Chapter 10
The wind in her face, English soil falling away beneath her feet, Meleri wondered what her intended thought about her—other than the exasperation he expressed. Did he wonder what kind of woman would ride off to marry a complete stranger?
On and on they rode, through dark woods and along winding, country roads, across open moorland, with the horses eating up the miles that lay between her past and her future. Faint, and yet surprisingly persistent were the voices that kept repeating in the back of her mind, Are you certain you are doing the right thing?
In spite of that reminder, she found it exciting to embark upon such an adventure, to be free as the wind that chased the clouds overhead. She could not help thinking the future held much promise, in spite of the fact that beside her rode the most complex and forbidding man she ever hoped to meet.
A fine mist rolled in and it looked like rain. Robert offered her his plaid, telling her, “It will keep you dry and warm,” but she refused it.
What was a little rain, when you were weary enough that you did not feel it? She was so tired. There were times when she felt as if she would topple right out of the saddle if she so much as closed her eyes. Everywhere she looked the land about them was dreary and depressing, and she tried not to think about the bleak and cheerless prospect that faced her—and the future she had so impetuously chosen for herself.
She felt as if she were going crazy. One minute she was feeling close to Robert and desirous of his touch. The next moment she was wary and reserved, afraid she was making a terrible mistake. Why could she not settle down with one feeling? That was all she asked, but even as she did, she could not help thinking that it was, indeed, a wild and foolish undertaking.
They crossed over the border from England into Scotland. A short while later, they rode into Gretna Green, which lay among the marshes near Solway Firth. It was the first town over the border, which must have been the reason it was sought by many young English couples who chose to elope, for the town itself was a sad, ominous place surrounded by barren land and full of poverty. The small houses were dull and beggarly, so smoke-filled it was difficult to see the faces of those who stared out at them as they passed.
Hugh studied Robert for a bit, then, with a wink at Meleri, he said, “You are not a very talkative bridegroom.”
“Why talk? I have nothing to say.”
“Och, mon! You don’t have to look so miserable in your silence.”
“I am about to be married. I will soon be filled with the misery of a man in the pursuit of happiness. Let me enjoy it in my own way.”
“Be of good cheer, brother. Marriage does have its advantages. Soon you will have your very own Scots warming pan.”
Unable to keep her curiosity at bay, Meleri asked, “What is a Scots warming pan?”
“A wench,” Robert said sourly.
“Humph! I might have known.”
Not even the sudden sprinkle of rain could dampen the cheerful tones of Hugh’s laughter.
As for Robert, he did not look as though he saw anything humorous. Meleri was in complete agreement with that.
Almost in unison, they both shot Hugh an ill-humored look, which only served to make him laugh all the harder. “Och! There is nothing so uplifting as the dawn of a brother’s wedding day.”
It was raining very hard by the time they came upon an old, mahogany-faced woman covered in a coarse wrap, her bare, stockingless feet thrust inside crude, heavy shoes. Robert asked the way to the blacksmith.
She guided them along the streets until they were close enough for her to point the way. Robert nodded and thanked her after giving her two coins. The woman nodded and said something Meleri could not understand.
They rode past a few houses when Robert said, “Well, lass, here we are.”
Meleri looked about her and wondered if this was Robert’s way of teasing her, or if it truly was their destination, depressing as it was. Everywhere she looked, she saw nothing but gray sheets of rain and little rivers of water running down the muddy streets. Directly in front of them stood a dank and dark smithy’s shop—certainly not the best place for a wedding. She gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean here we are? What is this place?”
“Why, it’s Gretna Green. You do remember we were to be married here?”
She nodded.
“Then, this is the place where it will happen,” he said, throwing his leg over the saddle and sliding to the ground, before coming for her.
“This is it?” she asked, looking at the crudely constructed building, which served as a place of work for the local blacksmith. “We are going to be married here? In a smithy’s shop?” She could not hide the sadness, the self-pity in her voice. Desolation and misery closed tightly about her. She had agreed to marriage, but not in a smithy’s shop.
She would marry only once in her lifetime. She wanted a true wedding, the kind normal people had. She wanted a lovely dress, and the presence of family, and a parson to say the words. Everything about this place was dismal and unfortunate. Her spirits sank about as low as they could go. However, she was not about to tell Robert that.
Hugh, who was talking to her again, dismounted and she looked pleadingly at him. “Is this truly Gretna Green?”
“Of course. Are you disappointed?”
