Calling for silence with an upraised hand, Dunbar addressed the audience once more, directing their attention to Edmund, who was marching solemnly across the hall between the performers and the guests.
“And then...And then...Behold! All at once, Aeolus the Wind enters and spreads his airy blessing. And the Lover and the Beloved and all of that happy legion fled once again to the ship.” Celia and Colin led the others across the floor to the ship at the entrance, where all quickly disappeared from sight. The plank was removed, and the ship began to back out the doorway. “In a twinkling of an eye, the ship departed, and out over the flood they flew. And the cannons roared in joyful celebration...until it seemed the heavens had opened.”
As Dunbar concluded his final words, all of Kildalton's cannons came booming to life in a thunderous chorus of tribute.
Amid the wild cheering of the guests, the performers filed back into the hall, with Lord Hugh and Agnes in the lead.
The last to enter, Alec paused at the door. And with a broad smile on his face, he held up his hand.
“Lord Campbell and Lady Campbell have retired for the night!” he shouted to the boisterous revelers.
Once the assembly had returned to South Hall, Alec heartily shook Colin's hand and kissed Celia on the forehead and pushed the two of them toward the steps.
Hand in hand, the newlyweds ran all the way to the top of the great stairs. Once there, Colin reached down and swept the blushing Celia into his arms, carrying her the remainder of the way to his room. As they reached his closed door, Celia took his chin in one hand and looked directly into his eyes.
“My bruises have barely healed from the last time we worked on this tradition,” she said coolly, her efforts to hide her smile proving inadequate. “I do not recall anything in the ceremony about having to serve as a battering ram.”
With a wry smile, Colin kicked open the heavy oak door and carried her straight through into the room.
Going to the bed, he deposited her gently on the edge and kissed her slowly, his mouth lingering on hers with a tangible promise of what was to come.
“Do not go anywhere,” he said with a smile, crossing the room to the door and barring it shut.
The room was adorned in a style befitting a royal couple. Everywhere Celia looked in the candlelit room, there were signs of Agnes's thoughtfulness and taste. Every table held stoneware vases of daffodils and tulips and greenery. A multitude of dishes held every imaginable food, prepared with care and presented with artistic flourish. Bottles of ale and French wines sat amid a sparkling collection of crystal goblets, and a small fire crackled cozily on the stone hearth.
“Colin,” Celia said, surveying the spread in the room. “We have enough food here to last us a week!”
“That's the plan, my love,” he responded with a grin as he moved back to the bed. “It's the custom for the bride to stay in the apartment until the fourth day. We wouldn't want you to starve.”
“What do you mean, `you'?” Celia asked. “Where are you going to be?”
“Well, customarily, the groom participates in the festivities that have been planned for the next week, while the bride rests.” Colin paused. “But I thought we'd change that.”
“You mean,” Celia smiled, “that you're going to rest with me?”
“I thought we might rest a little...play a little...play a little...maybe play a little more.” As Colin spoke the words, he stood in front of Celia and removed her crown, placing it on a small table beside the bed. Then, taking both of her forearms in his hands, he lifted her to him. Running his hands into her auburn locks, he pulled her head back and stared into her beautiful face, her loving eyes.
Celia felt his strength as he pulled her up from the bed. And then, his lips were on hers. Suddenly she wanted to bury herself in him, lose herself, drown in him. Her body arched as she pressed against him, her breasts hurting inside the tight wedding garments, hurting as she pushed against his hard chest, hurting for his touch.
As their mouths caressed searchingly, Colin's hands traveled across the tight bodice of the gown, finding their way to the back, to the thousand and one buttons that imprisoned the body that he longed to feel.
Celia knew that her warrior husband's patience was growing thin as he fumbled with the first few buttons. He was looking over her shoulder and muttering strange curses when Celia drew Colin's new dagger from the sheath at his waist.
“Colin?” she said, pulling away from him and holding the weapon up.
“Hmm.” He nodded with a smile, taking it from her and pulling her back tightly to him.
The whirring sound of pearl buttons being shaved from the thick material was one of the most liberating Celia had ever experienced. Reaching up, she undid the gold clasp that held the black cape on his shoulder. With one motion, Colin ducked out of the leather strap and the scarf of Campbell plaid that crisscrossed his white shirt.
