by Stobie Piel
Miren closed her eyes and rested her head against the coach wall. Nothing disturbed her peace as she sank back into sleep.
The first light of morning dawned over Argyll. Miren looked out her window and saw the spires of Inveraray Castle. The MacCallum estate was less than a mile away. Her stomach knotted in fear, but she forced a deep breath.
The duke wouldn't arrive before the wedding, but perhaps Patterson's haste would work against him. He would have to wait for full morning to secure the priest for the ceremony. By then, the duke would arrive, and perhaps something could be done. Maybe someone would help her.
The coach maneuvered along the narrow road that led to the MacCallum estate. Loch Fyne came into view, and her heart clenched. They rounded a corner, and she saw the manor house upon the hill, its three gables glinting in the morning light.
She didn't want to look. It hurt too much, but her gaze shifted to the small cottage Nathan had given her. Her breath caught when she saw her sheep. They grazed peacefully in their little pasture. She saw Huntley beneath the willow, and her eyes puddled with hot tears.
''Eager for your wedding, my dear?"
Miren refused to look at Patterson. "It is my funeral I anticipate."
"To think that all this time you could have been my wife!" Patterson leaned forward to see her sheep. "What time you've wasted with those beasts. A shame. But, my darling, don't be hasty. You might enjoy a life of power and luxury. Think of it, Miren. Your inheritance will keep us in such style as you've never dreamed."
Miren turned and met his eager gaze. "A life spent in discord with the integrity of one's soul is worth nothing."
Patterson sneered, and his gaze turned black. "The monks at the abbey would appreciate your sentiment, I'm sure."
The coach passed the sheep pasture and turned left up the narrow grass road to the abbey. Miren looked out her window to see the manor again, remembering the day when her sheep interrupted the garden party. When Nathan got down on one knee and begged her to be his wife.
She closed her eyes, and she remembered her anger, and how he came to her late in the night on the weak pretext that he thought she was troubled. When she knew it was Nathan who couldn't endure a quarrel between them.
She remembered lying in his arms, and knowing love.
The coach stopped, and Patterson shoved open the door. Miren hesitated, gathering her final courage. She was frightened. Not of death, but of becoming his wife. In a church, beneath God's eyes. She wondered if God would understand why she spoke vows that raged against her soul's voice. "Please forgive . . ."
Patterson caught her soft whisper and his lip curled in a snarl. "Pray when I'm lying atop you, Miren. Worse is to come."
Miren lifted her chin and met his evil gaze. "Where is the letter freeing Nathan? I will see it handed over to one of the brothers before I agree to sell my soul to you."
Patterson edged the hilt of his poisoned dirk from his waistcoat, but Miren didn't flinch. She allowed for a slight smile. "Death now or later? It matters not. Where is the letter?"
He didn't have one. Miren sat back in her seat. "I wouldn't take risks now if I were you."
His mustache twitched with fury, but he withdrew pen and ink from his black bag, then a sheet of paper. He scrawled quick words, but Miren wasn't satisfied. "Show me."
He handed her the letter, and she read. It was addressed to Major MacDuff, and instructed him to return Nathan to America. "How do I know it's not a code meant to kill him?"
"You'll have to trust me, my darling. You don't have any other choice."
"I suppose you have no reason to kill him, once I've agreed. I do not trust you, but I see no alternative."
Patterson held open the coach door as his footman lowered the steps. "Come, darling. Our wedding is at hand."
Patterson offered his arm, but she stepped down without help. The white light of morning spread across the meadow where Molly and Flip had played, where Nathan chased her . . . Where they argued, and the tension spiraled until he crashed into her cabin. And they fell into each other's arms, because love was too strong to be denied.
Miren closed her eyes. Wherever he was, he must feel her heart beating in his own. She felt his.
The abbey door was closed. "We're too early. The priest will be asleep."
The footman knocked, but no one answered. Patterson pulled Miren to the door, and he rammed the iron knocker. Miren held her breath. No one would answer. To barge into a church was disrespectful . . . She heard footsteps, and her heart fell.
