Page 51 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)

F or a terrifying moment, Mary expected the sheriff’s men to appear out of the shadows.

“It’s one thing to live together as man and wife without benefit of clergy, but quite another to expect me to condone it. Although you’ve done so once, I can’t allow you to do so again.”

Brendan looked startled. Elspeth, surprisingly, looked fascinated by the discussion, while Mr. and Mrs. Grant were edging both of them closer to the scullery door, leaving Mary and Hamish alone with Mr. Marshall.

“Who told you?” Hamish asked, staring at Brendan’s back.

“No one,” Mr. Marshall said. “I am, however, an observant man, and I simply added the various pieces together to make a whole.”

Hamish didn’t respond, and Mary felt too dumbstruck to comment.

“While I have taken it upon myself,” Mr. Marshall con tinued, “to look the other way in certain proceedings, Mr. MacRae, I cannot countenance sin.” He fixed a long and penetrating look at Mary.

She didn’t flinch when returning his stare, but inwardly she was more than a little cowed.

Matthew Marshall, incensed, could be very intimidating.

“I cannot allow you to continue living in harlotry.” Now he stared at Hamish. “You must marry.”

From not far away a dog barked, and one of the horses stamped its feet in response, as if the animals were having a laugh over the idea of Hamish MacRae and Mary Gilly married.

“I’d never thought to marry again, Mr. Marshall,” she said calmly.

“It seems to me,” Marshall said, his voice sounding kind, “that you should have given some thought to it, especially in view of your actions.”

“You think marriage is the answer for our sins?” Hamish asked dryly.

“I think that you both need to cease irritating God,” Marshall said firmly.

He turned once more to Mary. “Can you say with some certainty that, given the opportunity, you would not lie with Hamish again, Mary?”

Mary felt the heat rise to her face. She looked at Hamish and smiled faintly.

“Or you, Hamish?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at Mr. Marshall, his anger banked but still evident.

“I’ll give you a moment to talk between yourselves,” Mr. Marshall said, looking smug. “I’ll be waiting in the parlor to conduct the ceremony.”

“And if we decide to simply leave Inverness as we’d planned?” Hamish asked in a clipped voice.

“Then I shall have no choice but to report the Grants’ participation in your escape.”

He left them alone. Mary walked some distance away and then returned, folding her arms around herself inside Hamish’s cloak.

“I don’t believe for a moment that he’ll turn the Grants over to the sheriff,” she said.

“I myself am not willing to test him,” Hamish said easily. A milder response than she’d expected. She glanced at him, wishing she could see his expression more clearly.

“Marriage seems a harsh punishment for a few weeks of pleasure,” she said carefully.

“You’ve not looked at this in the proper manner, Mary. We’ve proven we can share pleasure, and have some measure of regard for each other. Most couples don’t have such an auspicious beginning. Didn’t you once tell me that your married patients are happier than those who are not?”

“Hermits aren’t married.”

“My hermitage was of short duration in any event, Mary,” he said, his voice again sounding amused. “I was finding it difficult to be without the sound of conversation or the presence of other people.”

“We can simply ignore Mr. Marshall and leave Inverness,” she suggested. “There isn’t any reason for our marriage, other than that of propriety. Let them call me a harlot. They’ve already labeled me a murderer.”

“But he’s right, you know. The two of us have enough in our past that we should be trying to get into the Almighty’s good graces.”

He came toward her and drew her into the light. The better to see the truth of her expression? Or to witness the peppering of tears in her eyes?

“So you would marry me to make me proper, Hamish?” she asked, smiling slightly.

Hamish was willing to sacrifice himself for her, but she didn’t want a martyr for a husband.

She wanted them to be companions who could discuss any subject, friends who could share laughter, lovers.

In Hamish’s company at Castle Gloom, she’d allowed herself to feel vulnerable.

With him, she didn’t have to be strong all the time.

He continued looking at her with that expressionless gaze, the night darkening his eyes until they were no more than two coals in his face. She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers smoothing over the stubble on his face. How beloved he was to her.

