He looked into her eyes and must have seen her fear. “What’s wrong?”
“We might cause an explosion,” she replied.
He chuckled. “Some day we will.”
“Nay. I mean now.”
He frowned then turned. “Fyke,” he exclaimed, scooping her into his arms and heading for the door. “I forgot this place is being used as a gunpowder store.”
INTERVIEWS
Abbott paced.
Morgan stood at attention, wishing the general would take his seat behind the ornate Elizabethan desk in his office and get on with the reprimand.
Finally, his superior officer sat and glowered. “How did you come to be betrothed to the niece of the Earl of Glenheath?”
After their breathless escape from the chapel, Hannah and Morgan had quickly discussed what was likely to happen next. They’d agreed that lying to Abbott wasn’t a good idea. “I wanted her as soon as I saw her, sir,” Morgan admitted, hoping he wouldn’t be required to explain where that had happened.
The general snorted. “Well, that’s understandable. She’s a pretty thing. But marriage? Into the family of a traitor?”
Morgan decided to put an end to the uncertainty and secure Abbott's blessing or be cashiered out of the army. “It was thanks to her that Glenheath capitulated, sir.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. Hannah’s flight to Bouchmorale was the prime reason for his own risky journey which had ultimately resulted in the surrender.
Abbott leapt to his feet, the white knuckles of both fists boring into the desk. “She accompanied you to the Gairn?”
“At great personal risk, sir,” he replied, again skirting around the truth.
The general eyed Morgan’s gloved hand. “And you were wounded trying to protect her.”
“Yes.” The absolute truth, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.
The pacing resumed.
Morgan’s amputated finger began to twitch, as if the confounded thing was still attached to his hand.
“And what does the earl have to say about your betrothal?”
“He’s in favor, sir.”
Abbott came to an abrupt halt and slumped into his chair. Morgan flexed his fingers. A decision was imminent. He intended to wed Hannah with or without the general’s permission, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“I have a feeling there is much you’re not telling me about this affair,” Abbott began.
Morgan lifted his chin, but kept silent.
“But there’s no denying your actions, while unorthodox, saved countless lives on both sides and made life easier for me, and our Protector. He’s aware of your bravery and I am confident a reward will be forthcoming.”
“Permission to marry Hannah is the only thing I desire, sir.”
“It’s an admirable trait, Pendray, knowing what you want and pursuing it with dogged determination. Permission granted.”
Morgan controlled the urge to bellow out his euphoria and instead saluted then hurried off to make sure a stout lock had been put on the door of Saint Margaret’s Chapel.
~~~
Hannah fumed at being sent to her chamber like a naughty bairn after the Donaldsons returned home from the ceremony. Her protests didn’t soothe Hiram’s outrage. The plea in his wife’s eyes finally convinced her to give up the battle for the moment. It was ironic that she’d risked everything for her country, yet wasn’t allowed to assert herself with a distant cousin.
She’d calmed down sufficiently to disrobe when Sorcha stole into the candle-lit chamber. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, taking Hannah by the hand. “I sensed you were pining for somebody, but I had no idea it was Colonel Pendray—the Governor’s personal assistant!”
Hannah sat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know he’d been promoted to colonel,” she replied warily. “And I wasn’t sure I would ever see him again after…”
She bit her tongue.
“After what?” Sorcha asked. “Did you argue?”
She strove to change the subject. “No, nothing like that. Do you think Hiram will calm down? I intend to marry Morgan no matter what he says. My uncle approves.”
Sorcha patted her hand. “Once Hiram realizes you’re marrying Abbott's right hand man, he’ll come around. Influence is what matters to my husband.”
It was reassuring, but she hoped Morgan would still have his commission after events at the ceremony.
She was anxious therefore when a visitor was announced the following morning while the family was breaking its fast. The news caused a stir in the uncomfortable silence around the table. Dogs barked, Sorcha fussed over her suddenly chattering bairns and Hiram rose to his full height as Morgan was ushered into the dining room.
