Chapter 32
A wedding was a somber occasion, but nature had decided to gift the day with beauty.
The afternoon sky was a brilliant blue, the hills surrounding Ayleshire were an emerald green.
From the nearby trees came the sounds of birds, blithely unaware that people congregated in the village church to celebrate the union of one of their own to a stranger from Edinburgh.
The day was marred by her mood, of course, one so dour that Riona remained silent rather than betray her state of near tears. Susanna had seemed the same, but Riona wasn’t sure, since her mother wouldn’t meet her eyes as she bustled around, attending to last-minute details.
She was dressed and ready, waiting only for her hat, a tiny scrap of lace and flowers.
A silly thing, almost frivolous, and since she was not in the mood for frivolity, Riona decided that she wouldn’t wear it.
Tossing it to the chair on the other side of the room, she turned and surveyed herself in the mirror.
Her eyes looked bruised, the dark circles attesting to a night filled with troubled dreams. Her face was pale, her lips almost bloodless. Hardly the picture of an ecstatic bride.
Her hair was almost beyond hope. Abigail had used the curling tongs on it that morning, and the resultant frizz was a disaster.
She could tuck it up into a bun and lace flowers through it.
Or braid it into a coronet with a few ferns.
Or she could leave it as it was and simply not care. She opted for the last course.
For the first time since he’d left, she was grateful for James’s absence. She wouldn’t be able to do her duty today if he’d been sitting in the congregation. How could she pass him on her way to the communion table?
Too much temptation, to give up James MacRae.
He shouldn’t have you.
You make prayers sound like wishes. His words on that day in the church. How long ago it seemed. And how wrong he was. Not wishes, but desires, deeply felt. Needs, perhaps, but nothing as simple or easy as a wish.
Dear God, how could she go through with this?
If Ayleshire were truly the magical place the villagers thought it to be, she could take herself away merely by a thought. Or by clicking her fingers together, she could change this afternoon. But she did not believe in magic, however much she wanted it to be true now.
It wasn’t that she wanted to become someone else. She simply wanted Harold to disappear.
Solemnity and laughter, joy and heartache, all emotions she’d felt around James.
She closed her eyes to savor it all for just one more moment before she pushed his memory resolutely from her.
How could she perform this duty with his smile dancing in her vision, or the recollection of his blue eyes boring into her mind?
How can you think of giving yourself to anyone else?
Oh, but she couldn’t. Tonight, when Harold came to her, she would close her eyes tightly and think of something else. The roof of the chicken coop that needed repair, the new dating system for the cheese, the irrigation channels James had suggested be dug.
No, not James.
Then she would think of needlepoint stitches, the pattern she’d envisioned in her mind, the lovely embroidery on Maureen’s nightgowns, the blue the exact color of James’s…
Not James.
The scenery? The thick forests that reminded her of the time they gathered branches? Or a verdant glen that recalled that afternoon of abandon? Even the ocean could bring him to mind, sea captain that he was.
Nothing she could envision would be free of him.
Retribution issued by a celestial hand. Sin, Riona, and you’ll be reminded of it a hundred times, a thousand times over.
She pressed her hand on her abdomen. Was there another reminder waiting even now? A child, with brilliant blue eyes and an engaging grin?
“Where is Maureen?” Susanna asked crossly, as she entered the room. A frown wrinkled her brow. “Where is your sister? She’s not in her room and no one has seen her.”
Riona shook her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since dinner last night.”
Susanna looked around, then flew to the side of the room where Riona’s hat lay.
“I’ve decided not to wear it,” Riona said.
Susanna held it in her hands, looking first at Riona and then at the scrap of material, lace, and feathers. Sighing deeply, she placed the hat back on the chair.
The only time today, Riona thought, that she would get her way.
“Harold is waiting.”
Riona nodded, squaring her shoulders. Together they would walk to the church, followed by the people of Tyemorn Manor. A ceremony to be duplicated by Maureen when the time came.
She was enveloped in a hug, and Susanna held on when Riona would have withdrawn.
“Be happy, my dearest. There are ways.”
“Yes,” she said. An agreement issued for the sake of politeness.
Susanna handed her a nosegay of flowers from her garden. She thanked her and left the room, her mother following.
Entering the parlor a few minutes later, she turned to Harold, presenting herself with a small curtsy.
“You look beautiful,” he said, standing. “The loveliest bride I’ve ever seen.”
For a moment, she could almost believe him sincere.
But how like him not to realize that her coloring was too pale and her hands trembled.
Or maybe he didn’t care. She would have told him that nerves kept her stomach lurching, and that she felt decidedly ill, but all she did was force a smile to her face and thank him in a wooden voice.
She was strangling the flowers. The stems were damp, crushed by her fingers.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded, resigned to her fate. Together they left the house.
The procession was delayed while another search was made for Maureen.
“I cannot believe your sister would do something so inconsiderate,” Susanna said, when she couldn’t be found. “What with everything else happening today.”
“Maybe she left for the church early,” Riona volunteered. “Or she’s gone to pick some mint for my stomach. She knew I was ill last night.” There were a dozen or so reasons why she couldn’t be found.
“You’re right, of course,” Susanna said. “She’ll just have to catch up with us.”
