Celia knelt respectfully beside the grave, and after whispering a quiet prayer, she stood and turned to Colin, who stood pensively behind her.
“Thank you, Colin,” she said.
Colin smiled lovingly and nodded, and the two went back into the garden.
There, in the friendly surroundings of their little paradise, they sat beneath one of the cherry trees and talked. The pinkish white flowers of the cherry blossoms were just beginning to fall, and they laughed at the snow-like petals that were floating into their hair.
Celia told him about one of her travels with her father. About the Festival of the Cherry Blossom that she'd witnessed in the Orient. Colin told her about eating so many cherries one day when he was around six years old that he hadn't been able to even look at a cherry for the rest of that summer. He'd been sick to his stomach, but he didn't want to tell Agnes or Hugh what he'd done for fear of admitting that he'd gone into the garden.
They talked of the future, and Celia spoke of her inheritance as belonging to both of them. Of wanting to use it the way that Colin was using the Campbell resources...for the good of the people who depended on them.
The sun was warm in the protected privacy of the garden. Hidden from everyone, they walked and she talked of herbs and flowers and of the pleasure that they would have seeing them grow. Halting in the most protected corner, Colin sat on a bench behind an enclosing fence of latticework. Pulling her to his lap, he laughingly mentioned other pleasures that the garden might produce.
He lifted Celia's chin and brushed his lips across hers.
“Do you think Father William would consider making love while sitting on my lap `unnatural'?”
Celia moved her body slightly, aware of the arousal beneath Colin's kilt. The white dress that she was wearing was not so thick as to hinder the sensations she was feeling.
“If you show me,” she answered coyly. “We'll be able to make a better decision later.”
This was all the encouragement Colin needed, and his mouth took possession of hers. Then, like a great rolling wave, their passion swept them to another level of desire. Colin stood Celia up before him, his knees steadying her as he ran his hands over her body.
Celia felt the laces of her dress pulled and fall away. She felt Colin's hot mouth leaving a trail of kisses from her neck to her breast, and a moan formed in the back of her throat as he took one nipple in his suckling lips. His hand caressed her other breast, his fingers teasing the nipple into an erectness that drew his mouth to it, as well. His tongue flicked at the hardness for a moment before tracing the soft fleshy curve beneath her breast. She felt the dress slide down off her shoulders and past her hips. She stood naked in his embrace, exhilarated by the feel of the sun on her back...and his lips on her body.
Reaching over his back, Celia pulled at the shirt that covered his huge upper body. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. Want soon became need as the magic of Colin's tongue wandered over her quivering middle. A near frantic surge swept over her, and Colin raised his head, stripping his shirt off.
Unwrapping the kilt, he drew Celia gently onto his rock hard legs. Supporting her weight, he caressed her with his lips, easing her onto the crown of his arousal. Celia gasped as she lowered herself against it, and Colin groaned with pleasure. Then, pulsing gently, Celia took him into her—deeply, fully, completely.
Colin held her hips as they rocked, and Celia gripped his back, his shoulders, his hair. Together they moved, two bodies as one, giving without a thought of giving, sharing without a thought of sharing, but loving with every fiber of their existence. As their bodies moved to the throbbing measure of the love dance, Celia found herself rising, peeling away the constraints of ten million years.
She was aware—and yet not aware—of the increasing tempo that was carrying her, lifting her, driving her to another dimension. A dimension where time and space are a single, bright, pounding expanse...formless, indefinable, eternal.
And Colin was there with her, rising with her, a part of her. Together they reached that momentous release, that shuddering ecstasy, and Celia surrendered herself to that enveloping light, to that illuminating sense of being alight, aloft, alive.
One day melted into the next, and Celia and Colin were nearly inseparable. Rather than simply keeping to her room, as tradition dictated, Celia went out with Colin every day. The Macpherson family, as well as most of the guests who had traveled to Kildalton for the wedding, departed for home. Alec promised to return when they received some word at Kildalton from the earl of Huntly. He had added, with a somewhat wistful look at Celia and Colin together, that suddenly the bachelor's life was not as attractive as it used to be.