Disappointed? Surely, he could offer a worse, more descriptive word. How about devastated? Or, heartbroken? Even filled with dread? She shrugged. “A little. I had no idea it would look so…like this.”
“I know it doesn’t look like much, but this is truly Gretna Green, where so many come to marry. I am surprised you haven’t heard it was a gloomy and somber place where life was dreary and difficult.”
Faith! She could find little encouragement in those words, or anything to fill her voice with lightheartedness. “I have never known anyone who married here, so I had no way of knowing. I had only heard it was a place couples could be married without parental permission. Naturally, I thought that meant in a church, or at least a nice parsonage.”
She felt acutely disappointed, for there was nothing of the mystical feeling of romance she expected. Why had the stories of elopements to this place always seemed so magical and idyllic? How could she have thought something so childish and so foolish? She ignored a small voice inside her head that answered, Because you wanted it to be.
“Well, you know now,” Hugh said. “Once you are married, you will forget all about the unpleasant parts of it.”
“I doubt I will ever forget this place,” she said. She was tired, wet and cold. She looked around at her bleak surroundings once more. “I suppose one must always try to make the most of every situation, regardless of how grim.”
Hugh laughed. “Aye, ’tis a grim place, no doubt.”
Robert merely said, “If you’re in a hurry for a wedding with no banns and few witnesses, this is the only choice.”
She looked all about her and saw no altar or anything that re sembled one. Her trampled spirits fell with a soggy squish into the mud. “But…but where will we stand?”
“Before the anvil.”
Shock and dismay swept over her. She felt like crying. She eyed the cold, impersonal structure. “An anvil for an altar. It seems a sacrilege.”
“I’m certain you have been guilty of worse irreverence,” Robert said.
She expected to hear the sound of Hugh’s boisterous laughter, but for once, his expression was almost sympathetic. “Like Robbie said, being married without banns and few witnesses reduces your choices somewhat.”
“Yes,” she said, “it does…somewhat.”
Robert was suddenly beside her, and he put his hands at her waist. He lifted her down from her horse. “I imagine God will understand your improvising. The marriage will be legal and that is what’s important.”
It seemed incredible to her that Robert and Hugh could be so disrespectful toward an event that was not only a sacrament, but also a huge step into the unknown, at least for her. How composed her bridegroom looked, how indifferent. She supposed her only recourse was to strike a pose of similar nonchalance.
With a shiver of dread and anticipation, she wondered if she was doing the right thing, then reminded herself that it was too late now for such questions. Better to pray for a blessing upon her future, than to question what was already done.
As she walked along, she wished she could shrivel up into nothing more than one of the insignificant stones that lay scattered about under her feet. She had no more time to make wishes, for she was further horrified when Robert said they were not only going to wed before an anvil in a smithy’s shop, but that their wedding ceremony was going to be performed by…
“I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood you. Who did you say would perform the wedding ceremony?”
“A blacksmith,” Robert repeated.
“Oh.”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
She would have liked to tell him a resounding yes. She would like to say she had not objected to being married without a bath. She had not objected to being married in a wet, mud-soaked dress. She had not even objected to being married in front of a smithy’s anvil. How she would love to tell him she could not accept this, that a blacksmith would not, under any circumstances, marry her.
What she did say was quite different, however. With a deep, fortifying breath, she looked around her and gathered up her sodden skirts. “Well, if it’s to be an anvil wedding presided over by a smithy and witnessed by unshod ponies, I suppose we had best be getting on with it.”
Robert and Hugh exchanged glances, but said nothing.
A few minutes later, Meleri and Robert stood before the black-smith—a burly, bushy-browed fellow with arms as big as tree trunks, who wore a dirty leather apron. As for Meleri, she was still wearing her mud-trimmed riding habit. She almost cried when she looked down, no longer able to see it had once been a lovely shade of blue. It was appropriate, she supposed, that her wedding dress, like her groom, was not chosen by any tender regard, but out of necessity. She did manage to straighten her hair a bit, before replacing her dripping hat.
They were just taking their places before the smithy when Hugh came running in with a damp handful of sodden heather, mud clinging to the roots. “A wedding bouquet,” he said, trying to pull the roots off, but the stems were wet and tough.
Meleri reached out, took the heather from him, muddy roots and all, and held it in front of her. It wasn’t Hugh’s fault that there was nothing better available, she reasoned. At least he had tried to make it proper in that regard. She thanked him in a muted voice that trembled as she tried to hold back tears.
