Je Suis Prêt
When I wake up the next morning, I am not sure that I have. Colours are heightened, tastes and smells are too, and all sounds seem to be coming from far, far away. I am not certain if the world feels unreal, or if I do.
I float through breakfast, and am hardly present at all for the extended bathing and getting dressed process the girls put me through.
It isn't until Morag is fastening a crown of white heather around my elaborately arranged curls that at last the world does not seem a shining, silver cloud, reflecting every sense back onto me, until I cannot hear for all the echoes.
It is a softly pearl-gray day, the first of February, and I am going to marry Jamie.
I am going to marry Jamie.
That, at least, feels very real.
Morag hands me a small, unfamiliar looking coin.
"Found the sixpence," she grins, "Put it in yer shoe."
I do, very glad that Edina's feet and taste in formal footwear align so well with my own. Flat, easy to walk in slippers, of soft, supple leather, in a very light, matte gray.
So different from my wedding to Frank.
We hadn't had any special clothes then - we hadn't been able to afford them. We just wore the nicest things we already owned. We signed papers at the registrar's office in West-2, said a few words of confirmation in front of witnesses, and then spent three days in North-1, in a tiny room above a caf, with a highly obstructed view of Central Gardens.
It had been so simple. So good. So right.
And this time it's so complicated, so overwhelming. So uncertain.
But it's also Jamie. So I'm not afraid.
"Well, ye'er ready," says Avota.
Edina bundles a cloak around me, and hustles me into their old, drafty car. It only takes few minutes to get to Fiona's cottage, and a few more to make our way out into the grove of trees.
Dougal and his men are gathered to one side of the labyrinth. The girls leave me at one edge of the open space, and join them.
A small table with a brass hand bell sits at the foot of a tree to my right. I make eye contact with Fiona, where she stands at the entrance to the labyrinth, and wordlessly ask a question. She nods yes.
I take up the bell, and ring one high, rolling clang.
Jamie steps out from the trees at other side of the circle, takes up a similar bell, and rings it.
The eight priestesses ranged around the labyrinth take up a low, humming chant.
Jamie and I take up our bells and ring them at the same time. Then we walk forward slowly, pacing ourselves so we will meet in front of Fiona.
As we walk, my eyes drink him in. He is positively regal in his full, formal Highlander's garb. From boots to tie, he's perfect. The warm blues and grays of the Fraser tartan drape around him, and he is crowned with white rowanberries. His plaid is pinned over one shoulder by a brooch I do not recognize, but as we finally get close enough to touch, I see it is a stag's head, with a French phrase beneath it. I do not bother trying to read it, being far too busy looking at him, and desperately trying to keep my hands to myself.
The chant rises a little, and Fiona holds out a small brass tray. On it are two golden rings, bearing a beautiful Celtic knot pattern, on a background of softly-toned blue enamel. There are a few spots of red enamel too, set like jewels in the center of the knots. There is a line of engraving on the inside of each ring.
Give me a hundred thousand kisses, inside mine.
And me a hundred thousand more, inside his.
Our eyes meet, and it's like we've said the words.
We each take up the other's ring, and place them on each other's hands. Then we turn to Fiona. I hold out my left arm, and Jamie rolls up his sleeve, and holds out his right. Fiona lights a small bunch of herbs, and waves out the flame above our hands. When the ember has died, she waves the ash over our skin, very close, but not touching.
Then, one in each hand, she raises two very small silver things that look like bells, but are not. She sets them on our wrists, pulls up the lances, and drops them.
There is a tiny prick, and hardly any pain.
When she takes the lances away, there are two very small drops of blood on our wrists.
I place my arm atop Jamie's, making sure the drops of blood touch, and take his hand. Then we both shift, and instead, we lace our fingers together.
Fiona smiles at the gesture. Then she takes a ribbon of dual-sided tartan – Fraser on one side, Moriston on the other - and ties it around our wrists, wrapping the whole length of it down to our fingers. Then she waves her hands above our bound ones, giving a silent benediction.
Jamie squeezes my hand, in acknowledgment of our vow.
There are no words, but it is a vow.
We are married now. It is written in blood, spoken in blood, engraved in blood.
And now we must take our first journey together.
Fiona steps aside, making way for us to enter the labyrinth.
"D'ye ken my Clan motto, Sorcha?" Jamie whispers, moments before we reach it.
"No."
"Je suis prêt."
"I am. . ."
"Ready."
"And so we are."
"An' so we are."
And for one infinite, very clear second, it is true.
The moment we enter the long, curving maze, the priestesses begin to sing.
"A clouded dream on an earthly night,
Hangs upon the crescent moon,
A voiceless song in an ageless light,
Sings at the coming dawn."
It is easy to pace together, easy to match our steps one to the other, easy to find our paired rhythm. Easy. . .
And the most difficult thing either of us have ever done. . .
"Birds in flight are calling there,
Where the heart moves the stones,
It's there that my heart is longing for,
All for, for the love of you."
I look up at him, and our eyes lock, in a bond so strong it takes my breath away.
"A painting hangs on an ivy wall,
Nestled in the emerald moss,
The eyes declare a truce of trust,
And then it draws me far away,
Where deep in the desert twilight,
Sand melts in pools of the sky,
When darkness lays her crimson cloak,
Your lamps will call, call me home."
Back and forth, we walk, closer and closer to the center, further and further away from who were were before.
From who we were alone.
"And so it's there my homage's due,
Clutched by the still of the night,
And now I feel, feel you move,
And every breath, breath is full,
So it's there my homage's due,
Clutched by the still of the night,
Even the distance feels so near,
All for, for the love of you,"
A small pile of embers is waiting for us, glowing soft and rich at our journey's end. . .
"A clouded dream on an earthly night,
Hangs upon the crescent moon,
A voiceless song in an ageless light,
Sings at the coming dawn."
My soul rises like smoke, and entwines with Jamie's next to me, and we blend into the sky, immortal, invisible, and free.
"Birds in flight are calling there,
Where the heart moves the stones,
It's there that my heart is longing for,
All for, for the love of you."
The song ends, and we reach the small pile of embers. We hold our still bound wrists above it, and say three lines to each other, in unison.
"Blood of my blood, and bone of my bone."
"I give you my body that we two may be one."
I close my eyes a moment, and take a deep breath.
"I give you my spirit till our life shall be done."
Then he is smiling at me, and at last, I can kiss him.
And he can kiss me.
It is very brief, and very chaste, and witnessed by dozens of people. But it is still the most private, most intimate kiss we have ever shared, and possibly ever will.
The universe opens up before me, and nothing matters but us.
I'm never sure how we get back to the hotel. All I know is that a photographer is suddenly posing us in the greenhouse, in front of a wall grown with ivy. He tells me to look up, and when I meet Jamie's eyes again, the universe tells me everything is going to be okay.