Free Silver Tears by Becky Lee Weyrich

but that mattered little. She was so physically and emotionally exhausted that nothing seemed to matter. At the end of that interminable night, they arrived at Lord Balfour’s Scottish manor just as the purple-rose light of dawn was touching the world.
    She remembered his words: “There now, child, you’re safe here. Haggerty will see you up to your bed.”
    Haggerty, a grizzled old skeleton of a woman, took charge of Alice from that moment on. The lord’s housekeeper saw that the exhausted girl was bathed, clothed in a warm linen gown, fed broth, cheese, and bread, then tucked into a feather bed that might have comfortably slept six weary travelers.
    That whole day passed without Alice ever knowing that it had even come. Near dusk Haggerty shook her awake. “’Tis time, child. Your lord awaits.”
    The chamber where Alice had slept was cavernous, with impenetrable shadows in its corners. Tall, leaded-glass windows stared down like startled eyes as Haggerty undressed her. A fire roared in the grate and torches sputtered in their iron sconces along the stone walls, but neither did much to alleviate the chill or the gloom.
    “You’re to be the bride of Balfour Manor by nightfall,” Haggerty told her. “And a lovely young thing, at that. A bit scrawny, but I’ll see to your fattening soon enough.”
    Three serving women scurried in bearing wedding gown, slippers, and veil. The garments looked old and fragile, discolored through years of waiting.
    “Lord Balfour wants you to wear these for him. ’Tis a great honor, child. His first wife, God rest her, had the gown made in France by the nuns who would have been her sisters had she not chosen otherwise. My poor lord always blamed himself for her death, saying that had he not taken her from God, she would have lived out her full life. But Honora instead chose the man she loved. She died trying to give him a son. The wee bairn followed his dear mother to the grave within hours.”
    “How long ago was that?” Alice asked.
    “Near forty years come spring,” old Haggerty answered wistfully.
    “He never married again?”
    “Nay, child. Not until this very night. You’ll be a great comfort to him in his old age. You remind me much of his Honora—small and fragile as she was. Almost as young as yourself. Be good to him, child.”
    An hour later, dressed in Honora’s wedding finery, Alice arrived at the abbey nearby where she would exchange vows with a man old enough to be her grandfather. She remembered the chill of the evening, the wind moaning through the tall rafters of the church, the smell of beeswax candles and burning peat. Far down the aisle, she saw her groom—tall, gaunt, ghostly-looking—through her antique veil.
    Only the servants bore witness to the union as the parson intoned the solemn ritual. At the end of the ceremony, when Alice tilted up her chin to receive her husband’s first kiss, her lips met only the chill of the air.
    “Come, child,” Lord Balfour said, “it’s cold in this place. We’ll go home.”
    A great feast awaited the bride and groom. But there was no intimacy about the festivities. Lord and Lady Balfour sat at opposite ends of the long banquet table while silent servants passed back and forth with great platters of food and decanters of wine. Near midnight, Lord Balfour announced, “’Tis time.”
    Once more Alice found herself alone with old Haggerty in her cavernous chamber. Again, she was bathed, perfumed, and powdered. Her antique bridal finery was exchanged for a night shift of creamy silk, adorned with lace and bows.
    “You needn’t worry, Lady Alice,” Haggerty assured her. “He’s a gentle man, your husband. He’ll bring you no pain, naught but joy, I vow. Do his bidding without question or fear. This is a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”
    Alice sighed as she recalled Haggerty’s parting words. The old servant had left her then, first tucking her into the huge bed to await her groom.