She clutched the lavender-hued heather to her bosom, as a beggar would hoard the purple robes of an emperor, and stood woodenly beside Robert, her heart broken, her mind blank. Then, she turned toward Robert, gave him a weak smile and said, “I am ready, milord.”
Robert caught her by surprise when he handed the smithy two gold coins, then took her by the arm and said, “Come lass. Let us be away from this place.”
Puzzled, she looked around her. “What? What is it? What has happened? Are we not to wed?”
Suddenly, powerful hands locked on her shoulders and she was spun around to look into what she expected to be the frightening countenance of the man she was about to marry, but instead, his expression was softer, his words kinder. “Aye, lass, we will wed sure enough, but we will not marry here. Let us continue on our way.”
“I don’t understand. What made you change your mind?”
He stood looking down at her, a tall, formidable man, frightening even, but in spite of these things, she knew he would never strike her. “You did.”
“I? I changed your mind?”
“Aye, you did, lass.”
“How?”
“By your willingness. I never intended us to marry here. It was a test, nothing more.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “A test? What kind of test?”
“If we Scots have learned anything about you English over the years, it’s that you cannot be trusted. I wanted to know, before we reached Beloyn Castle, if you were of a mind to go through with this marriage. Or, was this all an act, a sham?”
“Sham? You think I would stoop to such?” She was trembling with fury. “Of all the mean—” she hit him on the arm with her flowers “—despicable—” she whacked him again, on the shoulder this time “—calculating—” she hit him again, but did not get to say anything more, for his arms went around her, tightly, and he held her fast against him.
“I may have been cheated out of my marriage, but I will have my wedding kiss.”
His mouth came down on hers, hard at first, but when she did not resist him, he softened the kiss and gathered her more deeply in his arms. Instinctively, she brought her hands up against him to push him away, but she was too shocked and surprised to do anything but surrender.
The kiss ravaged her mouth in a way that dominated and lay siege to any denial that lodged in her breast, and she was unable to gather enough strength or will to deny him. It was overpowering and seductive. It was wonderful, and she felt the fight go right out of her.
As I live and learn, she thought. No wonder the housemaids were sneaking out of the house at night and ministers were pounding the pulpit on Sunday morning.
So this is a kiss, she thought. I should like to practice this more often….
If he had wanted to consummate their union, right there on the soggy ground and in front of the smithy, the anvil, his brother, even God, she would not have been able to resist him.
At last, when he ended the kiss and released her, she stumbled against him, her muscles weak and lacking control, and her mind confused and in need of a sense of direction. Her mouth burned where his lips had touched hers. Her body still cried out for more. “Why are you staring at me so?”
“You are a woman with mettle,” Robert said. “It is something I am pleased to see. A strong woman who can prevail in the face of disappointment and surmount obstacles is a necessity in Scotland. It is also a rare find.”
“It is?”
“Aye, it is. I admire a woman with a powerful spirit and great strength of character. It is not always easy to overcome disappointment. I like the way you manage to persevere when all seems harsh and hopeless.”
“I like the way you kiss,” she said, lost in a dreamy state induced by delicious kissing, an understanding groom-to-be and compliments as golden as her future seemed to be. It was only when the boisterous sound of their laughter penetrated her trancelike state that she realized she had spoken the words she meant to keep private. Well, she told herself, it is a little late for mortification, so instead, she said, “If you two are finished, let us be on our way. Good as the sound of laughter is, it will not get us a mile farther down the road.”
Hugh clapped Robert on the back. “Seems like you’ve got yourself a sensible lass, after all. You can add that one to your list.”
“What list?”
“The list of things you like about your lass. She is alert enough to spot an opportunity when it comes, and to respond appropriately when it does not.”
“You seem to be the one collecting tidbits. Why don’t you add it to your list?” Robert spoke to Hugh, but it was Meleri he kept in his line of vision.
Afraid he could see the confusion, the desire that she knew was still in her eyes, she looked down and saw he had stepped on the bouquet of heather she dropped.
She studied the flowers lying as abandoned as her hope, when suddenly he leaned down and caught them up in his hand. When he offered them to her, she took them. Unable to think of anything to say, she gave her attention to the bouquet, which was horribly crushed. “You have trod upon my bouquet,” she said, unable to look at him.
“Aye, lass, your bouquet is smashed, but not your hopes, I think.”