Hannah meshed her fingers together in her lap, but one look at the smile on his beloved face told her all was well.
~~~
Morgan was sure from the previous evening’s events that Hiram Donaldson knew who he was and why he was there, but decorum dictated he introduce himself and he wanted no lingering doubts about his intentions. Glenheath was on his side, but securing Hiram’s goodwill was important. He proffered his gloved hand. “Colonel Morgan Pendray, sir. Hannah’s betrothed.”
Hiram hesitated only a moment before accepting his gesture and shaking his hand with a little too much vigor. Evidently, Hannah hadn’t revealed anything of his injury.
Hiram gestured to a petite woman Morgan had caught a glimpse of at the ceremony. “May I introduce my wife, Sorcha, and these are my children.”
Blushing fiercely, Sorcha babbled a greeting, bobbed a curtsey and shooed her brood out of the room.
Morgan glanced at Hannah who was trying hard to hide her irritation with her cousin’s wife. Her obvious jealousy had Morgan puffing out his chest. It felt good to be the object of a beautiful woman’s desire.
Hiram beckoned his guest over to the empty hearth, thrust out his chin and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Naturally, my dear Colonel, we’re delighted you wish to marry our cousin. However, the unfortunate…er…circumstances of which you are aware render a dowry highly unlikely.”
Hiram’s assumption that current circumstances would cause Morgan to reject Hannah was written on his frowning face, but he resisted the urge to punch the man’s nose. “A dowry is of no importance to me, sir. I don’t need your consent, but we’d both like to have it nonetheless.”
Relief reddened Hiram’s round cheeks. “Of course,” he gushed, once more shaking Morgan’s hand enthusiastically. “I hope you don’t mind my remarking on it, but I noticed last night, you’re not an Englishman, are you?”
Morgan clenched his jaw. Upper class or lower, it seemed he’d only to open his mouth to be marked as different. But now he discovered he enjoyed laying claim to his heritage. “You’re quite correct, sir, I’m Welsh, and proud of it.”
CELEBRATIONS
Hiram finally gave in to Sorcha’s entreaties that Hannah’s wedding gown be fashioned from satin. The sewing and tailoring of the dress required innumerable fittings and pinnings that took up almost all of the three intervening sennights.
But Hannah’s breath hitched in her throat when she beheld her reflection on the morning of her wedding. The effort had been worth it and she wanted to smother Sorcha’s beaming face with kisses.
The elegant velvet gown she’d worn the evening of the installation ceremony paled in comparison to the fantastic creation she wore now. She smoothed her hands over the long, tight pale green bodice, the color chosen as a symbol of fertility. Sorcha fluffed up the paned sleeves lined in gold, then lifted the hem of the gown an inch to reveal the matching gold petticoat. “For Morgan’s eyes only,” she chortled with glee.
“You look beautiful, Cousin Hannah,” wee Beatris said, clinging to her mother’s skirts. “I like the embroidered flowers and birds.” She traced a tiny finger over one of the creatures peeking out from behind a leaf artfully stitched into the flounced skirt of the gown. “But what’s this?”
Sorcha bristled. “I suppose one day your cousin will explain to us why she wanted such a vicious creature embroidered on her wedding gown.”
“Why did you?” Beatris asked.
Hannah bent to kiss the child. “Someday you’ll wed the man of your dreams, and I’ll confide the secret to you then.”
“I hope he’s as handsome as Colonel Pendray,” the little girl replied.
Sorcha sniffled back a tear. “Careful not to spoil Hannah’s hair,” she admonished.
Hannah straightened. She certainly didn’t want to ruin the mass of curls that had taken hours to achieve, though she suspected once Morgan got his hands on the ribbons artfully entwined…
Her blush perhaps betrayed her wanton thoughts. Sorcha shooed Beatris out. “Go find your brothers. Tell your father we’re ready to leave for the High Kirk.”
“Now for the crowning touch,” she said when they were alone.
Hannah fingered the cold string of pearls Sorcha fastened around her neck. “They’re lovely. I promise to take good care of them.”
