Amanda Scott (35 page)

“It wasna
my
notion but
yours,”
he reminded her angrily.

“I changed my mind, and so did she, although apparently you failed to notice.”

“Where’s Maggie?” he demanded.

“You go and find her if you like,” Catriona recommended. “But do not get in my way again, or I will make you sorry.”

Flinging his hands in the air, Fergus vanished.

Beaton scarcely paused for breath before he went on, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

Behind them, solemnly, Toby said, “I do.”

Beaton acknowledged him with a nod before saying, “Christopher, if thou wilt have this woman to thy wedded wife, repeat after
me… ”

Still stunned by her inability to speak, Anne paid no heed to the cardinal’s words or to Kit’s until Kit turned toward her,
took one limp hand in his much larger, much warmer one, and said in his familiar deep voice as he slipped a cool gold band
onto her third finger, “With this ring I thee wed; with this gold and silver I thee serve; with my body I thee worship; and,
with all my worldly chattel I thee honor.”

She could barely see him through the blue lace veil, but she realized that her turn was coming. She could end it then, and
if marriage to Fiona had been all that threatened Kit, she would have done her part to save him and Fiona as well. And if
she had ruined any small possibility that might have existed of marrying him herself one day, she undoubtedly deserved the
loss. Tears welled in her eyes at the thought, but at least the horrid veil kept anyone from seeing them.

The ring on her finger felt warm now, and she stroked it with a finger of her other hand. Wearing it felt right and good.
The worst part of all would be giving it back to Kit in the face of his certain fury, especially since she knew now that she
wanted more than anything in the world to be his wife. She had never known a man like him, had never felt so close to anyone
before, or so well understood.

Beaton turned to her and said, “Fiona Anne, if thou wilt have this man to thy wedded husband, repeat after me … ”

Instead of flinging back her veil and announcing her perfidy to the world, as she had intended, Anne heard her own voice repeat
obediently, “I, Fiona Anne, take thee, Christopher, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for fairer for fouler, for
better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, and I vow to be meek and obedient in bed and at board
until death us depart. From this time forward, and if Holy Kirk it will ordain, thereto I plight thee my troth.”

“For as much as Christopher and Fiona Anne have consented together in holy wedlock before God and this company,” Beaton said,
“I pronounce that they are man and wife. Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” Quietly then, he said
to them, “You may turn and face the company before we go inside to celebrate the nuptial mass.”

Anne put one shaking hand to the blue lace veil, then the other.

“Just this last bit now, and it will be over,” Kit murmured gently beside her.

Knowing he meant only to be kind, to encourage Fiona, Anne nodded, and a tear spilled down her cheek.

Beaton said loudly to the crowd, “It is my great pleasure to present to you Sir Christopher and Lady Chisholm of Ashkirk and
Torness.”

The crowd began cheering.

Hesitating only long enough to use a fistful of the blue lace to brush the tear from her cheek, Anne flung back the veil.

The cheering stopped instantly. At Anne’s left, Janet Beaton gasped. At her right, a heavy, ominous silence loomed and seemed
to swirl darkly around her.

In the garden, pandemonium erupted, led by Olivia’s shriek as she clapped a hand to her breast and collapsed into Eustace’s
arms. Toby looked stunned and Eustace speculative, although Olivia soon succeeded in claiming his full attention.

A large hand gripped Anne’s upper right arm so tightly that she knew it would leave bruises, but she did not protest.

“Have you gone mad?” Kit demanded close to her ear.

“I expect so,” she replied evenly.

“By heaven, what you deserve, my lass— What you and your cousin both deserve is a good skelping, and if I have anything to
say—”

“Where is Fiona?” Olivia cried, recovering suddenly and jerking herself free from Eustace to confront Kit. “What have you
done with my daughter?”

Still gripping Anne’s arm, he said grimly, “What have / done with her?”

“As I recall, you were not as eager as one might expect to marry her, so doubtless you perpetrated this charade,” Olivia retorted.
“Where is she?”

“I haven’t a notion,” he said. “Why do you not ask your niece?”

Anne swallowed hard as every eye turned toward her. Stark silence fell again as the entire company awaited her response.

To her astonishment, the words came easily. “Fiona did not want to marry him,” she told Olivia. “She said she would rather
offer herself to a nunnery, and begged me to take her place, but I do not know where she is, for she would not tell me that.
But I warrant, if she did go to a nunnery, she will not be hard to find.”

“Oh, the poor dear,” Janet Beaton said sympathetically.

“Do you know what you have done?” Cardinal Beaton demanded austerely.

An icy chill shot up Anne’s spine at his tone, but she turned to face him. “I know I should not have agreed to take my cousin’s
place,” she said. “At the time, however, it seemed to be the only way for her to make her position clear.”

“All she had to do was announce her refusal to marry,” Beaton said.

“I told her that,” Anne said, “but she said my aunt had told her that when a girl who is under age is betrothed, that betrothal
is utterly binding on both parties.”

“That
is
the law, is it not?” Olivia snapped.

Beaton frowned, turning his stern gaze upon her. “Did you not tell me those vows were exchanged by proxy, madam, by adults?”

“Aye, they were,” she said.

“Were they exchanged in the present tense or in the future tense?” he asked. “That is to say—”

“I know what it means,” Olivia said, but now she was frowning. “They were exchanged in the future tense, of course, promising
for all time to come. It did not occur to me that they could be done otherwise.”