When had she known that she’d loved him? From that first moment, or later, when he introduced her to a world she’d never known? One of passion, freedom of thought, action, and will.

She wanted to be loved, not because it was the right thing to do or because Hamish was concerned about his immortal soul, but because he couldn’t help himself. She wanted him to marry her because of all the women in the entire world, he would be the happiest with her.

“There’s no way you can go back to your former life, Mary,” he said gently. “You can’t remain here.”

She only nodded. Until today, she’d never before been faced with the dilemma of having to hide how she felt.

Sitting in the accused’s box had been excruciating.

All those hours, she’d endeavored not to show her anger, and certainly not her fear.

She’d made a mask of her face until not one emotion shone through.

Could she hide her love for Hamish for an entire lifetime?

In exchange for a life with him? Oh yes.

“We must give some consideration to the causes for which matrimony was ordained,” Mr. Marshall solemnly intoned.

“One was for the procreation of children. Secondly, it was ordained for remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication, that such persons as have not the gift of restraint might marry.” He stared fixedly at Mary before looking at Hamish.

They were both being chastised, but it didn’t disturb Mary one whit.

“Thirdly, for the mutual society, help, and comfort that one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.” He hesitated for a minute, as if to recognize the fact that they were facing adversity, especially since she and Hamish would be fleeing this cozy home in a matter of moments.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Hamish smiling slightly.

He caught her look, and slowly and deliberately winked at her, catching her off-guard.

The room in which they stood was very familiar to her.

Here, in the Grants’ parlor, there were lovely velvet draperies on the window, a wing chair sitting by the fire with the iron surround.

Beside the settee was a knitting table, a thread of wool peeping out from the hole on the side.

It was a homey room, one where strangers were welcome as well as friends.

How many times had she sat in this room, talking with the Grants?

None of those times, however, had been as poignant or as meaningful as now.

The window revealed her like a black mirror.

She’d been bathed, powdered, and buttoned into a dress of Elspeth’s in less than fifteen minutes.

She looked entirely too pale, but that was due to fatigue rather than her mood.

Hamish, standing straight and tall beside her, looked both determined and impatient.

He had a look in his eyes that she’d never seen in an other man.

Perhaps it was an understanding of himself.

He’d been tested by life, the evidence there in his gaze.

There was a sharpness to his jaw that warned he was stubborn and determined.

Yet, no matter how tumultuous the world might become, she suspected that Hamish would always remain upright in the middle of it.

At the conclusion of the vows, Hamish extended his arm around her, holding her against him. She leaned her head against his shoulder, extending her arms around his back. He bent and kissed her lightly, a proper kiss in front of her friends.

“Later,” he whispered against her ear before pulling back. He smiled at the flush mounting on her cheeks, tracing its passage with his thumb.

Mr. Marshall gave them his felicitations, and together they accepted the good wishes of those who witnessed their wedding.

She and Elspeth hugged, and then she was enfolded in Mrs. Grant’s arms, feeling as if the older woman stood proxy for her own long-dead mother at that moment.

Jack hugged her next before Mr. Grant kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me, Mary. Be happy.”

She nodded, realizing that she would never be able to return to Inverness. She’d never see the Grants again, or the River Ness, the goldsmith’s shop, or a hundred other sights she’d grown to love. Everything she’d been, known, and seen would need to be put aside. Her very identity had changed.

She glanced at Hamish. She was no longer a widow, but a wife. Not a healer as much as a helpmate. They exchanged a somber look that seemed even more poignant than their vows.

Finally, she looked at Brendan. She’d traveled with him, shared numerous conversations with him, and was now related by marriage.

Yet in so many ways, he seemed almost a stranger.

Unspoken constraint still stretched between them as she remembered his disapproval of her actions.

He’d not wanted her to remain with Hamish.

She’d been a harlot in his eyes. What did he think now?

“Welcome to the family, Mary,” he said gruffly, opening his arms.

She walked into them, hugging him in return, and feeling tears welling in her eyes. How strange, that after so many days of being stoic, she now felt like weeping incessantly.