The door opened slowly, into darkness. A hooded man stood in the doorway, his face shrouded by his thick cowl. He seemed bent with age and introspection. He didn't look up. "Too early." He started to close the door, but Patterson caught it and held it open.
"It's not too early . . ."
"Brother . . . I am to be addressed as Brother at all times."
A low snarl grew in Patterson's throat. "Brother. I have made arrangements with Father Davies. He is expecting me."
"Can't be."
Patterson's grip tightened on Miren's arm as his anger surged. "He will perform my wedding ceremonies at once"
"Not before noon."
Patterson twitched. "The arrangements have been made. Summon him."
The monk turned back to the door and looked around. Another monk edged through the hall, holding a Bible and mumbling. The two monks spoke in low, rhythmic voices. Miren couldn't understand their words, but they spoke for a long time.
Patterson pulled Miren into the dark church. No candles lit the hall, and the small wooden doors on either side appeared locked. She hadn't been inside the little church until now, but it harkened back to forgotten times. It looked smaller than she expected, the walls were stone, and ancient tapestries hung on iron hooks.
It wasn't cheerful, but she felt the strength of its vocation. And she stood on its hallowed ground, and would commit sacrilege. God would have to understand. She did it for Nathan.
"What's going on? Where is Davies?"
The monk looked over his shoulder. Miren couldn't see his face, or the face of the other monk. But she felt his disdain. "Father Davies."
Patterson clenched with anger. "My time is short."
The monk shuffled toward him. "Our time on earth is short, my son. But in heaven"
"Where is Davies?" Patterson's booming voice echoed in the cold hall. The monk just shook his head and sighed.
"Father Davies has gone to pay final respects to Milton Sprythe hog farmer? Parishioner Spry came every Sunday, always in his best waistcoat and"
"I don't care what some damned farmer wore to church. This wedding is of utmost importance. It must be concluded. I will send my man to bring the father here at once."
"Could be on his way to Betsy Frittater's christening by now."
Patterson braced. The delay frightened him. Miren enjoyed his discomfort. "A baby? How nice."
The monk nodded. "Fine little baby girl." Miren couldn't see the monk's face, but she felt his eyes on her. "Sorry weare to delay your wedding, my child."
"There's no hurry."
Patterson's fingers dug into her arm. "My bride is gracious." He looked around, and Miren noted a faint sheen of perspiration on his brow. "One of you men will have to perform the rites."
The monk gasped. "That is out of the question. True, we have the legal authority, but as brothers of the abbey, it is beyond our personal ideals and righteousness to do such a presumptuous"
"If it's legal, you'll do it."
The monk straightened somewhat. "Impossible. I haven't practiced. I don't know the entire service, front to back. No, no. You'll just have to wait, sir."
"I will not 'have to wait.'"
The monk's hooded head tilted to one side. "Have we tithed this month?"
"What?" Again, Patterson's voice expanded in the close quarters.
"Tithed. A token to the good work of the Lord. Keeps us in new robes, too."
"You want money." Here was someth
ing Patterson understood. Miren's heart sank. Even a monk could be bought off. "Of course." Patterson nodded to his footman, who produced a felt bag filled with coins.
The monk seized the bag and shook it as if weighing its worth. "I'll see what I can do."
He turned and disappeared into a side room. Miren heard low speech, rambling on. She waited, but the monk didn't return for several minutes. She began to hope his superior reminded him of the errors in accepting bribes, but the door opened, and the monk appeared with another, shorter monk, the one carrying the Bible. He held it open, still mumbling.
"Brother Xavier will perform the ceremony."
"Make it quick. I'm expecting the Duke of Argyll shortly. I want this job done by then."
"The work of the Lord cannot be rushed, my son." Something scratched at the private chambers' door. The monk tensed, then hurried to the arched doorway at the hall's end and swung it inward. "This way."
The hall opened into a small, square church assembly. Stone pews formed short rows leading toward the raised pulpit. Plaques of the former MacCallums lined the rough wall. The windows were high, shedding little light through the red and gold stained glass, but the faint, dusty illumination created a mystical atmosphere.
