Highlands – Scotland
Jazmina and Rodrick's Scottish Wedding
“You’re a lucky one. Three weddings and all with the same man,” Adeela says, and Josephine bursts out laughing.
They’ve finally become friends. Both of them arrived about a week ago, and at first, it was a bit complicated.
They didn’t hit it off right away. Their temperaments are very different. Adeela is analytical, and Josephine . . .well, there really isn’t a word to define her. She says whatever she thinks, regardless of whether the person she’s talking to is a beggar or, in Vicenzzo’s case, a prince.
I already sensed there was something sparking between him and my friend, even though they couldn’t find more opposite matches for each other if they tried. In fact, I’m not even sure I can call them a pair or a couple, but I think there’s something there.
It’s not like Rodrick and me, who challenged each other from the very first time we met. Josephine and Vicenzzo are simply fun to watch. Like all seven friends, he is a borncontroller. He plans, calculates. My friend lives one day at a time and loves it that way. She told me last week she was thinking about spending some time in Australia, now that she’s finally started making money from selling her jewelry.
I asked whether she knew anyone there, and smiling, she told me no, but that she’d only need five minutes to fix that problem.
I shake my head as I watch her adjust the earring she sold to Adeela. She had to overcome my sister-in-law’s natural distrust before being accepted. Days went by before they spoke naturally to each other.
We decided to get married at the smaller castle, not the duchy’s main one. All of Rodrick’s friends are here, and watching them from afar, I can imagine what they were like as boys. They still tease one another like teenagers. Even my brother, with that all-powerful pose, joins in.
I get butterflies in my stomach as the time approaches for me to walk down the aisle toward my love. It won’t be a traditional religious ceremony, since I haven’t converted to his faith, but rather a symbolic blessing, like the one we received in Rheadur.
Even so, it will follow Scottish cultural traditions. I thought it was incredibly sweet that all of my husband’s friends agreed to wear kilts, just like Rodrick’s relatives and the neighbors.
The tartan is that of his family, the MacQuoids—green as the base, with yellow and black details.
Rodrick is wearing a traditional kilt, complete with that leather pouch with the funny name,sporran, hanging in front, since kilts don’t have pockets. The upper part consists of a jacket.
As for me, I should wear a sash across my wedding dress with the tartan of my clan, but since I’m not from the region, I’llbe wearing Rodrick’s colors instead, which earned me a smug smile from him, one that I secretly adore.
Judge me all you want, but his alpha personality turns me on.
The wedding bands we’ve worn since the civil ceremony received an engraving on the inside that reads“tha gaol agam ort,”which means “I love you” in Gaelic.
To complete the rites, a woman who is breastfeeding is supposed to prepare our bridal bed to promote fertility, but I declined that kindness, since it’s clearly unnecessary. The baby in my belly can testify to that.
“We’ve got some handsome men in skirts out there,” Josephine says after going to the window to look at the guests, then corrects herself, glancing at the two of us. “With all due respect.”
“My husband is, hands down, the most beautiful specimen,” I say, and both of them roll their eyes at me.
“Ready? I think that tradition of the bride being late is tacky,” Adeela mocks.
“True. Especially since I’m already hungry. The baby doesn’t like going too long without food.”
“Kaled is eager to walk you down the aisle. It’s a shame your father couldn’t come.”
The doctors didn’t clear him to travel in the end, but all of my sisters, brothers-in-law, and especially my mother are here, which means it will be a huge celebration.
“He’ll be watching live. Rodrick arranged for it to be broadcast to him in real time, in Rheadur.”
“Your husband is a dream. The man thinks of everything,” Josephine praises.
“Yes, he’s my dream.”
I don’t know if every bride feels this way, but when I hear the sound of the wedding march played on the bagpipes, my heart starts racing. I’m so emotional that I’m afraid I won’t be able to move.
As I walk down the castle chapel aisle arm-in-arm with Kaled, I feel a little silly for crying tears of happiness.
I blame all those tears on hormones, which are out of control because of the pregnancy.