Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ahush fell over the chapel as Arran’s words echoed off the walls. All eyes turned toward the imposing Highlander as he walked down the aisle toward the altar. A hum of whispers started again when they recognized Laird MacArthur.
Tension and anticipation were felt by the wedding guests, who looked on and wondered what would happen between the stepdaughter of the groom and her husband, who everyone knew had ill feelings toward their Laird.
But Skye only saw Lilias. The woman was not beautiful in the classic sense, but her thick black hair and bright blue eyes were striking. However, now those eyes showed shock and confusion.
Blackwell looked at Skye, and the smirk on his face only widened.
Skye shot him a look of disgust but then turned her attention to the woman who stood beside him. “Lilias,” she implored in a tone that she hoped was perceived as sincere, “ye cannae marry him. I fear ye dinnae ken what sort of man he is.”
Lilias looked at her warily at first, but then her eyes flashed with anger. She crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “Who are ye, lass? And why are ye interrupting me weddin’?”
Skye had rehearsed in her mind what she would say to Lilias over and over again, but now that she stood before the woman, she was at a loss for words. Lilias’s defiance had surprised her.
Likely, she daes no ken daes no understand whit transpirit wi ma maither an’ me.
Skye realized she needed to explain quickly, and do it in a way that could not be ignored or put down to jealousy. She gathered her thoughts, took a deep breath then addressed Lilias and the wedding guests.
“ I am Skye Pressly, daughter of Helena Blackwell, Laird MacKeith’s wife.
Some of ye already know me.” She then turned to the prospective bride.
“Lilias, I am here to tell ye that this man ye are about to marry willnae treat ye well. He beat me maither terribly and his other three wives before her. I have seen it with me own eyes. I escaped abuse only because he hoped to use me to get a strong son-in-law so that he might have an heir. Ye might think him kind and even charming now, but he will show his true self soon enough.”
Blackwell’s smirk dropped as his expression turned furious. His eyes glinted with malice as he took a step toward Skye. Arran and Colin stepped closer as well.
“Lies! All lies!” Blackwell roared. “They are trying to turn ye against me, an’ their only motive is to make Arran me heir. He wants me lands. He wants me fortune. They daenae want yer son to become the next Laird MacKeith. It’s greedy they are, Lilias!”
Skye watched several emotions flash across over Lilias’s face. She feared the woman would side with Blackwell.
“I daenae ken ye, Skye Pressly. Or yer maither. But what Laird MacKeith says makes sense to me. I ken yer husband is next in line now. It makes sense he’d want to stop this wedding.”
“Lilias,” Arran interjected, his tone softer but no less urgent, “please consider what Skye is saying. Surely ye’ve heard the stories—terrible stories—about how he has treated his wives.”
Lilias looked between Arran, Skye, and Blackwell, her expression torn. Skye knew then that the woman had heard the rumors about her groom.
“But I need this union. Me children… We have nothing,” Lilias said, her voice breaking. “I need to secure me children’s future, and I have nae way to provide for them.”
“Me maither once said those exact same words. She married Blackwell for the same reasons. And sure, it was fine for a time, but even after the beatings started, she stayed. She stayed for me, and because she was too scared to leave. But ye daenae have to sacrifice yerself, Lilias,” Skye reasoned.
“There are other ways, other paths ye can take. I can help ye. Laird MacArthur and I will help ye.”
Blackwell sneered at her, but then he turned to Lilias, his tone soft and pleading. “Daenae listen to them, Lilias. They are desperate fools and only trying to stop our wedding for their own gains. I am a man of honor. I would never lay a hand on a woman.”
“Liar!” Colin shouted, stepping forward. Skye had never seen him look so angry before. “I’ve had words with people who kent yer previous wives, who saw what ye did. Everyone in Castle MacKeith heard Lady Helena’s screams the last night before she fled.”
The priest, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward, his expression stern. “These are serious accusations,” he said. “Do ye have proof of these claims?”
