The Intended

Chapter 1-1

1

The Isle of Skye, Scotland

April 1539

As brilliant as they were, the jewels of the wedding gown could not match the sparkle of the bride’s eyes.

Servants bustled about the room amid unpacked trunks, but Jaime Macpherson remained, silent and still, beside her bed, unable to lift her gaze from the magnificent white gown or shake from her mind the glorious dream. She had waited a lifetime for him and now the waiting was at an end. Finally, she was back where she belonged. Finally, they were to wed.

The tap on the open door and then the barely subdued voice of her maid Caddy brought Jaime back to the tasks at hand, and to the chaos that surrounded her.

“You’ll miss your wedding if we don’t hurry, m’lady,” the elder woman said breathlessly, her red face evidence of the exertion in bringing her mistress the news.

“Can it be today?” Jaime tried to contain her excitement. “We’ve only just arrived. How did Malcolm know that we would get here in time?”

Caddy waved a hand in agitation to get her young mistress’s attention. “There’s no time, m’lady. Lord Malcolm has already gone off to the Priory. Everyone has!”

Jaime’s stomach fluttered with excitement as she watched Caddy take charge of the room. The time had come. Malcolm had been true to his promise and was taking her as his wife. She reached down, took the gown into her arms, and whirled excitedly about the room. But then she came to a sudden stop.

“How am I to get there?”

“You’re the bride, for heaven’s sake. They saw our ship coming,” the older woman scolded as she started ordering the other servants about. “The steward told me the wedding is set for vespers. There’ll be an escort of Lord Malcolm’s men leaving Dunvegan in a short time, so we must make haste. Their job is to take you to your intended. But we must hurry, m’lady.”

“Aye, we must,” Jaime whispered excitedly.

* * * *

Malcolm MacLeod, the laird of the clan MacLeod and lord of the Isle of Skye and the Hebrides, glanced in the direction of the newly opened door. Stepping away from the group of men gathered in the large hall, he motioned his messenger to approach.

“Her ship has docked, m’lord,” the young man announced.

“Did you meet with Mistress Jaime?” Malcolm asked, impatience evident in his tone. “Did you give her the news?”

The man shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Aye, m’lord. I mean, nay, m’lord. Not face to face. But I did see your steward David speaking with Mistress Jaime’s woman. He was telling her, m’lord...and...and...”

Malcolm’s gaze took in the messenger’s embarrassed face and averted eyes. This was too much to put on the young man, he had to admit. He should have gone back himself, but with all that still needed to be resolved here, there just hadn’t been enough time.

“Very well. I’ll see to it.” Malcolm stopped as the MacDonald clan chief’s approach drew his attention back to the matters at hand.

* * * *

“I’m so excited, Caddy,” she said. “I feel giddy.”

“Well, I’m certainly happy to hear that, mistress,” the maid replied tartly. “But if you swoon before we get you into this dress...”

At the sound of someone crying out, they both turned in time to see pearls scattering everywhere on the rush-covered floor. The serving girl was looking on in horror as the white beads bounced and rolled into every shadowy corner and crevice. The young lass’s gaze snapped up to Jaime’s face as she folded to her knees and burst into tears. “I am so sorry, mistress. The string...”

Jaime came to her feet at once and moved across the chamber to the woman sobbing on the floor. “The string was too old, lass. I could have done that myself.”

“But...m’lady.”

“Think no more of it,” Jaime whispered reassuringly. “Let’s gather up these beads together, why don’t we?”

The young servant looked up gratefully with the tears still on her cheeks.

“Then you can help weave these flowers into my hair. I think they will be much more becoming with my dress than those pearls, don’t you?”

* * * *

From the confines of the small cemetery where Malcolm had only moments ago knelt at his mother’s grave, the warrior chief emerged and faced the joyous tidings of the gathered throng. The sounds of bagpipes filled the air, and the villagers and the gathered clan folk, dressed in their finest clothes, crowded in the Priory yard.

The young laird looked around proudly at the happiness that surrounded him. This was surely as it was meant to be, he thought, walking toward the chapel.

* * * *

A hush fell over the crowd, and the pipers ceased their tunes as the bride and the escorting warriors entered the gates of the Priory. Everyone stared approvingly as the young woman was helped from her magnificent bay horse by an armed knight before the steps of the chapel.

Then, as they started for the open doors, she staggered at the top step. The crowd surged around her.

“Mistress, are you well?” the knight asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Aye,” the bride whispered. “It is just the excitement. Take me in.”