The Thistle and the Rose Read online

  Edmund's response was extreme for a man of his reserve. His misty eyes and shaking hands betrayed the sheer joy he was inwardly experiencing. His congratulations were effusive and warm when they sat him down in the South Hall.

  “Celia,” he said seriously after the first excited moments. “Your father would have been thrilled by this match.”

  He paused for a moment to consider his next words.

  “There are some things we need to discuss. Things about your father. And about his legacy for you.”

  “I'll leave you two, then,” Colin said, excusing himself. He knew that Edmund had been like a father to Celia. They deserved some time alone together.

  Celia would not let him go, however. She held tightly to his arm.

  “Edmund, I'd like Colin to be present for this,” she said softly, awaiting Edmund's nod before continuing. “Lord Hugh has already told me a great deal about my father. I know what he did and what he was.”

  “Then you know he was a great man,” Edmund responded.

  “All I really know is that he was a pirate, a merchant, and a loving father.”

  “Then you should also know that there were a great many needy people who benefited from your father's strength and open-handedness,” Edmund continued. “He kept order on the western coasts of England and Wales. Peace loving coastal villagers could live and prosper for the first time in generations, no longer fearing the raiding Spaniards and French.

  “But it was not only his countrymen that he aided. Everywhere in the world that his trading business took us, he made an impression. It was routine for John Muir to transport food and water to islands and famine-struck areas from Ireland to the west coast of Africa. He took no profit from any of those goodwill missions, though. He always spent his own money.”

  Edmund looked at Colin. “In many ways, your father and Celia's had much in common.” Colin nodded in affirmation.

  “As much as Lord Hugh's interest focused on Colin, John's interest focused on you, Celia,” Edmund continued. “One great difference was that Colin's father had Kildalton and Scotland. John Muir was in many ways a man without a country. He saw that as a liberating strength in many ways. He made his decisions free of the restraints of self-serving governments. But it also gave him concerns about where you could be safely raised. That was why he always kept you with him...after your mother passed away.

  “Your father knew that after he died all his possessions...and you...would probably be at King Henry's disposal. So he hid away as much of a fortune as he could for you. It's all tucked away safely in an abbey in Ireland. That treasure far exceeds the value of the fleet of ships that Henry confiscated for his own use, the ships that Danvers still lusts after. He didn't want you to know about this, though, until you were at a point in your life where you could control your own destiny. When it came to your future, he was afraid of everyone—King Henry, his own family, and every fortune hunter who might come seeking your hand in marriage. On his deathbed, he asked me to protect you as well as I could, and to try and get you to Scotland. He had more faith in James's sense of justice than in Henry's.

  “So when Henry brought you into his web of an English court, I went to James and told him the truth. He had heard the rumors of John Muir's treasure. James was a good man, but he was also a shrewd businessman. He wanted that wealth in Scotland rather than in England, so he arranged to take you in. He never intended to send you back, and when old King Henry died, James simply ignored the agreement that he'd made concerning you. But he didn't want to do what Henry had done, trying to force you into marrying one of his favorites. He knew that you would eventually find a match for yourself.”

  Edmund looked across at the entwined hands of the two young people.

  “And he was right, you have.”

  Dinner was far more exuberant than usual for the week before Easter, but the excitement was undeniable. The entire Campbell clan, it seemed, came out of the woodwork to wish their young laird well, and to cast approving looks at the bride. Colin was away from Celia for much of the evening, taking the customary comical advice and needling reserved for bridegrooms. At the center of a circle of clan women, Agnes had shown Celia off as if she were her own daughter. When they had spare moments, Agnes and Celia put their heads together, planning the wedding. With less than a week to put together a feast that might have been months in preparation, the flurry of activity would be dizzying.

  Celia was nearly asleep when she heard the panel door open. Opening her eyes, Celia watched the warrior cross the room to her bed. She was so glad to see him, for she had not even had a chance to say good night to him in the crowded hall below. First putting a finger to her lips, though, Colin scooped up his smiling betrothed and started back for the open panel. Celia snuggled her head against his shoulder.

  “If you're not careful,” she whispered. “I'll get used to being transported like this.”

  “It's an old Highland custom to carry the bride over the threshold,” he replied suavely.

  Reaching the wall, the muscular giant turned to edge his way through the opening, but the narrowness of aperture prevented him from slipping through smoothly. Cursing to the accompaniment of her giggling, Colin pushed and bumped at the sides of the entryway.

  “Ouch!” Celia cried, giggling as she exaggerated the effect of a scrape against the door.

  “Quiet!” he growled. “We're going over this threshold... if I have to take this damned wall down.”

  “Custom or no custom,” she scolded, comically imitating his growl. “Do you need to tear my arms off to do it?”

  With a final heave, Colin actually managed to work them through the door and into the passageway. Pulling the panel closed with an awkward effort, Colin turned toward the light coming from the open panel into his room.

  Seeing the narrowed corridor between the two fireplace walls, Celia glanced with disbelief at the look of devilish determination in Colin’s eyes.