“It’s true.”
Skye gasped when she heard a familiar voice from the back of the kirk. It was Mary!
“And who are ye?” the priest asked.
“I am Mary, Faither. I have served the MacKeiths for many years. I kent Helena, and I kent Laird MacKeith’s wife he had before her. Both were beaten and beaten regularly. I saw it with me own eyes.”
Skye’s heart nearly burst with pride at her friend’s bravery.
“Ye would believe a servant!” Blackwell boomed. “She’s friends with Helena and Skye. I’m sure they planned this. She’ll benefit from this, I promise!”
Lilias turned to him. “Is this true, Grayson?”
Before he could answer, a lad of about sixteen years of age with the same black hair as the bride rose from the front bench and raised his hand. “Maither, perhaps ye should take some time and reconsider.”
Blackwell glared at him. “Ye sit down, lad. Ye maither can think for herself,” he hissed when the boy opened his mouth to say more, and then he turned back to his bride.
“Lilias, it isnae true. I can line up over a hundred of me clansmen, and they will testify to such. In fact,”—he looked over at the wedding guests—“if there is anyone, besides this greedy servant, who wants to testify that they’ve seen me behave in a dishonorable way toward me wives, they can speak now. ”
There wasn’t a sound in the kirk. No one stood up to corroborate what Skye said. Her heart sank, and she looked at Arran with wide eyes. She then glanced over at Lilias, who regained her assurance in the silence.
Blackwell’s smirk returned.
What do we do now?
The door opened, and Magnus stepped inside. From behind him, a voice shouted, “I am his wife! I will speak now!”
“Maither!”
Waves of whispers and mutterings reverberated around the kirk.
“But Helena’s dead.”
“Who is that?”
“What’s going on here?”
“Blackwell cannae marry—he’s still married.”
Skye turned and looked at her stepfather, who stood rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open in shock.
But he quickly found his voice. “Imposter! Helena is dead. Laird MacArthur here said so himself! This is just another ploy to stop the wedding. They couldnae slander me character, so now he’s accusing me of bigame! Daenae ye see?”
“I’m Helena, Grayson, and I can prove it.”
“Humph,” Blackwell grunted. “There’s nay way.”
“For the past two years, ye hunted me and me daughter. All the clans in the Highlands ken this. Tell me, husband, and tell everyone here how ye instructed yer hunters to identify me.”
Blackwell fell silent. Everyone sat in tense anticipation.
“Ye daenae have an answer? Well, I will tell yer guests then,” Helena said and then turned to the guests. “He told each hunter that I had a very notable scar that ran from the top of me forehead all the way to me right eye. That was how they’d ken me.”
She dropped the hood of her cloak, pulled her hair back from her face, and showed the thick scar to the crowd. She then turned to the priest and Lilias.
“Care to tell yer bride how I got this scar, Grayson?”
The priest didn’t give Grayson time to answer. “Do ye deny this is yer wife, Laird MacKeith? Because ye cannae marry another if yer wife is still alive.”
The guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Lilias looked from Blackwell to Helena, her eyes wide and fearful. She then looked out over the guests and cried out, “Is there anyone here besides this low-born woman and this traitorous guardsman who can identify this woman?”
“I can,” Magnus said. “I am the enforcer for the council. Many’s the time I dined at Castle MacKeith, aye, at Castle MacArthur, too.
I rarely saw Lady Helena Blackwell because she was often confined to her rooms. But I saw her often enough to say for certain that this is she, and that Laird MacArthur’s wife is her daughter, Skye.
They put about the rumor of her death in the hope that Grayson Blackwell would trouble her nae more. ”
“Then it is not even a decision. I cannae marry ye, Grayson. Ye are, after all, still married.” She turned to Helena and took her hand. “Thank ye, Lady MacKeith. Ye have saved me from unwittingly becoming a bigamist.”