At another time, the setting would be solemn and reverent. Miren walked between Patterson and the monk. Her arm ached with bruises from Patterson's grip. She imagined herself walking on her Uncle Robert's arm while Nathan waited, dressed in his pirate costume but wearing a cravat. Everyone they loved would fill these empty pews. Flowers would warm the cold pews, and petals would carpet the rough stone floor.
Miren's vision clouded with tears, blurring the short monk waiting at the pulpit. The taller, crouched monk took his place beside her, his arms folded over his ribs, his hands concealed beneath his long, full sleeves. Miren glanced toward him, but his massive hood hid his face. He looked like a wraith of death, like a dark specter. Beneath his monk's habit would be only dried bones and the devil's breath.
Miren snapped her gaze to the monk on the podium. All she saw of his face was a pointed gray beard. He'd taken trouble to achieve that pointit looked recently trimmed, as if he took great pride in his beard's spike. Fitting, for a devil.
Two grim specters would marry her to their high master, and her soul would perish. Miren trembled, but the crouched, old monk's shoulder touched hers. Despite her loathing, his touch offered comfort. Miren closed her eyes to blot tears, and Brother Xavier began his sermon.
"Gathered we are . . ." Brother Xavier stopped and looked around. "Don't you have a witness?"
Miren heard Patterson's teeth grinding. "Get on with it."
"Can't without a witness."
Patterson exhaled a furious breath. "Gyvers! Get in here!"
Miren glanced over her shoulder as Patterson's footman entered the church. He stepped gingerly, then yanked off his cap. A strange and touching gesture from a man who lived his life in crime.
Brother Xavier nodded. "Take your place, Master Gyvers. Beside the groom."
Gyvers positioned himself beside Patterson, looking tense but respectful. Brother Xavier turned his attention to Patterson. "Forgive me, my son . . . Don't know your name, or that of your lovely bride."
"I am Dr. Patterson. My bride is Miss Miren Lindsay."
"A doctor, you are! What a fine profession it is! Holding life in your hands, easing the pain of the suffering elderly. Bringing new babes from their mother's wombs. Oh, sir, you do indeed follow the Lord's work"
"Enough!" Patterson's lips formed a snarl beneath his mustache. "I don't have time for this chatter."
Brother Xavier nodded. "We shall proceed . . ." He launched into a low, sonorous sermon that dragged on and on and seemed to lead nowhere. His voice rose and fell as he urged Patterson to remember his sacred duties. Miren noticed that nothing in the monk's sermon mentioned her duties.
Patterson held himself tense, every muscle drawn. He was sweating now. Miren felt cool, and with each word her pulse moved slower. I am drifting from my soul. She closed her eyes and saw Nathan, bound and imprisoned, when he loved freedom more than anything.
I want you to be free, I want it more than my own life. She imagined him on a ship, returning to his wild, endless homeland, the salt wind in his hair as he crossed the ocean. She imagined him running across mountains and fields. He would remember her, and know she loved him. Maybe her spirit could hover near him as he lived his life. Maybe he would feel her love.
Miren lost track of the monk's sermon. It seemed to end then picked up speed again and rambled forward undaunted by Patterson's sighs of impatience. Miren didn't move, but she felt that each word drained her soul, and with it, her will to live.
"Brother . . . End the sermon and conclude the procedure. Now." Patterson's voice quavered with repressed violence.
Brother Xavier's pointed beard lowered as his jaw dropped. "I haven't begun the singing of the Psalms"
"There will be no singing! Conclude the wedding."
"A rushed job"
"Is it legal?"
"Yes . . . But it's not proper. Or poetic."
"Do it."
"Oh, very well. I now pronounce you man and wife."
"You haven't asked my bride and myself for our consent. That is necessary for legality's sake."
"So it is!" Brother Xavier chuckled. "I'm a little out of practice. Now, Father Davies never forgets even a wee portion of the ceremony. You should hear him, Doctor. Fine sermon he gives. Fills you with the Lord's fire, it does." The monk sighed. "Sorry you couldn't wait to hear him."
Patterson just growled.