  “Colin, No!” she gasped out, laughing out loud as the warrior charged down the passageway, wedging them firmly between the walls.

  “Oh, well,” he sighed with a deadpan expression. “Another custom shot to hell.”

  Soon thereafter, however, a contented, albeit mildly bruised Celia lay in Colin's arms in his great bed. Her silky skin lay smooth against his warm body, and her eyes half-closed in an attitude of satisfied tranquility. Her fingers unconsciously caressed the sinewy contours of his chest.

  “Celia?” Colin said softly.

  “Aye?” she responded, propping herself up on his chest with one elbow.

  His black hair lay in disarray upon the pillow, and his face was relaxed. His gray eyes peered lovingly up at her in the dim light as he reached up to play with the dark ringlets that hung about her face.

  “Father William said tonight that he wants to talk to the two of us tomorrow,” he said.

  “About what?” she murmured, leaning down and kissing his skin. Laying her ear to his chest, she could hear his great heart beating. Sliding her hand across the taut skin of his belly, she smiled, listening to the pounding accelerate. Colin took a great breath before continuing.

  “I think he wants to have a little pre-nuptial talk about our...our husbandly and wifely duties. Not that I think it's necessary, but it'll be either Father William or the Archbishop.”

  “The Archbishop?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Aye, my love. He should arrive early on Easter Monday. And, trust me, his speech will be a wee bit sterner than Dunbar's.”

  “You don't think Father William suspects anything?” she asked quickly, her head shooting up to look him in the face.

  “Aye, no question about it,” Colin answered teasingly. “Suspects? Definitely. Approves? Hmm...I'll ask him tomorrow.”

  “Colin! You will not!” she exploded. “You'd better not bring it up!”

  The warrior laughed and lifted her bodily, rolling her onto her back. Laying his head on her chest, he listened to her heartbeat race as his
hand traveled across the quivering velvet of her abdomen. Lifting his head, he looked smilingly into her eyes.

  “Turnabout is not just fair play. It's fun, too,” he growled. “Don't you think?”

  Celia took his face in her hands and lifted her lips to his. The long, slow kiss was as tantalizing as it was satisfying. Laying her head back on the pillow, Colin's hand smoothed back the curls from her forehead, caressing the side of her face, the line of her chin. And all along, his eyes spoke the language of love.

  “Celia,” he whispered in a low voice. “Do you still want me...now that you're a wealthy woman?”

  “Aye, Colin Campbell,” she said tenderly. “My love is for life. Our wealth, our power, and our position have nothing to do with my love for you.”

  “I hope you know that I fell in love with the woman that you are,” he responded. “Before I ever had any idea who you were, I knew I wanted to marry you. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “I know that, Colin,” Celia whispered. “Nothing outside of ourselves could ever change that.”

  Colin sealed her lips with a kiss. A hungry, searching, devouring kiss that was met with a fervor that equaled his own, and once ignited, their passion continued to mount, rising and soaring to an uncontrollable moment of ecstasy. Leaving them clinging to each other, breathless and awash in the warm waves of blissful love.

  Chapter 13

  What king sent us here? I’m so tired of these Highlands. There is nothing for us here. These Scots do not seem to feel the misery we inflict upon them. We even use them as our spies.

  But I think I will never see England again. Tonight I ride to the west with my company and a shifty-eyed scoundrel of this turncoat Gregor clan. I will probably die in the west, looking for the woman they say is there.

  “God created sex.”

  Beneath the blossoming cherry tree, the old priest paced back and forth before the betrothed couple.

  “My job today is to counsel you on the Church’s position regarding the subject,” he continued. “Though from my own study, it appears that Christ Himself had precious little to say on the...well, perhaps my own opinion is not particularly relevant at this moment.”

  Father William paused. He never thought he’d hear himself delivering this sermon to Celia and her future husband. All this silly interference in the natural response of a man and a woman to each other. Ridiculous.

  Ah, well, he thought.

  “The only purpose God created...sex...for was for the continuation of His people on earth.”

  “Then why, Father William,” Colin interrupted, “does He allow pagans and infidels to make babies?”

  “Colin, I like you,” Dunbar grouched happily. This may turn out all right after all. “But if you keep on this track, we're going to have trouble. I do not want you trying to put me off the subject with theological quibbling. But...well, to answer your question, it's to keep the missionaries busy. Now, where was I?”

  “Sex, Father,” Colin said helpfully, receiving a white-knuckled squeeze from Celia, who sat beside him on the turf bench beneath the cherry tree.

  “Aye,” the priest continued, picking up his train of thought. “Now, St. Paul had a great deal to say on the matter, far too much for the old bachelor he was, I’d say. But regardless of that, I've put together a little list for you concerning when, where, how you should feel free to enjoy...er, participate in the...er, act.”

  “A list, Father?” Celia asked incredulously, eyeing the rather long scroll of paper that her spiritual advisor was unrolling before them. She was certain Father William was, to some extent, teasing them, but the size of the scroll was certainly formidable.

  “Celia, you surprise me!” Dunbar scolded, suppressing a smile. “Here you are, not even married yet, and you're already questioning my authority on these matters.”

