Parris Afton Bonds Read Free

took hold of his hand, which was missing three fingers. With a grim countenance, she examined it. "Ye have a new weeping sore. I’ll tend to it after the blessing, dear one.”
    Malcolm tugged his hand from his wife ’s grasp. "Let’s get on with this foolery. I tire.”
    Enya lowered her head, as much to avoid her father ’s mortified expression as to receive Brother Archibald’s blessing. She understood the reason for her father’s brusqueness and could do nothing to alleviate his emotional pain. Going down on her knees, she said, "Bless me, for I have sinned.”
    "Not nearly enough, I think." The priest placed his spindly fingers atop her powdered coiffure with its net of pearls. His lantern jaw lost its wry smile, and his nimble lips took on a serious cast. "T he greatest sin is to abstain from the passions of life. Passions teach us lessons about compassion, joy, love, and finally self-surrender. I charge you to seek these as the knight seeks the Holy Grail."
    His hand on her shoulder signaled her to rise. “ Go with God, Enya.”
    She dipped a curtsy and, with her mother, left the room. They sought out the immense salon with its cream-colored walls, reminiscent of London ’s Assembly Rooms. Their heels clicked hollowly on the inlaid mahogany floor. Each woman was silent with her own thoughts.
    Kathryn was a private person; no one ever knew her feelings. Enya ’s thoughts centered, quite naturally, on the imminent wedding. Her intended was detained at Westminster and would join her at his Highland headquarters, Fort William. As a direct result of the Rebellion of '45 and the battle at Culloden, a nervous London government had ordered its recent reconstruction, still in progress. She could only imagine the disorder of sawdust and hammering she would preside over as wife of the Lord Lieutenant.
    For the wedding ceremony, Simon Murdock was to be represented by proxy. Enya could not pick out his proxy from the multitude of guests assembled in the salon, which with its coffered ceiling was the full height of the two-story mansion. Sunlight poured though the big orangery windows. The double row of marbled pilasters, reflected tenfold in the gilt-framed mirrors.
    Alistair had outdone himself in decorating for the occasion.   Crystal candlesticks, satin table coverings, silver tureens, porcelain vases. Kathryn stopped to confer with the thin, stiff-mannered old man. “Are the peeled prawns fresh?”
    "Aye, with a dash of cream and dry vermouth sauce,” he said with his soft brogue and rolling r’s.
    "You transferred the monies in the Edinburgh a ccount to Glasgow for Enya?”
    "Aye, m'lady.” He allowed himself a rare smile. “More than a fortnight ago."
    She touched his sleeve, the most affectionate gesture Enya had ever witnessed between her mother and others, with the exception of Malcolm. It was as if her mother didn't allow herself to feel emotion, only devotion and duty.
    "What would I do without you, Alistair?"
    His big nose sniffed. “You would, as always, suffer in silence, madam.”
    The guests represented the elite of Scottish society. Writers, lawy ers, philosophers, doctors, scholars, scientists, and painters paid tribute today. Kathryn had encouraged these Scottish men of learning and letters to come to her court. She believed this was the only way to rescue for posterity the culture of what was once an independent nation.
    Having grown up surrounded by the best minds in Scotland, Enya had assimilated her mother ’s creed. After struggling against the English for almost a thousand years, Scotland, Enya felt, needed to seek its identity through peaceful means.
    For that reason, and that reason alone, she consented to be led to the marriage altar. The man giving her away was her mother ’s friend, the famed dramatist Allan Ramsay, who had opened the first circulating library in Scotland. Before an ornate marble-and-plaster fireplace, Reverend Macives awaited the bride and the groom’s proxy. In the