“They’re yours. Mine and Hiram’s wedding gift. Now don’t cry. Morgan mustn’t think you’re…”
Hannah silenced her cousin’s wife with a hug and they cried happy tears together.
~~~
Awaiting his bride before the altar in the High Kirk, Morgan picked up the well-worn copy of The Book of Common Order from the bench. He knew before he read the inscription on the first page that the contents were also known as John Knox’s Liturgy. He closed his eyes and was transported back to the Shrewsbury School. The book he held had been compiled by Knox in Geneva where he’d become a friend and disciple of John Calvin’s. Morgan knew the history of the two Protestant preachers as well as he knew his own family’s.
But he’d never thought to be standing in Saint Giles’ cathedral, where Knox had preached, his heart filled with love for the woman who was about to become his bride.
The church taught that it was wrong for a man to feel passion for his wife. Blodwen certainly believed that marriage should reflect the union between Jesus Christ and his Church. Sexual congress was only necessary for the begetting of children. Morgan had endured that kind of marriage and felt blessed that a union with Hannah promised much more.
He’d arrived early with the express purpose of visiting Knox’s grave in the churchyard. He felt no guilt at the joy he anticipated with Hannah. Even Knox, dead for nigh on ninety years, had admitted he’d loved his beloved Marjorie.
Brisk booted footsteps heralded Governor Abbott's arrival. Seated in one of the front pews, Hiram Donaldson loudly whispered to those nearest him the unnecessary explanation that the Governor had magnanimously agreed to act as Morgan’s second.
Abbott nodded. “Pendray.”
“Sir,” Morgan replied.
“Ready?”
“I am, sir, and I want to thank you again for allowing the earl to be here today. It means a lot to Hannah.”
Abbott shrugged. “Who else could give the girl away? Besides, the exits are well guarded.”
Morgan supposed that was as close to a jest the general was likely to come.
Hushed whispers gave way to Murtagh’s booming voice. The earl’s presence had been sanctioned without much fuss, but it had taken some persuasion to obtain permission for Murtagh to be one of the two bachelors who’d escorted Hannah to the church. He came striding up the aisle, a sprig of the traditional branch of rosemary now tucked into the lapel of his jacket, and slapped Morgan heartily on the back.
Enduring as his gratitude was for the blacksmith, he winced at the sight of Hannah’s blue garter now pinned to the fellow’s bonnet. She had explained the tradition but he still didn’t like the idea of Murtagh reaching up his bride’s leg to untie the garter. Apparently the lack of a thumb hadn’t hindered the quest.
Smythe, the other bachelor, appeared, the second blue garter held tight in his grip, and ushered Murtagh to a seat. Morgan and Hannah both agreed he was the ideal choice, and the lad expressed his delight at the honor, but his deep blush betrayed his youthful inexperience with matters concerning ladies’ garters.
All coherent thoughts fled from Morgan’s brain when Hannah approached on her uncle’s arm, a shining jewel amid the dark gloom of the kirk. Glenheath looked every inch the proud Highland warrior, and Morgan fleetingly wondered if Abbott had arranged for the new plaids.
“Take good care of her,” the earl rasped.
Choked with happiness as he relished the warmth of the delicate hand placed in his, Morgan could only nod.
“Dearly beloved brethren,” the officiant began, “we are here gathered together in the sight of God to knit and join these parties together…”
Morgan heard little else as his thoughts drifted to the pleasures of knitting and joining, but for the first time in his life he truly believed he stood in the sight of God. And he wasn’t afraid.
“You, Morgan Pendray,” the minister continued, “shall protest here before God and his holy congregation, that you have taken Hannah for your lawful wife and spouse, promising to keep her, to love and entreat her in all things according to the duty of a faithful husband, forsaking all other during her life, and to live in a holy conversation with her, keeping faith and truth in all points, according as the Word of God and his Holy Gospel.”
Uttering a silent prayer of thanks to John Knox for the beauty of the words he had written, Morgan looked into Hannah’s green eyes. “Even so I take Hannah before God, and in the presence of his congregation.”