  “Excuse me, Father William. You're an authority on sex?” Colin asked innocently. Celia tried to hide her laugh behind a pretended cough.

  “Aye, of course! I’ve read volumes on the subject,” Father William exploded, crooking a finger at the two. “You are not taking this matter seriously enough.”

  “Sorry, Father,” Celia said, staring into her lap in an attempt to control her mirth.

  “Aye, Father,” Colin added. “I'll not interrupt again. Please go on.”

  “Well, that's better,” the priest grumbled, smoothing out his paper and preparing to read. They were going to love this part. “Now, after you've been married for three days...and no sex before then...there are a number of conditions that must be met, every time, before... well...before the act takes place.”

  Father William paused to look at the two young people sitting hand in hand before him. He had their attention for the moment, at least.

  “Now,” he continued. “Under pain of sin, you cannot have sex on any feast day. You cannot have sex on any fast day. You cannot have sex during Whitsun week. Nor during Advent. And certainly you wouldn't dream of having sex at any time during Lent.”

  He stopped for breath and to give the wide-eyed couple as stern a look as he could muster at the moment. Interesting, the color that Celia can turn, Dunbar thought, suppressing a smile.

  “It is, of course, also a sin to have sex during Easter week, which I hope you two will bear in mind next week,” he went on. “And you will not be having sex on Wednesdays, nor on Fridays, nor on Saturdays or Sundays.”

  “What day is today?” Colin whispered under his breath to Celia, drawing a threatening glare from the priest.

  “You also cannot have sex at any time during daylight hours. You cannot have sex unless you're fully clothed. And, for heaven's sake, try to remember that you cannot have sex in church. And did I mention that the purpose of sex is to have a child?”

  “Aye,” Celia and Colin answered in unison.

  “Very good.” Father William grinned. “You must both want to have a child at the time of the act. Think of nothing else!”

  He paused and stood squarely in front of the two with his hands on his hips, the rolled parchment in one fist.

  “Once all these conditions are met, you may proceed, but…” he said, staging his most ominous look, “no lascivious kisses! No fondling of any kind!”

  Celia playfully tried to pull her hand from Colin's grip, but the warrior held on tightly.

  “And no...oral sex. No strange positions. The natural order must be observed, you know. Males on top. We are very clear on that. And you may only perform the act once. And, for God’s sake, clean up afterward.”

  “But most important of all, my children,” he concluded emphatically, “do not enjoy it!”

  The penitential guide books that he'd used to cull this list from had been serious business in the old days. But times were changing, and the worldly priest could see great changes ahead. And that would be fine, he thought. After all, some of these rules were due for a good dusting... `natural order,' indeed!

  “Well, that behind us,” Father William exclaimed, his voice becoming gentler, “I want you to know that in spite of all I’ve just told you, I know you both to be thoughtful, intelligent people, educated in the ways of reason and the world. What you have found in each other is to be cherished, nurtured, and passed on to the generations that will follow. You have discovered, and will continue to discover, your own unique way of expressing your love for one another, and that in itself is an expression of God’s love. Celia, Colin, don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

  Visitors soon began arriving at Kildalton from the neighboring areas. News of the wedding had quickly spread, and Lord and Lady Macpherson arrived on Wednesday with their entire family and bringing their Easter feast. To Colin's utter dismay, Agnes gave up her apartment to the guests and moved in with Celia. With all the attention and activity, the two lovers could not find even a moment alone until Lord Hugh's long anticipated Easter hunt, when good fortune caused Celia's horse to throw a shoe.

  Over Alec's exaggeratedly courteou
s offers to escort Celia back to Kildalton, Colin swept his bride up onto the saddle before him and rode off, leaving the high-spirited party behind. A few stolen kisses were all they could enjoy, though, due to the groups of trailing revelers whom they passed at intervals on their return to the castle.

  Later, as the festive hunters returned, they heard in great detail how remarkably well the falcons had performed.

  The Easter feast that evening was celebrated with customary revelry, but everyone knew that the day's jubilation was only a precursor to the gala week that would follow.

  Discussion at dinner quite naturally dwelt on the following day's wedding. While Agnes and Celia worked out final details, Father William scurried around, busily taking various members of the party aside to tell them what their parts would be in the pageant-like masque that would be performed during the wedding dinner.

  “Well, my dear, I believe we're all ready for tomorrow,” Agnes said, closing the door after the seamstresses who had just completed the finishing touches on the wedding dress.

  Celia drew on her robe and cast a glance over at the gown hanging by Ellen's door. On the small bed that had been brought in for Agnes, the bride could see the seemingly endless accessories and undergarments.

  “You've really gone to so much trouble, Agnes,” Celia said, smiling at her companion.

  “Nonsense, child.” Agnes shrugged. She went over and sat down beside Celia on the great bed. “Did you get that certain...item...back from the metal smith in the village?”

  “Aye,” Celia replied, her eyes sparkling. “Would you like to see it?”

  “Of course,” she responded, watching as the young woman sprang from the bed and ran to the chest by the windows.