A sense of urgency was building between them as they felt a growing need to remove each other's clothing. As Celia began to slide the gown forward off her shoulders, Colin reached over to place the dagger on the table with the coronet.
“Do not disarm too quickly, love,” Celia said enigmatically.
Colin turned to see his bride confined in a corset that revealed more than it hid. The ivory skin of her neck and shoulders, the swells of the bound up breasts, the long, smooth arms that reached out to him. He took her into his arms and kissed her deeply, longingly, passionately.
“Colin?” she whispered breathlessly into his ear. “Would you help me out of this?”
Colin turned her around and, with a single pass, cut the crisscross of laces that fastened the garment so tightly. Celia shook the corset to the floor and stepped out of the multitude of slips. When she turned around she was dressed only in a silk shift, and Colin was wearing only his kilt, the white shirt tossed carelessly aside.
Celia was drawn into Colin's embrace as the morning dew is drawn to the sun.
The hours that followed were filled with discovery and passion. It seemed to Celia as if one satisfying moment led into the next. As if one fulfilled desire evoked another. Finally, basking in the warm glow of their love, they lay wrapped in each other's arms, watching the colors outside the window lighten with the encroaching dawn.
“That busy old fool of a sun will be peering in at us in no time,” Colin smiled, covering Celia's shoulders.
“Colin,” she breathed, dozing snugly in the warmth of his embrace. “I think I know why brides get four days to rest.”
“Celia,” he responded teasingly. “Do you want four days to rest?”
Celia snuggled even closer to him. “I'm getting all the rest I need, right now, thank you.”
Chapter 15
Those four days were the happiest of Celia's life.
Everyone respected the newlyweds’ time together, and Celia and Colin made the most of it. Between the hours of leisurely lovemaking in which Celia learned so much about what a man and a woman can be to each other, they spent time with Kit, giving Ellen and Runt time to share as well. Colin genuinely enjoyed the attentions of the baby and the antics that Kit seemed to save only for him. Once, while watching them playing together, Celia grew misty-eyed, thinking that the day would soon come when she would have to part with Kit.
When Colin noticed the emotion in her face, he casually mentioned that Father William had very clearly stipulated that making babies was a top priority for lovers. The suggestive tilt of his eyebrows made Celia both blush and ardently wish for Ellen's speedy return.
On the day after the wedding, following lunch, Colin took Celia to the garden. To her amazement and delight, the garden had been transformed. It appeared that an army of gardeners had been at work, and Colin admitted that there had been a few members of the castle staff employed in the clean-up.
The walls had been cleared of old, dead vines, and a fresh coat of whitewash had been applied. All of the beds and paths had been emptied of debris. Even the fountain had been cleaned, and Celia dipped her fingers into the cold, clear water flowing within it. The turf bench seats had all been trimmed and large pots of soil had been placed at a number of spots, awaiting Celia's choice of plantings. New trellises replaced the old ones and climbing roses had been pruned and arranged upon them.
“It's all ready for you, my love,” Colin whispered, looking over her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. “It's all yours to do with as you please. I just couldn't see you getting scratched up anymore, correcting twenty-five years of neglect.”
“Oh, Colin,” she said, overtaken with emotion. “I hope I can make this garden as happy a place as it was when your mother was alive.”
“You already have, love,” he said. “You've brought my father back out here. He even had the door into the chapel yard opened.” Colin pointed at the narrow door in the wall.
“Could we go in there, Colin?” she asked. “I do not want to intrude on your own memories, I just—”
“She would have loved you, Celia,” he interrupted. “And this castle is your new home now, just as it was once her new home. We are already making our own memories.”
Taking her hand, Colin opened the door and led her through the wall into the chapel yard. Cool, green, and walled, the small area was quartered by two crossing paths. To her left, Celia saw an entrance into the castle's small chapel. To her right, she saw a crypt. Walking side by side down the path, they entered the crypt, and Celia saw the reclining sculpture of a young woman. Beside his wife's resting place, Lord Hugh had readied his own, though no sculpture adorned the marble slab that awaited him.