Page 64 of Highlander's Wild Lass
Eleanor smiled. “That is one of Mrs. Duncan specialties—she grows an entire patch of blaeberries near the orchard.” Then she turned on Celestia who was drying off her hair with a second cloth. “We must get ye ready. The priest needs us in the kirk just before noon.”
Celestia eyed the small, embroidered bag Eleanor held in her hands.
“From Paris. George and I were there just before we found out I was with child. The Parisians love to rouge their cheeks and lips, I figured I might put a bit on yer lips and cheeks.”
Celestia nodded hesitantly. “Nae too much though, please.”
“Only the slightest little bit. I’m not partial to the amount Parisians put on themselves, but I’ve experimented and found that a little bit goes a long, long way.”
Celestia sat down on a plush armchair near the windows. Eleanor placed the bag on the dresser, plucking a small round metal pot from it, and placed it down. She placed a round fluffy pouf beside it. She took out another round pot, this one bigger than the last.
“This is just a bit of creamy oil perfumed with flowers and some other scents,” Eleanor said, popping off the lid. The smell of orange blossom and rosemary filled the air.
She tapped her fingers against the stiff oily substance and warmed it in her hands. She then patted it softly into her cheeks, neck, and forehead. “I’ve been told it helps keep the skin lookin’ youthful.”
Auralia stepped forward, peering down at the substance. “The French think of everythin’.”
Eleanor laughed and offered Celestia and Auralia to pat themselves with it. Celestia loved seeing Auralia interested in things other than just books, all these new experiences were sure to serve her well throughout her life.
“We’ll let that settle on yer skin, while I brush yer hair,” Eleanor told Celestia.
* * *
Anthony peered out his window at the sun, it was nearing noon and he was already dressed for the ceremony. He could hear the commotion of the guests all the way up here in his study.
He never felt the weight of his kilt before, but the scratchiness and coarseness of the fabric seemed unbearable at the moment. He fidgeted with his belt and adjusted the buttons on his waistcoat.
“Will ye please have a drink and take a breath?” Sebastian said from behind him. “All will be well.”
Anthony eyed the horizon, imagining clans McDunn and MacPherson coming over the ridge eager to see that this wedding did not happen. But they would not dare. There had not been war between their clans in nearly a century.
“Just a dram, Anthony,” Sebastian nudged.
Anthony sighed. “More than a dram, Bas. I’ll need it today.”
“Are ye truly nervous? I thought ye wanted to marry the lass.”
“I do, of course, I do. Doesnae everyone get a bit nervous just before they walk down the aisle?”
There was a tremor in his hand that he did not like. It was nervous, for sure, but why was he nervous? He had been plain with Celestia and told her that this marriage was strictly an arrangement to care for her family and to get him out of marrying another chief’s daughter or appointing one of his cousins. But there was something there lingering in every heartbeat; something there every moment he spent with her.
Sebastian shrugged, filling two glasses up with whisky. “I wouldnae ken, I’ve yet to get married.” Sebastian was dressed in a kilt like Anthony’s and the clan brooch neatly fastened to his plaid.
Anthony took the glass from him and gulped down half of it. He slapped Sebastian on the back, grabbed his velvet frock coat, and together they headed for the courtyard where they would meet Celestia, his sister, and Auralia would process to the kirk.
Chester and Hugo awaited them in the kirk, seated in the front row with their father.
“A blessedly sunny day,” Sebastian said once they were in the courtyard.
Anthony mumbled a response of agreement back to him as he fumbled with his cuffs and checking—for the third time—if his mother’s ring was still in his sporran.
“Oh,” Sebastian gasped.
Anthony looked at him, confused, and then followed his line of sight as Eleanor and Auralia came into the courtyard. Auralia was dressed in navy blue with some silver embroidery inlaid into her bodice while his sister wore her husband’s clan tartan of forest green and pale red around a plain yet expensive-looking green frock.
And then they stopped. Eleanor flashed him a knowing smile and looked back as Celestia came out of the doorway. When Celestia stepped into the sunlight it was as if all the air in his lungs abandoned him.
He was breathless for the first time in his seven and twenty years. Her hair was down with some of it braided and intertwined with pieces of white gauzy fabric and sprigs of heather.