"Quite. Quite. Now where were we? Ah, yes. Miss Lindsay, do you take this man to be your lawful, wedded husband, in sickness and in health, until the blackness shall swallow his"
The monk beside Miren cleared his throat, and Brother Xavier nodded. "For as long as you both shall live?"
Miren hesitated. Patterson's fingers bit into her arm. She thought of Nathan, and the letter that would set him free. "I suppose so."
The monk accepted her reply and turned to Patterson. "And you?"
"I do." Patterson drew a narrow gold ring from his waistcoat and jammed it onto Miren's finger. "Now, sign the marriage certificate . . ."
Miren bowed her head and stared at her feet. Tears dripped to her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away. A single drop fell to the stone floor. Dim light angled through the stained glass and illuminated her teardrop, as if shining on her fate.
Miren swayed against the crouched monk. He caught her and steadied her, but Patterson seized her arm and pulled her away. "The Duke of Argyll will arrive soon. I'll need you to assure him of this marriage's legality."
"The Duke of Argyll! Lord Lorne, of the Clan Campbell! Married the queen's daughter, Princess Louise. And he's coming here, to the abbey! Well, well." Brother Xavier paused. "I wonder if he's offered his tithing this month."
He swung open the doors to the front hall, then led them to the small, arched entrance. He seized Patterson's hands beneath the robe and shook vigorously. "This was my first wedding, if you can believe it. Never thought I'd get to do one." The monk stroked his pointed beard. "Getting on in years, and Father Davies never takes ill . . ."
Patterson opened the church doors, ignoring the monk. The sunlight stung Miren's eyes, as if she emerged from hell into a fire. The salt of her tears stung her cheeks.
The duke's coach turned up the roadway, followed closely by Brent's coach. They passed the sheep pasture and turned at the fork toward the abbey. "The duke is here now. You will submit my marriage certificate for his inspection, then provide official documents for him to sign."
Brother Xavier smacked his lips as he viewed the oncoming coach, probably plotting his new tithe. "What documents are those, Doctor?"
"My authority to make decisions on my wife's behalf. I require the duke's seal of approval."
"Quite."
Miren took a breath, then turned to Patterson. "There isanother document yo
u may have forgotten. One you promised to give to the Brothers."
Patterson's eyes cast daggers of anger, but he couldn't refuse. He withdrew the letter freeing Nathan. Miren seized it, examined it to be sure it was the same she'd read in the coach, then turned to the crouched monk. He kept his head bowed so she couldn't see his face, but he nodded when she held it out for him.
"Please be sure this reaches its destination. So much depends upon it." She was shaking, but she placed the letter beneath his robe and he took it.
The duke got out of his coach. Irene MacCallum left Brent's coach and followed. The end was near. Miren placed her hand on the monk's arm. It felt surprisingly solid and strong. Odd, because his bones should be thin and brittle.
"Brother, if a person acts from a heart of love, yet sacrifices their very soul in so doing, do you think . . ." She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut. "Will God understand?"
The monk didn't answer, and she looked up at him, her breath still as she waited for words of doom. He lifted his head and smiled. His warm, brown eyes sparkled with tears, but his smile deepened as her mouth dropped.
Nathan.
He kept his voice low, for her ears only. "He will."
Life returned to her soul with such force that she felt dizzy with hope. He had come for her. She'd sought to free him, and he was already free. He'd guessed Patterson's plan, and he was ready.
One thing he couldn't know . . . the dagger . . .
Patterson laid his hand on her shoulder. His fingers clenched in warning. "My dear, the duke has arrived and wishes to express his good will. Come."
Nathan bowed his head again, and Miren forced herself to turn. "Your Grace. How good of you to come!"
The duke seized her hand and kissed it gently. "We couldnot leave you alone on your wedding, my dear.''
"Thank you."
patterson grabbed her arm again. He didn't relax, despite his plan's apparent success. "I need your seal, Your Grace."
Brother Xavier handed the marriage certificate to the duke, who applied his seal. "Now, this grants Miren Lindsay's husband rights to her fortune. Didn't know she had any, but there you go, Doctor."
