"She does not believe that day is near, however," Janet pointed out.
"Nay, of course she does not, but she is aging and has little eagerness to quarrel with Jamie, or so Buccleuch told me."
Janet had noted shortly after her arrival at Branxholme that her hostess had a habit of quoting her husband frequently, and of believing that he knew best about most things. She had noted a similar tendency among Englishwomen she had met, and wondered if it was customary with Scottish wives. She hoped that it was not, for she could not imagine herself assuming that Sir Quinton was the only one whose opinion mattered in her life. She had not allowed Hugh to reduce her to a mere cipher. She certainly would not allow Sir Quinton to do so.
Janet's wedding day dawned in a gloom of heavy fog, but the walls of Branxholme Castle fairly vibrated with its many guests. The bridegroom's feast, which Buccleuch had informed Sir Quinton the latter would pay for, had lasted well into the small hours of the morning, and when the maidservant woke her, Janet was by no means certain that she wanted to arise.
"It cannot be morning already," she muttered into her pillow as she burrowed deeper into the cozy featherbed.
"Aye, but it is, Mistress Janet," the maid said in her soft voice. "I've brung ye hot water, and the mistress will come along shortly t' help ye dress."
When Margaret arrived, a number of other ladies accompanied her, and Janet's dressing ceremony proceeded with pomp and circumstance. To her astonishment, Margaret produced a lovely gown that she declared was brand new.
"But how-?"
Margaret silenced her with a laugh. "'Tis Quinton's doing, of course. I told him that my woman could easily rework one of my gowns, and that since it would be new to you, it would satisfy tradition, but he would have none of that."
"It is beautiful," Janet said, touching the soft, creamy velvet skirt when Lady Gaudilands, a plump, graying gentlewoman with some forty-five years to her credit, held it out for her inspection. "I do not understand, though. How could he contrive this in such a short time?"
"He bullied Francis, the tailor in Hawick, of course. Francis had finished cutting this gown for Lady Roxburgh who had ordered three dresses from him, and when Quinton told him he required a wedding dress, Francis told him-eventually and doubtless after much argument and persuasion-that he could have this one. He kept his seamstresses up two whole nights to get it finished."
"But how could the tailor know my size?"
"He did not, but Quinton said he told Francis that you were so high and that his-Quinton's-hands could nearly span your waist. That, he said, was enough for Francis to say this gown would suit you. You may ask him to alter it after the wedding if it does not fit perfectly, but tradition forbids any alteration today. Everything you wear to your wedding should be new, so we'll have no argument. Quinton even thought of corsets." She held up a pair of ivory silk bodies with matching ribbon laces and trim.
"'Tis a good thing ye be slender, Mistress Janet," said Lady Gaudilands. "The dress wouldna fit if ye had to depend on the corset to make you slim enough, for we canna make any knots the day."
"Nor will Quinton be allowed to knot his laces," Margaret said with a grin. "'Tis a tradition that's led to many a merry moment, I can tell you, for I've known folks who have nigh lost their clothing during the ceremony or afterward."
Dismayed, Janet said, "I'd swoon if such a thing happened to me. Surely, we can pin things together so I need not fear baring myself to the company."
"Ye need ha' no fear, my dear," Lady Gaudilands said. "I ken a few tricks to prevent disaster. The rule says no knots. It says nowt about twisting ribbons round one another. Here, I'll show ye. Slip out o' that smock and into the new one that Margaret be holding for ye."
Before long, Janet stood ready to don her gown, and Lady Gaudilands had made good her promise. Even the corset felt as if it would stay in place, for she had twisted the ties round each other and tucked in the ends. Despite the lack of knots or pins, Janet no longer feared that she could lose her clothes if she dared to move.
The rich, ivory velvet, open-skirted gown boasted a train and hanging sleeves of ivory velvet over a petticoat of matching silk taffeta. The velvet bodice had narrow crossbands of gold and silver bobbin lace, and the golden satin undersleeves were slashed and trimmed with bands of the same metallic lace. The hems of both petticoat and dress, and the hanging sleeves, were also trimmed with lace and lined with scored and pinked gold satin.
When she was dressed, all the ladies except Margaret and her personal servant left, and the three of them waited patiently until they heard firelocks discharging outside the castle walls to announce the parson's arrival.