Skye smiled and released the breath she’d been holding. She took a step toward Lilias but stopped when she heard Laird MacKeith spew fury at her mother.
“Ye wench,” he spat, his face twisted with anger. “How dare ye show yer face here and spread lies about me!”
Helena started at his hurtful words but stood her ground. Skye looked from Blackwell to her mother. Where there was once an abused, scared wife, now stood a strong, self-assured woman.
“Ye daenae scare me now, Blackwell,” Helena said, her voice trembling slightly but growing stronger with each word. “Yer taunts and cruelty nay longer hurt me.”
The tension in the kirk was palpable as Magnus stepped forward to stand beside her. His presence was a silent declaration of support, and his gaze fixed on Blackwell with a steely resolve.
Magnus knew of the damage Blackwell had caused. He knew but had never spoken up, and Skye saw him standing ready for whatever her stepfather might do.
Helena continued, her voice steady now. “I’m done with living in fear.
I’m going to live me life happily with Arran and Skye at Castle MacArthur.
I’ll read stories to me grandchildren and enjoy every moment, free from yer grasp.
” She paused, and then added, “And that’s something all yer riches can never buy. ”
Blackwell’s face turned a deep shade of red, his anger boiling over. “Ye think ye can defy me and walk away unscathed?” he growled, his chest heaving.
With a sudden, violent movement, he grabbed a large metal candlestick from the altar.
A collective gasp and then screams rang out as he lunged for Helena.
His intent was to bludgeon her with the candlestick, but before he could reach her, Arran’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.
“That’s enough,” Arran said, his voice low and menacing. “Ye’ll nae harm her. They are me family now, and yer grubby, evil hands willnae scar their skin again.”
Blackwell struggled to free himself from Arran’s iron grip. His eyes were wild with rage, but Arran held fast. The two men locked eyes.
Magnus stepped closer and placed his arm around Helena’s shoulders. “I’ll see that ye stay safe, Helena,” he reassured her, his voice firm. “And, Blackwell, ye will face the council for yer crimes.”
Arran nodded, his grip on Blackwell’s wrist tightening briefly before he shoved him back hard. Blackwell stumbled but remained standing, his face a mask of defeat and simmering rage.
The priest, who had been watching the scene unfold with an expression that was a mix of dismay, surprise and disgust, finally spoke.
“This is a house of God,” he said sternly.
“There will be nae more violence here. Blackwell, ye are nae welcome. Ye will leave this hallowed hall and face the consequences of yer actions.”
Blackwell glared at the priest, then at Helena, Arran, and Magnus. Realizing he was outnumbered and outmatched, he spat on the ground, which elicited more gasps, accusations of blaspheme, and even a few boos from the guests as he turned to leave.
Once he was gone, the atmosphere in the kirk began to lighten. Skye stepped forward, pulling her mother into a tight hug, and then she motioned for Lilias and her son to join them. A young lass scrambled to her side that Skye assumed was her daughter.
“Ye’ll have a new family with us, Lilias. We’ll take care of each other,” Skye reassured her.
Mary ran to meet them, and Skye and Helena immediately pulled her into a hug.
“Ye were brave to speak up, Mary! I will be forever grateful. If Blackwell was able to convince everyone ye were lyin’, it wouldnae have ended well for ye,” Helena said once they pulled away from their embrace.
“I couldnae stay quiet any longer. I was prepared to run if I had to.”
“Ye didnae have to worry, Mary. I wouldnae have left ye to face him alone. I would have done everythin’ in me power to save ye.”
Mary nodded. The bond between the women was strong.
Several of the guests came forward to express their support for the women before they filed out of the kirk. Arran, Skye, Helena and Magnus were the last to leave the sanctuary.
What irony. If only one or two of them had spoken out against Blackwell before that last beating, perhaps none of this would have happened. But then, I wouldnae hae met Arran
The sun hung low in the sky, and the view from the kirkyard was beautiful. But it was quiet. Too quiet.