But even with the castle emptying out, the celebrations were continuing without a moment's hesitation, and the townsfolk were delighted when the young laird and their new lady joined in the festivities. Glad for the opportunity to be near the women and the men who were now her kin, Celia soon found herself being included as one of them.
One afternoon Celia spent laughing and singing with the children of the village, learning the songs and the local dance steps. The next morning she taught the same children new ways of trapping the crabs and lobsters that lived amid the rocky inlets. Before she was aware of it, she had drawn an audience of adults who wanted to share in the activity.
Another gray morning found Celia and Colin sitting together by the Marketcross, listening to the village storyteller reciting tales of the Celtic heroes of old, and drinking from the bowl of ale that was being passed around. That same day saw them bringing necessities to the refugees who were being settled in hastily erected cottages on Campbell lands. Seeing them brought back the threatening reality that Danvers still represented while at large in Scotland.
But Colin eased her worries and her fears with his quiet confidence. Showing her the strength and the stability of the Campbell clan life, he convinced her that the prosperity of their own people would one day be the prosperity of all Scottish people. Invaders would be repelled, and murderers would be destroyed.
In those glorious days the newlyweds rode together on the rocky bluffs overlooking the sea, with the black hound Bear ranging alongside. Together, they walked hand in hand along the beach stretching along the harbor. As they laughed and talked, they often expressed the same thoughts simultaneously, like two old partners with many years of shared experience. At times, their knowledge of the world seemed to complement each other's perfectly, and one's ideas would build on the other's in productive exchanges regarding Scotland and the Campbell lands.
On the evening before the Archbishop was to leave, Father William scurried to Celia's side as she entered the South Hall on Colin's arm. His eyes were flashing with excitement as he took Celia's free hand. When the warrior saw the priest, he nodded in friendly greeting.
“I see you two have something to discuss,” Colin said, casting a smiling look at the priest and disengaging himself from his bride.
“Aye, lad,” Dunbar answered elatedly. “It'll be only a moment.”
Practically dragging her back into the Great Hall, the wiry priest sat down with Celia on one of the wooden settles beside a great fireplace.
“Well, lass, the king couldn't do it, but my good friend Lord Hugh and your fine husband certainly could,” he began, rubbing his hands together in high glee. Celia thought for a moment that Father William was about to get up and dance a Highland reel.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, smiling at her friend's excitement.
“They've done it, Celia,” he said, grabbing her hand. “That young priest they have here...the Archbishop is taking him into his own service. And they've offered me the benefice here on the island.”
Father William paused, waiting for the news to register on her face. “I'll be the priest here and teach the bairns in the new school!” he nearly shouted with delight. “Finally, finally, finally! I'll have my own flock, Celia, and real work to do!”
Celia laughed aloud as Dunbar leapt up and capered about for a moment, before stopping abruptly and coming back to her side.
“Wait just a wee bit,” he said accusingly. “You knew all this, didn't you? Do not lie to your confessor, now, lass. You're behind all this, aren't you?”
“No, Father,” Celia laughed. “It was Colin's doing.”
Celia had been present during the discussion between Colin and the Archbishop, but this arrangement had been Colin’s idea completely. She knew that this was all part of Colin’s desire to make her feel at home and surrounded by the people who were dear to her. Celia smiled at the thought that Colin would build a new wing onto the castle for Edmund, if he thought that would convince him to stay as well.
“But it was probably your idea, I'm sure,” he said, affectionately squeezing her hand. “You're a fine young woman, Celia Muir...or rather, Lady Campbell. And I've matched you up with a fine young man.”
Regarding his original position on her relationship with Colin, Celia thought with a smile, Father William was certainly developing a selective memory.
The following morning, after insisting that she bring her cloak, Colin took Celia on a tour of the labyrinth of secret passages that honeycombed the castle. Teaching her the secrets of the hidden portals, Celia soon understood both the pattern of construction and the key to moving between one section of passageways and another. It was a fascinating tour that concluded in the caverns at sea level.