They walked silently, forming a procession. Behind them were Susanna and Ned. Polly was still ill, but in attendance, but poor Abigail had been left behind to finish the wedding supper since Cook’s fever had not abated. But following them were the men and women who worked at Tyemorn Manor.
The kirk was crowded, the happy faces of the villagers beaming back at her as she and Harold entered. Slowly, they made their way to the communion table as those from Tyemorn Manor found their places among the congregation.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, bathing the front of the church in soft hues of red, blue, and green. The windows were from another time, when the church had first been constructed and the service was more ornate. Popish, she’d heard it called.
This ceremony would be plain and unadorned. A simple declaration from them both and blessed by the church.
Mr. Dunant smiled in approval as they took their places before him.
Her dress was strangling her. Nor could she breathe. It wasn’t the constriction of her laces as much as a growing feeling of utter horror.
What was she doing?
Sometimes, as a girl, she’d dreamed of her wedding. Her imagination had furnished the day with sunshine, singing birds, smiles and laughter. Although her childish visions had a shadowy figure as the groom, she knew only too well that this bridegroom was not the man he should have been.
She couldn’t marry him. She glanced at Harold, feeling as if she were waking from a nightmare. Except, of course, that this was real.
If James had never come into her life, she would have accepted this marriage.
Not with good grace, true, but she wouldn’t have felt the sense of despair she was experiencing now.
But he had come into her life, and despite the fact that he had left Tyemorn Manor, he was still here.
Simply because he would always be in her heart.
Once she’d loved like that, how could she forget it? How could she ignore it? How could she trade that for Harold McDougal?
She looked wildly around for Maureen. She needed to talk to her sister, explain why this marriage couldn’t continue. Surely James was correct. If Samuel really loved Maureen, wouldn’t he want her? Scandal wouldn’t matter.
It hadn’t mattered to James.
Live with me on the abbey land. I’ll build our home and we’ll be impervious to scandal or whispers. Let the biddies say what they will. We simply won’t care.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Harold.
A few weeks ago, the idea had been repugnant but necessary. Now it seemed even more loathsome and not quite as important.
She turned and looked at Harold, staring at him full face in front of the congregation.
Frankly, she no longer cared that he’d once threatened her with scandal. Or still posed a danger. She would no doubt horrify her mother and the rest of the congregation by doing what her heart decreed. But she no longer cared about that, either.
All that mattered was that she loved James. As soon as she could, she was going to travel to Gilmuir, to beg him to forgive her.
But first, she had to stop this marriage.
“Do you love anyone in your life, Harold?” she asked him. He turned and looked at her, surprised.
“Are we at that again, Riona? I had thought we’d settled that.”
“I don’t care what you feel for me, Harold,” she said shaking her head.
“But tell me this, is there anyone else in your life whom you love? Truly, completely, absolutely? Someone who makes your heart beat faster just by being in the same room? Someone who makes you smile? Someone who makes you daydream?”
He impatiently turned back to Mr. Dunant, nodding for the ceremony to begin.
She held up her hand, and the minister stopped in mid-word, frowning.
“I do,” she said, hearing the words echo through the church. “I love him beyond any measure.” Beyond sin or society’s dictates. Eons past propriety or even reason.
She scanned the congregation once again. Her mother sat there, and beside her, Ned. But of Maureen, there was no sign. “I cannot do this, Harold,” she said, feeling an absurd desire to laugh. She compromised by smiling. “I can’t marry you.”
“Have you forgotten our arrangement, Riona?” His eyes narrowed as he whispered the words to her.
“No,” she said, sending a silent apology to her absent sister. “I haven’t forgotten. But it doesn’t matter. You can say what you will to whomever you will, whenever you will.”
“Then you leave me no choice.” He was threatening her, and yet she still felt almost buoyant with relief.
“I doubt anyone will care what you have to say, McDougal,” a voice boomed out.
Riona turned and looked up at the choir gallery, empty save for one figure. James stood there, attired in his captain’s finery. A commanding presence, one who now had the attention of every pair of eyes in the church.
Riona’s smile widened.
He turned and disappeared from sight, and she heard his boots on the steps. A moment later he appeared at the end of the aisle. The members of the congregation turned and looked at him, then at her.
She left Harold’s side, dropping her bouquet on the floor.
“Tell the story far and wide,” James said, his voice booming throughout the church. “Maureen and Captain Hastings were wed this morning at Gretna Green.”
Slowly, Riona walked down the aisle toward him, ignoring Harold and the minister, and the avid eyes of those who watched. She noticed only one person. James.
“You didn’t leave me after all,” she said, reaching him.
“How could I?”
She stretched out her hands, but instead of taking them, he placed his hands on her waist. “Will you be my bride, Riona McKinsey?” he said, loud enough so that anyone in the church could hear him.
“Oh yes, James,” she said.
He startled her by picking her up and holding her above him while he turned in a slow circle. She braced her hands on his shoulders, thinking that now was a strange time to begin to weep. But perhaps tears came with joy as well as grief.
“You once asked what were my weaknesses,” he said. “I’ve only one. You.”
She began to smile through her tears, startled by his words and his wild and reckless mood. She’d never seen him this way, with his smile flashing bright and a lock of hair falling over his brow.
“And you’re my temptation,” she said, bending her head, still smiling even as he kissed her.