Ceinn-beithe—April 1183
Ceinn-beithe—April 1183“Do you not think ’tis somewhat harsh?” Duncan watched his wife don her veil. She was garbed in somber indigo from head to toe, her fingers devoid of any jewel beyond the simple silver ring he had put upon her left hand.
Eglantine was grimly determined and had he not been so skeptical of the choice she had made, Duncan would have held his tongue while she was in this mood. They were still in their chamber and, though the assembly waited below, ’twas not too late for Eglantine to change her thinking.
“The girl must learn the price of her folly, and better she does so before ’tis too late to change her course.” Eglantine anchored the veil with a heavy circlet, then started to pull the sheer fabric across her face.
Duncan caught her hand in h
