“Mercy,” Anya whispered under her breath.
“Smile,” he replied, starting down the long aisle to the dais, where the Dowager Lady of Islay sat in the seat that rightfully now should be Anya’s. Fortunately, the woman was smiling. Friar Jo, however, appeared as if he’d just swallowed a bitter tonic.
As they approached, Her Ladyship stood and greeted them at the top of the stairs. “Son, I pray ye have tidings of good news this morn.”
Angus said nothing as he kept Anya at his side and turned to face the crowd. “I have invoked the Highland vow of marriage and claimed this woman as my wife. Welcome the Lady of Islay to the clan!”
“Oh, rapture!” cried Her Ladyship as the hall erupted in a resounding applause.
“Let us break our fasts,” said Angus before he led Anya to the table and gestured to the lady’s chair.
She hesitated and glanced to the dowager.
“Nay, lass. Your place is at your husband’s side. I’ve always prayed this day would arrive.”
“I beg your pardon, m’lord,” said Friar Jo, wringing his hands. “This pagan custom ye have invoked is quite unfounded.”
Angus plucked a goblet from the table and signaled for a servant to fill it. “Have ye a solution?”
“Ye must marry in the chapel straightaway. Ye cannot wait. I shall deliver your vows this very day to ensure your souls do not end up in purgatory for the rest of your days.”
Anya clapped a hand to her chest. “This day?”
“There can be no exceptions.”
Angus gave her arm a nudge. “The friar has spoken.”
“If it must be today, then there is no time to spare.” Her Ladyship clapped her hands. “Send a tray to my chamber for the Lady of Islay and tell Freya to join us there straightaway.”
As Anya was about to take a bite of porridge, Angus’ mother grasped the spoon, set it aside, and pulled Anya to her feet. “Come with me.”
She looked longingly at her food. “Now?”
“Ye can eat above stairs.” Her Ladyship smiled to the friar and then to her son. “We shall arrive at the chapel following the midday meal.”
With that, Anya found herself whisked into her mother-in-law’s bedchamber. “We’ve much to do if ye are to be properly married this day.”
Smoothing her hands over her hair, Anya moved farther inside. “I haven’t brought anything to wear. I did, after all, jump out of my window with nothing but the clothes on my person and my cloak.”
“And that is exactly why I hastened to bring ye up here.” At the foot of her bed, the lady opened an ornately carved cedar trunk, pulled out a dress, and shook it. “I wore this when I married Angus’ father.”
Anya stepped in and examined the fabric, taking note of the intricate embroidery around the neckline. “Is this silk?”
“It is.”
“Oh, my, ’tis ever so soft and the embroidery is exquisite. I love the birds…all different sorts and colors, aren’t they?”
“Aye. It is difficult to believe the colors haven’t faded after all this time.”
“Did ye do the stitching yourself?”
“I did.”
“I see ye were quite talented even back then.”
“I suppose I had a good teacher.”
“Your ma?”
“I began under her tutelage, but when I showed a wee bit of promise, she sent me to the master weaver in our village. He was renowned throughout the kingdom—even made tapestries for the king.”
Anya had no doubt as a young lass, the dowager had shown more than a wee bit of promise. “And ye were allowed to be apprenticed, even though ye are a woman?”
“The weaver didn’t like the idea at first, but one does not grouse overmuch when one is given a directive by the lord and lady who control the lands upon which one’s shop was built.”
“Ye were most fortunate.”
A knock came at the door. “I’ve a tray for your ladyships.”
“Come,” said the Dowager Lady Islay.
Freya stepped inside. “I figured since I had been summoned, I’d bring the food ye requested.”
Anya plucked an apple and took a bite. “’Tis ever so good to see ye again, and I’m glad ye will be tending me.”
Freya set the tray on the table. “I’ve missed ye as well, m’lady. I hope ye don’t mind, but I took the liberty of clipping some bluebells from the garden. I thought ye might like a crown of blooms on your wedding day.”
Anya bent down to sample the fragrance. “These are perfect, thank ye for thinking of me.”
“Have ye considered who might give ye away?” asked Her Ladyship.
Straightening, Anya drew her hand over her heart. If only her father were still alive. She couldn’t ask Friar Jo because he’d be conducting the ceremony. Raghnall was a possibility. After all, he was shipwrecked on the Isle of Nave with her and Angus. “Rory,” she blurted.
“The guard?”
“Whyever not? He spent a great deal of time watching over me during my imprisonment.”
“Well, then, I have no doubt he will be honored.”
Angus paced at the front of the chapel while Raghnall looked on with his arms crossed. But it was well after the noon meal. The welts on his back needled him to the point where his temper was on edge. He barely felt the pain when Anya was near, but as soon as Mither had taken her above stairs, the agony had set in. “We sent a messenger hours ago.”
Raghnall tapped his boot on the flagstone. “I do no’ believe the bell has rung since. That means an hour has no’ yet passed.”
Angus panned his gaze across the crowd of clansmen and women who had amassed for his wedding. “Ever the practical one,” he growled under his breath. “It feels as if eons have passed.”
“Good Lord, I do no’ believe I’ve ever seen ye so overwrought in all my days of serving ye, m’lord, and all on account of a wee Irish lassie.”
“My wife, mind ye. The ceremony is merely a formality.”
The man-at-arms crossed himself. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
Angus rolled his eyes to the cross atop the altar. “Wheesht.” Perhaps the order of his marriage had been a bit back to front, but considering one sundown to another, everything was perfectly executed, or it would be if his bride would make an appearance.
The door swung open and young Fenn burst through. “Her Ladyship is approaching!”
“Thank heavens for small mercies,” said Raghnall, moving beside him. “I was afraid ye’d wear a hole through the flagstone.”
Choosing to ignore the man’s remark, Angus watched the steward lead his mother to the front pew. Her smile couldn’t have been broader as she gave him a nod. But his attention was soon drawn away by the gasps of awe from the crowd.
Anya stepped inside on the arm of her guard, Rory, who appeared to be as happy and as proud as a father giving his daughter away to a king. The bride looked a tad nervous until her gaze met Angus’. In that moment, as she strode forward, all the onlookers seemed to vanish, making it seem as if they were the only two people on the entire Isle of Islay. His bride wore a flowing gown of silk, which fit snugly enough to give him a glimpse of the shapely form beneath its folds. In her hands she carried a bouquet of spring bluebells, the same blooms encircling a sheer veil atop her head.