2018 Writing Scrapbook

The Lion and the Lamb

"What are they doing?"

"I don't know."

The women were shushed by a third friend. She was much older than the others, and knew of wisdom.

"Hush, ladies."

"But look at them!" the lady exclaimed, pointing toward the odd festivities on the street. "It's absurd!"

"Don't judge, Catriona. Until you've been in her shoes, you cannot determine whether their actions are wrong or right."

Catriona placed her hand in her palms and frowned at her counterpart. "Isn't it woeful, though? That such a young, sweet maiden should be with the likes of him? Yesterday they banged the pots, and the young bridegroom shared his festivities with his men. And today... they're still going through with the wedding!"

Rhona sighed. "I know we all love Emilia dearly. But this was her decision. And you can see in his eyes that he loves her as well."

Mairi stepped closer to Catriona, and watched as the joyous party marched past, the pale skinned people hooted and calling in an exuberant manner. The old pipes bellowed from the men marching past, and in the center of all of the commotion, lay a euphoric madame beloved by all. Emilia was a shy young lady, soft-spoken and apprehensive. She seemed mellow and mild, with a tender and gracious quality to her. She was a radiant blossom, a golden-haired girl, it seemed, at the dainty age of seventeen. Her stature wasn't high, and neither were her proportions, but she was not weak or delicate by any means.

Rather, Emilia was a woman of humanity and sentiment, who was thoughtful and touching enough to raise poignant matters with the ladies and soothe their broken hearts with the soft words she spoke. She may have been quiet, but the determination and humbleness of her character made her a lady respected by all.

So it was in these facts that the incompatibility of her partner blazed through. Her selection dumbfounded not only Catriona and Mairi, but also the entire village as well. It wasn't that her partner was a downright bully, or even a cruel being at all, but he was more wild than her temperament called for. He was the raging wind while she was the still waters, the torrenting flames to her unmoving earth. The lion to her lamb is what the others called them. Not people fit for a lifetime together.

And yet they continued down the cobblestone road, two people of complete opposition, joined together by the engagement they held. Two destined to be married that very day. She was decked in the fine linens of her erasaid, him in his wedding sark and fashionable kilt. The best man, a friend of the young man, clung to her arm as she flashed the crowd gathered on the block a smile of pearlescent white. Her bridegroom proceeded her, the initial member of the wedding party to trek down the road. But his boast and deceitful artificiality was exchanged for a more kind pride that Rhona didn't recognize in him.

"They've already walked over the northern edge of the stream. The southern edge is only a few blocks farther," Catriona mumbled, glancing at the church at the end of the road. The steeple stretched into the air, and as the Wedding March continued, the road was decked in an array of rosy flower petals, each fluttering to the ground like leaves drifting in autumn light.

"Hush, Catriona. Andrew is not a bad man. And the Fraser clan is not a bad one. She will be accepted by his family, I assure you," Rhona disciplined her friend.

"Don't extend your words to hypocrisy. Surely you don't approve either," Maizi declared.

Rhona sighed. "I won't say that they are an ill match. I trust that Emilia made the right decision," she replied.

"But do you agree?"

The fiddles and bagpipes hummed a sweet tune, but Rhona's mind was clouded . She didn't respond to her friend that could say no kind words about Emilia Agnew and Andrew Fraser, but was muddled in thought. It was true. She didn't approve of the young warrior eight years Emilia's senior, but she wouldn't dare to voice her opinion.