Parris Afton Bonds Read Free Page A

absence of wedding music, silence reigned.
    Enya ’s gaze searched the faces of the guests. There he was, toward the back of the crowded room: Duncan Fraser. He was clothed in a shabby frock coat and trews. She smiled tremulously. Below the disheveled fringe of yellow hair, his brown eyes reassured her. All was well, then.
    Next, she searched among the unrecognizable faces closest to the parish minister. The stocky littl e man wearing a fringed waistcoat—was he Simon Murdock’s proxy? He exuded an aura of self-import.
    Old Allan Ramsay kissed her on the cheek and nudged her forward. At the same time, the man in the fringed waistcoat stepped forth. Lurched was a better word, she thought. Obviously, he had imbibed too well.
    He introduced himself in an officious and quite British tone. Each word was elaborately pronounced. "I am Sir Oliver Wakefield, Secretary to the Ministry of War and proxy for Simon Murdock, Lord Lieutenant o f the Western Highlands, at your service, my lady.”
    Enya blanked out all thought. From hereforth, she would be leaving the Lowlands and her childhood to become a wife in whatever foreign land her husband ’s position would take him.
    And the hinterland of the Highlands was as much a foreign country as would be the Russian steppes.
    Was any cause, even one as noble as the preservation of all that was distinctly Scottish, worth this terrible sacrifice? God, but what she wouldn ’t give for an opportunity to sneak away and smoke her pipe for a leisurely half hour.
    The marriage ceremony was over barely before it had begun. She wouldn ’t wear the ring of the Lord Lieutenant until she exchanged vows with him in a more private ceremony, so she still didn’t feel wedded.
    The afternoon festivities were spent in toasting with brilliant clarets, dancing, and, later, a sampling of sumptuous dishes: salmon with prawn sauce, succulent lamb with mint jelly, and a sublime pigeon consommé.
    She did not see Duncan again.
    Too soon, En ya’s luggage and that of her maidservants was being loaded atop the Lord Lieutenant’s private traveling coach. The proxy, Wakefield, had drunk too much and so chose to remain behind. Or, at least, that was the gentle yet very effective suggestion of her mother.
    Enya had changed into a copper-red jaconet traveling dress with a bonnet of matching copper-red ribbons. Balmy weather blessed her bridal journey. It was to take her to Glasgow, where she would board ship. From there, the ship would transport her up the Clyde River and through the inner islands to the entrance of the Great Glen. The last stage of travel to Fort William would be accomplished over a series of Roman and English roads paralleling the Highland lochs.
    Standing beneath the airy wrought-iron porte cochere, she blinked back tears and kissed her mother good-bye. "You will come to visit me?”
    Her mother ’s eyes glistened with her own unshed tears. Kathryn and Enya had been more than mother and daughter: tutor and student, closest of friends, confidants. "The Butcher himself couldn’t keep me from you."
    They both managed a weak smile at the jest. The Butcher was William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, the third son of George II. General Cumberland had become infamous for the atrocities committed by his men after the Battle of Culloden.
    Mary Laurie dropped a curtsy to her cousin, a stern-looking farm wife who doubtlessly was glad to be relieved of another mouth to feed. Alistair gave his twin an old man ’s quick, embarrassed hug. Kathryn's embrace for the departing servants was as reserved but as heartfelt.
    Enya swallowed her pain of separation and, turning from her mother, boarded the coach. She did not know how long it would be before she saw her mother again. But both knew her mother would remain with Ma lcolm, who needed her more, and would remain with him until his last wheezing breath.
    Elspeth, Mary Laurie, and two green-coated liveried footmen accompanied her. A contingent of redcoats, serving