The minister turned to Hannah. “You, Hannah Kincaid, shall protest here before the face of God, in the presence of this holy congregation, that you have taken Morgan for your lawful husband, promising to him subjection and obedience, forsaking all other during his life, and to live in a holy conversation with him, keeping faith and truth in all points, as God’s Word prescribes.”
Morgan chuckled inwardly at the notion of Hannah being subject and obedient, but she spoke her vow clearly and without hesitation. “Even so I take Morgan before God, and in the presence of this congregation.”
Then she winked at him when the minister turned his back.
~~~
Abbott hosted a celebratory banquet in the Great Hall. It was held in the afternoon in order to conform to the Kirk’s rules. The atmosphere was subdued, the guests consisting mainly of the Donaldsons and senior officers from Abbott's staff. The earl and his men had been whisked back to their cell after the ceremony.
The Hall was too big for the event, but Hannah resolved to appreciate the honor. It was amusing to think of the gaping reaction of the soldiers if she revealed she’d stolen the Scottish regalia from under Abbott's nose. Some of these selfsame officers may have been among those who rushed to the latrines after she tainted the food at Din-bar.
She supposed her frivolous thoughts were caused by an urge to shout her joy to the rooftops, but she had to content herself with holding Morgan’s warm hand under the table. She sat on his left, thus allowing him to keep his injured hand gloved.
“This is more like a wake,” she complained. “I’d love to dance.”
He squeezed her hand and rubbed his knee against her leg. “Like at Solomon’s party?”
The memory filled her with contented warmth. “Not much chance of that here,” she lamented.
He leaned towards her. “Patience, my little…” His eyes widened. “Is that a badger embroidered on your dress?”
She giggled, drawing Hiram’s frowning glare. “I deemed it appropriate. Part of our history.”
He stroked her face with his gloved hand. “Something I’ll never forget, for sure.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.
“You didn’t,” he assured her. “Courage, I believe Abbott is bringing the afternoon to a close. We should make our way to the door to bid our guests goodbye.”
They accepted more sober congratulations as everyone filed out. S
uddenly, they were alone in the silent Hall. He bent to nibble her ear. “Ready for some dancing, wife?” he asked.
~~~
Revelling in Hannah’s blushing uncertainty, Morgan took her by the hand, checked to make sure there was no one lurking in the passageway, and led her to the steps down to the vaults.
“Where are we going?” she asked, though he was sure she must have guessed by now.
“To the real celebration,” he replied.
“How is that possible?” she asked, lifting the hem of her skirts.
A glimpse of a shimmering gold petticoat stopped him in his tracks. “Mayhap we should…” But then he thought of Glenheath waiting expectantly, put his arm around her waist and escorted her to the door of the earl’s cell.
She hesitated at the sight of two armed musketeers outside the cell. “What about them?”
“They were happy to go along with the scheme provided they be allowed to join the festivities.”
The smiling guards turned the key in the lock and thrust open the double doors. Raucous cheers greeted them. More than one tin whistle struck up a jig. Someone beat out a rhythm on a cooking pot. Feet stomped, hands clapped. Glenheath stood in the centre of the cell, arms open wide. Hannah turned tearful eyes to Morgan then rushed into her uncle’s embrace.
“Now we’ll hae a true ceilidh,” Murtagh boomed as the earl stepped lively for a man of his advanced years, whirling his laughing niece in a reel. Satisfaction swelled in Morgan’s chest. It was a risk bringing Hannah here, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
He was aware the captives had fashioned a still, as were the guards—one of the reasons he supposed they’d been eager to cooperate. When Murtagh showed it off with great pride, he realized the prisoners could only have obtained the bits and pieces with outside help. The musketeers were already gulping the illicit liquor. Morgan took a sip from the tumbler Murtagh handed him and grimaced as he swallowed. “Not as good as the stuff you gave me in Gairn,” he said.
The blacksmith scowled, apparently offended. “Nay, Weel. Needs time.”
Highland Betrayal Page 23
