Chapter Twenty-Three
Rory stood at the top of Torna Doon, waiting, watching.
The August sky would not truly blacken until closer to the midnight hour, lengthening the purple glow of twilight.
When he first glimpsed her shadowy form, he hurried forward and swept her into his arms and kissed her with all his love, all his longing.
He wanted to soothe away her pain with promises of happiness together.
He pulled away and cupped her cheeks, staring deep into her eyes. “I love ye, Alex. I will always love ye.”
The abbot chimed in behind them. “Rory, ye ken they’ll be no more women or reckless chances now. ‘Tis the end of the road for ye.”
Rory smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. “Nay,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “’Tis only the beginning.” Then he fell to his knees. “Be my wife.”
Laughing, she bent at the waist and threw her arms around his neck. “Ye know I will.”
Smiling so wide his face hurt, Rory stood and wrapped his arm around her waist, presenting himself and Alex to the abbot.
“Ye heard her, Abbot. Say the vows before she changes her mind.”
The abbot chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve told ye before, Rory, I’m not a priest. I cannot marry ye properly, although I can give ye a blessing. Join hands.”
Rory turned to face Alex. He clasped her hands, turning them over. His thumbs stroked her calloused palms. Then he bent his head and kissed her.
“Ahem,” the abbot said.
Rory stood straight and smiled, meeting Alex’s adoring gaze. “I love ye,” she whispered and rose up on her tiptoes, kissing him again.
“Ahem,” the abbot repeated.
“Sorry, Abbot,” Alex said, smiling.
“Shall I begin?”
Rory nodded, resisting the need to crush Alex to his chest and kiss her until her legs gave way.
“Never forget how ye first met,” the abbot said, his voice rich with solemnity, but then he shifted his body to the side and winked at Alex.
“In yer case, this should be easily done.” Clearing his throat, he resumed his reverent posture.
“Hold fast to the wonder now in yer hearts and bring that wonder to every word shared and every deed done, however small or big. Do this and yer love shall flourish. For God is love, and He resides in both of ye, binding ye to one another.” He stepped back and bowed his head.
“I humbly bless this union in His name.”
Alex jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with all her might.
“Now, when ye make it to Colonsay, be sure to have yer marriage solemnized by a priest. And remember, ye can’t consummate this union until ye do,” the abbot warned.
Rory looked at Alex who looked back with eyes wide. He put her down. Then rubbing the back of his neck, he turned to the abbot. “Well, ye see, Abbott—”
“Nay,” Abbot Matthew interrupted, throwing his hand up. “Stop right there. I can’t hear confession, and I would rather not know.”
Alex stepped forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll miss seeing ye as often as I do.”
The abbot smiled. “I will miss ye too, my child, and ye, Rory. But before ye go, there is one last thing I must say. Ye have both suffered enough to know the sanctity and fleetingness of life. And ye have both done more than yer share for the cause. Scotland thanks ye. The one thing I ask is that ye both retire yer masks.” He reached for Rory’s hand and then for Alex’s and brought them together, placing his own hands on top of theirs in blessing.
“Quiet yer restless souls and let go the cause. Others will pick up where ye’ve left off. ”
Rory nodded and gave a shrug. “One more Saint has been unmasked—indirectly at least,” he said, winking at Alex.
After bidding the abbot farewell, Alex and Rory mounted their horses and rode out of MacKenzie territory. “We head west then to Colonsay?” she asked.
Rory nodded. “The last time I saw Jack, that is where he was heading. ‘Tis where my Father’s people hail from. But remember my vow; I care not where we go, just take me with ye.”
She smiled. “Colonsay it is. We will join the rest of the Saints. ‘Tis too late for me to ride with ye and yer brothers, but at least I will be able to meet them all.”
“Jack, my oldest brother should be there, and Ian too.”
“Which one is Ian?”
“Ian is the youngest, although he’s as big as an ox. His size can be intimidating at first, but ye’ll find he’s as soft and mild as a lamb until provoked, then...well...”
“Well...what?”
“He has a fierce temper to match his red hair, just like my sister, Rose.”
“Will Rose be at Colonsay?”
“Aye. She will.”
“Don’t ye have another brother? I remember the Saints had five riders.”
“Aye, Quinn, but I do not know if he has made it yet to the Isle.”
Alex mentally tallied the MacVie brothers. “And Alec is in London makes five.” She thought of Rory’s older brother with his beautiful stony face and hard eyes. “I pray Alec’s soul finds peace.”
Rory nodded. “That has always been our hope, too. Who can know—mayhap one day, his heart will feel light, and he will join us all on Colonsay.”
Alex smiled at the idea. “How long will the journey take?”
“My guess is we could be there by the week’s end if we rode hard.” He cleared his throat and looked at her sidelong. “But we needn’t rush.”
“What did ye have in mind?”
“The Harborage is a fine place for a couple of Scotland’s rebels to pass some time.”
Leaning out of her saddle, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ye’re a rogue and a rebel.”
“Aye,” he whispered and kissed her slowly, passionately. “And ye’re my perfect match.”
Epilogue
One year later at Luthmore
Michael took a sip of ale, then set his tankard down on his writing table and eased into his chair.
His bones ached in protest. How he longed to lie down after several long days of celebration, but he wanted to write his letter while the memories were still fresh.
He spread out a fresh piece of parchment, then dipped his quill into the ink pot...
My Dear Abbot,
I hope to somehow convey to ye in writing the joy that right now fills my heart.
Sir Adam Lennox married Lady Mary today.
I wish you had been able to witness the elegance and solemnity of their wedding.
The chapel and courtyard were nigh bursting with villagers.
Our kin even gathered on the bridge and surrounded Luthmore’s outer wall.
The entire clan came to honor and celebrate the new Lord and Lady of Luthmore Castle.
Spirits and hopes are high. I am confident Clan MacKenzie will prosper under the compassionate and sensible leadership of Adam and Mary.
Father Timothy performed the ceremony with such richness and devotion of spirit. Blessings rain down upon us, for he has agreed to take over the chapel here when Father John retires.
Ye will also be happy to know that Sir Robert is also doing well.
Michael chuckled, then wrote, Very well, in fact.
He sat back and took a long gulp of ale.
During the wedding, Robert had been missing from his usual spot at the high dais.
Instead, he had joined the stable master at one of the trestle tables and, at his side, avidly listening to his every word, was Cara, the beautiful and clearly besotted stable master’s daughter.
Michael took up his quill. I do not think it will be long until Father Timothy has another wedding to perform.
He laughed out loud as he imagined Robert waiting at the altar astride his prize stallion while the bride trotted down the aisle on a dappled gray mare.
In other news, William has grown a hand taller and has begun his squire training. Helen is again with child. Corc, bless him, spends every evening with the healer, Morag. We all suspect a romance is brewing there.
As for me, with a Lady of Luthmore who wears shoes, I have found time for a little leisure. With that in mind, I hope this letter is the first of many to come. We all look forward to yer next visit to Luthmore.
-M
P.S. I know you will see this letter to its rightful owner.
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