Chapter Fourteen
Three days of traveling without the fear of being followed had seemed to pass much quicker than the first day of travel, where they had constantly looked behind them.
Mild weather had helped as well. Merry had watched Duncan closely, knowing he would stubbornly sit there and suffer in silence rather than request that additional stops be made so he might rest.
She nervously smoothed the folds of her deep green traveling dress where her matching pelisse opened at the front. The warmth of the day, along with the close confines of the carriage with the four of them, had caused her to forgo her fur-lined mantle.
Truth be told, this trip had worn on her, and she was ready to be done with it. Its only saving grace was that soon she would be Duncan’s wife. An excited shiver rippled through her. “We should arrive today. Do you not agree?”
After a glance out the window, Duncan gave her an encouraging nod. “Verra soon, in fact. The village of Gretna Green lies just up ahead.”
A stronger surge of nervousness and anticipation made Merry catch her breath and hold it to tamp down the jitteriness in her middle. Today was the day.
“Merry?” Serendipity arched a brow at her. “Breathe. You are going quite red.”
“Are ye all right, my own?” Duncan leaned closer and captured Merry’s gaze in his. His dark eyes held so much love and concern that she released the breath she held.
“I am fine. Just being silly.”
“Ye’ve not changed yer mind, have ye?”
Even though his tone hinted at an attempt at teasing, Merry knew he was more than a little sincere.
Her poor champion still feared she was going to reject him.
“I have not changed my mind. A few nerves at a time like this is quite normal.” She swallowed hard, then cleared her throat. “Or so I am told.”
“Of course, it is only natural.” Lady Evelyn pulled a small silver flask from her reticule and handed it to Merry. “Have a wee snort of that, lass. ’Twill help calm ye.”
Merry eyed the container with some leeriness. Over the duration of the trip, she had discovered that her future mother-in-law could drink as heavily as any man and still walk a straight line while doing so. “What is it?”
“Peach brandy, of course. ’Tis much too early in the day for whisky.”
Duncan shifted with a heavy sigh. “Mother.”
“What?” Lady Evelyn pointed at the container in Merry’s hand. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with a wee tipple to help yer bride on her way to the altar—or in this case, the anvil.”
A shout outside and the carriage slowing decided Merry on taking Lady Evelyn’s advice. She unscrewed the stopper and hazarded a sip of the stout yet fruity liquid, then pressed a hand to her throat. Even her breath felt hot. “Good gracious.”
The dowager smiled. “If it nay burns, lass, ’tis not any good.”
Merry returned the flask. “Thank you. I believe one drink will do me.”
Lady Evelyn offered it to everyone else in the carriage before partaking of the brandy herself, then returned it to her bag.
The carriage stopped, the door opened, and Chance reached inside to help Serendipity and then Lady Evelyn alight.
Merry tensed as Duncan stepped down next, even though he had a perfectly strong left arm with which to help himself descend. She was so afraid he would get off balance and aggravate his wound. But when he turned and reached for her, she shooed away her fears to keep him from seeing it in her eyes.
“I am fine, lass,” he said softly as she stepped to the ground beside him. “Better than fine, in fact, since today is our wedding day.”
His reading her so easily was more than a little disconcerting. “Did I say anything about your not being fine?”
“Ye nay had to.” Barely wincing, he hooked her hand through his left arm and tucked her against his side. “Those blue eyes of yers are as clear as a Highland burn and are windows to yer thoughts.”
“Indeed.” She would definitely have to work on that. After all, a woman might need to keep a few things to herself.
Directly in front of them, a thatch-roofed building with whitewashed walls squatted like a nesting hen.
Emblazoned in large letters on the sign above the door were the words: Blacksmith’s Shop.
On the bench out front sat an older man weaving a basket.
Without looking up from his work, he asked, “Ye be wantin’ the bishop. Be that so?”
“The bishop?” Merry repeated with a glance at Duncan.
Duncan nodded. “Aye, we wish to be married. Is the anvil priest about?”
The old man squinted up at the sun, then set aside his partially constructed basket.
“Aye, Bishop Lang be here, and a good time to be findin’ him.
That bottle of his tips a bit too often later in the day for him to be of any use to anyone but himself.
” He pushed up from the bench and hitched a few steps, battling the stiffness in his joints. “Ye got coin, I reckon?”
“Plenty.” Duncan’s tone left no question about that.
With everyone in tow, Merry and Duncan followed the gentleman into the low-ceilinged building, to the black anvil sitting on a stump at the far end of the room.