"'Tis the feu de joie," Margaret said, looking out a window. "Come and see."
Janet obeyed, feeling a thrill of pride at the huge procession that accompanied the parson. She felt sad that her family could not be present, but it warmed her heart to see that the people of Liddesdale and Teviotdale intended to show Sir Quinton's bride great honor. The procession was a merry one, and that amazed her, too. A number of guests had arrived the previous night and had enjoyed the groom's feast with its attendant imbibing, so she had expected many of the men who had attended those festivities still to be lying abed, nursing the effects of too much drink. Evidently, however, the Scots had heads of steel.
"Do I not wear a headdress?" she said.
Margaret smiled. "Would you do so at home?"
"'Tis the first time you have asked me what customs would pertain at home, and they are somewhat different," Janet said with a smile. "For one thing, I doubt that Hugh would have allowed me to have a new gown. The cost of fine cloth and trimmings is too great, and fashionable dresses take vast amounts of both." She looked down, fingering the luxurious velvet with delight. Then, meeting Margaret's gaze, she said, "As to what I would wear on my head, I have heard of brides who wore golden coifs or even floor-length veils. In spring, I should doubtless wear a chaplet of roses. However, since there are none blooming yet, I suppose any wreath would have been woven of dried rosemary or gilded wheat-straws."
"Well, there will be plenty of myrtle and rosemary scenting the rushes in the hall, and dried rose petals to strew at your feet, but a Scottish bride goes bare-headed to her wedding unless she is of the blood royal, and afterward she dons the cap of the married lady. However, in Scotland even the poorest bride is expected to have a new gown for her wedding. Oftentimes the clan or the townspeople will help with the cost as a bride gift. Look now," she added. "It is nearly time."
The procession below was disappearing into the castle. Janet, observing this, said, "Should we go down?"
"Not just yet. I have a wee gift for you first, from Buccleuch and me." From her sleeve, Margaret extracted a flat, narrow, gray-velvet covered box and handed it to Janet, watching with anticipation as she fingered it.
Janet said ruefully, "You have done so much, madam. You overwhelm me."
"Take it, my dear. You be about to become a member of the family. 'Twould be unseemly were we not to do this for you-or for Quinton, come to that."
"You leave me with naught to say, save thank you."
"Open it."
Janet did so and gave a gasp of delight upon seeing the exquisitely wrought gold chain the box contained. "It is beautiful," she murmured, taking it out. "My hands are shaking. Will you help me put it on?"
"Aye, it will suit you well, I think." Margaret unfastened the clasp and then fastened it around Janet's neck inside the high stiff collar of the gown. The chain was long enough to hang just to the swell of her breasts. "That's lovely. Look in the glass, my dear."
Janet did so, and while she was admiring the chain, a scratching sound at the door sent the maidservant hurrying to open it. Lady Gaudilands stepped in, saying cheerfully, "Ye're wanted in the chapel now to begin the service."
It was time. Repressing a surge of panic, Janet obeyed the summons.
Even before entering the chapel, Janet noted the scent of rosemary that filled the stone chamber. The first thing she noticed upon entering was Sir Quinton Scott, who stood at one side near the front between two banks of wooden pews. Wearing a short black velvet cloak over a quilted white satin doublet with large pearl buttons and a narrow white ruff, and black-embroidered white trunk hose of velvet and wool, he made a fine figure. With his shaggy beard trimmed close in the fashionable style, he was even more handsome than she remembered. When his gaze met hers, he smiled, and smiling back at him, Janet felt a rush of welcome warmth.
The chamber was simple, but the window above the altar was shaped like a rose, and she had no doubt that once it had been filled with colored glass. Many Borderers, particularly on the Scottish side, still harbored connections to the Church of Rome. Knowing that the fifth Earl of Bothwell had changed his religious affiliation nearly as often as he had changed his doublet, she wondered if Buccleuch might prove as fickle. At the moment, he just looked impatient.
There was no grand ceremony about the Sunday service, for the parson had also taken note of his host's impatience and sped through it in what Janet thought must have been record time. He called the banns at the appropriate point, then began speaking faster than ever to get to the end so he could begin the nuptial rite.