces tied with the ubiquitous rosemary about their sleeves. Behind her, led by Margaret, trailed all the unmarried maidens of the district, carrying bride cakes and garlands of gilded wheat, symbols of wealth and fertility.
Friends and neighbors who had not taken part in the procession awaited them at the kirk door, and soon Mary Kate found herself inside, kneeling beside Douglas, listening to the words that would make her his wife. When she stole a glance at him, it was a shock to find him gazing down at her with enough tenderness and warmth in his eyes to make her forget for a moment the emotional distance that she had attempted to erect between them. She bit her lip, unable to look away until a slight change in the parson’s voice reminded her of his presence and the brief spell was broken. She faced forward, lifting her chin proudly, forcing herself to listen to the parson’s words rather than dwell on the lingering, teasing memory of Douglas’s expression.
An hour later, having promised honor, submission, and obedience to him until the Almighty in His wisdom saw fit to part them in death, and having listened to more than she wanted to hear from Parson MacDole regarding the wifely virtues of submission, obedience, and fruitfulness, Mary Kate stepped forth from the kirk a married lady. She was Lady Douglas and wondered suddenly why she still felt like Mary Kate MacPherson. All the preaching in the world about wifely virtues would not change her, she decided, glancing up at Douglas, who grinned at her in his usual impudent
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