“Wait here,” the man said, “whilst I fetch the bishop and his son. His son does the marriage lines ye’ll be wanting for proof.”
Serendipity gave Merry’s arm a reassuring squeeze as she and Chance took their places beside her.
Malcolm and Lady Evelyn stood to Duncan’s right.
Soon, they were joined by a white-haired man with a round face and rosy cheeks, dressed in the somber black of a cleric.
A younger gentleman, resembling him so much that he had to be his son, followed him.
“Welcome! Welcome!” the white-haired fellow said. “I be Bishop Lang, and whom do I have the pleasure of marrying on this fine day?”
“Duncan Alastair Gallowy, Marquess of Kirkston,” Duncan said before turning to Merry with a glint in his eye. “And Lady Merry Julianna Heather Abarough.”
“You remembered.” Merry could only recall ever telling him her full Christian name the one time, and yet he had remembered.
“Of course I remembered,” he said softly. “I never forget anything about ye, lass.”
She held tighter to his arm, her knees suddenly gone weak. Good heavens, she was about to marry this wonderful man.
Lang turned to his son. “Did ye get all that, Simon? We must keep our ledgers accurate.”
“Aye, Da. I got it.” Simon had seated himself at a small table with an enormous book, an inkwell, and additional sheets of paper. He nodded at Merry and Duncan. “And who be the witnesses for me to record for the marriage lines good and proper?”
“Lady Serendipity Abarough, sister to the bride, and Chance Abarough, the Duke of Broadmere, brother to the bride.” Chance gave Merry a brotherly smile that didn’t settle her nerves a bit.
“Serendipity,” Simon repeated slowly, cringing as he scratched out the word. “That be a right large name to spell, I reckon.” He looked up from his ledger and shifted his attention to Duncan’s family. “I can add yer names as well, if ye like.”
“Lady Evelyn Galloway, mother to the groom, and Lord Malcolm Galloway, the groom’s brother,” Lady Evelyn said.
“Family members on both sides.” Bishop Lang clapped in approval. “Well done, indeed.” He motioned for Merry and Duncan to step closer to the anvil, with the hammer leaning against it.
He first turned to Merry. “Do ye take this man to be yer husband in fair times and foul, forsaking all others to be his helpmate and never leave his side, the two of ye living rightly in the sight of God Almighty?”
“I do,” she said, struggling to speak through her breathlessness.
The bishop nodded, then looked at Duncan. “Do ye take this woman to be yer wife, to protect her, guard her, and keep her safe in fair times and foul, never to leave her side or abandon her and always live rightly in the sight of God Almighty?”
“Aye, I do, and I wish to give her this.” Duncan reached inside his jacket and drew out a small black velvet box shaped like a heart. He opened the hinged lid and took out the ring, then tossed the box to Malcolm.
Merry found it impossible to breathe as he took her left hand and slid the lovely sapphire-and-diamond ring in place.
“With this ring,” he said ever so softly, “I swear to love ye forever and a day.”
Unable to keep the tears of her heart at bay, she reached up and touched his cheek. “And I swear the same, my champion. Always and forever.”
The bishop cleared his throat. “Well then, like the metals forged on this mighty anvil, let these two be joined in holy matrimony. Let no man dare put asunder what our Lord Almighty hath joined.” With a grand swing, he brought the hammer down upon the anvil, making it ring loud and clear, announcing their union.
“Congratulations! Ye now be man and wife.” He held out his hand.
“Five sovereigns and all of ye see Simon and sign the marriage lines and our ledger, if ye please.”
“I’ll be paying that.” Duncan’s mother tugged open her reticule and fished out the gold coins. “’Tis the least I can do on this joyous occasion.”
Serendipity caught Merry in a tight hug and whispered, “I am so happy for you.”
“You have been my strength, Seri,” Merry said just as softly. “Now, you are free to find your own happiness. Your oath to Mama is complete.”
Tears in her eyes, her sister made a valiant effort to smile and barely succeeded. “My happiness is seeing all my sisters happy.”
Chance kissed Merry on the cheek. “May you always be as happy as you are right now.”
Merry couldn’t possibly imagine anything less. “Thank you, brother.”
“We have a fine pub next door,” Bishop Lang announced from the doorway while they were signing the documents. “I hear that a celebratory drink always makes a fine blessing upon the union.”
“I’ll be going over to Gretna Hall and reserving us some rooms,” Malcolm said. “A fine, leisurely day here in Gretna Green will do us all a world of good, and of course, the newlyweds will wish to spend the night.”