The bride did not bother to smile at anyone.
The groom, who alone seemed to be immune to the hostility in the hall, raised his goblet and smiled calmly at his bride, but the smile did not reach his eyes. The bride's family raised their goblets and smiled frigidly at each other. The groom's friends raised their goblets and smiled fixedly at the bride's family. Having made the toast, the groom's brother raised his goblet and smiled grimly at the groom. Not on this fourteenth day of October, 1497. The guests smile because, amongst the nobility, a marriage connotes the linking of two important families and two large fortunes - which in itself is cause for great celebration and abnormal gaiety.īut not today. The bride smiles because she's been able to convince him of it. Normally, that ancient toast brings about a predictable reaction: The groom always smiles proudly because he's convinced he's accomplished something quite wonderful. "May they enjoy a long and fruitful life together." "A toast to the duke of Claymore and his bride," the groom's brother pronounced again, his voice like a thunderclap in the unnatural, tomblike silence of the crowded hall. Even the first earl of Merrick, whose portrait hung above the fireplace, looked tense. The guests and the servants and the hounds in the hall were tense. At this wedding, everyone was watching everyone else, and everyone was tense. Goblets of wine would have been raised and more toasts offered in celebration of a grand and noble wedding such as the one which was about to take place here in the south of Scotland.Īt this wedding, no one cheered and no one raised a goblet. Under normal circumstances, this call for a wedding toast would have caused the lavishly dressed ladies and gentlemen assembled in the great hall at Merrick castle to smile and cheer.
"A toast to the duke of Claymore and his bride!"
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