Beaton nodded. “Then it is as I thought, and the vows were not unbreakable. A betrothal is mutually binding for all time only
if the vows are exchanged in the present tense, as those of the marriage ceremony are. Since hers was a normal betrothal,
your daughter could simply have declared her change of heart.”

“But she has not changed anything,” Olivia protested. “Moreover, I gave strict orders that no member of the household was
to leave the grounds without permission, so she must still be inside. Malcolm shall go and find her and command her to present
herself,” she added, beckoning to the steward who stood nearby. “Go and fetch Mistress Fiona to me at once.”

For once, Malcolm did not instantly obey her, looking uncertain instead. Then, still hesitant, he reached into his tunic and
extracted a folded sheet of paper, which he silently handed to her.

“What is this?” she demanded.

“I do not know, your ladyship, as it is sealed, but I fear it is not at all what I was led to believe,” he said. “Mistress
Fiona’s Molly asked me if I meant to attend the ceremony and when I said I did, she asked me to give that to you afterward.
I assumed that Mistress Fiona had written some sort of thoughtful message that you would cherish long after she had gone away
with her new husband, but I fear now that that cannot be the case.”

Olivia had already broken the red wax seal on the message, and a hush fell again as she unfolded it and began to read.

“Merciful heaven,” she exclaimed, “she has run away with the jester! She writes that they have declared themselves married
and that the jester says such a marriage is legal. He has duped her!” Turning angrily to Anne, she said, “Did you know about
this? Because, by heaven, if you did—”

“I did not,” Anne said, dismayed anew by Fiona’s apparent, newfound powers of deception. “As I told you, she said she would
rather enter a nunnery than marry Sir Christopher, but I was certain the nuns would not take her without your permission,
madam, and so I told her. She said nothing to me about the jester.”

“But how came you to agree to this ridiculous charade?” Olivia asked.

“I suppose I felt sorry for her and believed she had no other way to make you see that she felt like an object to be given
away—to be toyed with or destroyed, she said. If she has truly eloped with the jester, she fooled me completely. I would have
wagered anything you like that she would never dare do such a thing.”

As she said that, however, she remembered that her cousin had expressed a fondness for the jester almost from the moment of
his arrival. She remembered, too, that the jester had said he was going to seek help for Kit from friends at Dunsithe Castle.
If Fiona had lied, then certainly Mad Jake, or Willie, had lied as well, but perhaps that would not matter now that Fiona
and Kit clearly would not marry.

Olivia was silent, and in that silence, Anne felt overwhelmed by Kit’s looming presence beside her. He had not said another
word, but she sensed his anger and did not look forward to the moment when he would break his silence.

“How do we unravel this coil?” Olivia asked at last, looking at the cardinal.

“Both marriages are legal, madam,” he said grimly. “Your daughter’s declaration, if supported by her jester, is as legal as
he said it was, and although this young woman deserves to be flayed, the ceremony I performed is certainly legal. Except for
one detail,” he added thoughtfully. “The name was wrong, was it not?”

Olivia shot Anne a dagger look.

“I’m afraid not,” Anne said quietly. “Fiona and I were both named Fiona Anne after our grandmother. I am called Anne only
because my father preferred it.”

“But surely you can annul this marriage and my daughter’s as well,” Olivia said to Beaton. “After all, the ceremony includes
the words ‘if Holy Kirk it does ordain,’ and Anne is also underage.”

“If your daughter and her jester have declared their marriage, I would be loath to interfere, particularly if she has run
off with him. You may, of course, hail him before a magistrate if you do not mind the resulting scandal. As to this marriage,
if Sir Christopher demands it, I suppose I shall have to annul it. If he does not, I cannot… unless… ” He frowned thoughtfully,
then added, “The lass’s legal guardian can demand an annulment, if she has one.”

“She does,” Olivia said. “He is Thomas Ellyson, the new Earl of Armadale, and what is more, he strictly forbade her to marry
without his permission.”

Beaton looked around. “Where is he?”

“Alas, sir, he is not here, but I am certain he will demand an annulment.”

“Well, he cannot demand it if he is not here, and if he does not do so before the marriage is consummated, I shall be most
reluctant to grant one.”

“Then Sir Christopher must demand it,” Olivia said, turning to him.

Throat-aching tension filled Anne as she waited for Kit to say the words. Without heeding what she was doing, she touched
her ring again, rubbing it gently between her thumb and forefinger. The moments before he spoke seemed endless.

“I don’t want an annulment,” he said at last. “At least, not immediately. First, I have a few things to say to my wife whilst
she is still my wife, and I won’t be deprived of the opportunity to say them to her privately. I think, however, that we will
dispense with the nuptial mass if that is acceptable to you, your eminence.”

“It is,” Beaton said with a stern look at Anne.

Toby, who had remained silent throughout these exchanges, said mildly now, “In that case, we should all adjourn to the hall.
At least this time, whatever comes of it, we have had a proper wedding, so our meal will be a proper wedding feast.”

Clearly relieved to have direction, most of the guests turned toward the house. Anne moved to follow them, but the large hand
tightened on her arm, reminding her that she was still a prisoner.

“Not yet, my lass,” Kit muttered for her ears alone. “You and I are going to have a talk that you will not enjoy, but we will
not have it here or inside the house. That hedged garden where we spoke before will do, I think, but first we’ll let the others
move beyond earshot.”

She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands, certain he would not spare her and knowing she deserved to hear every word.
Considering his earlier description of what she deserved, she just hoped he would not
do
anything horrid.

“What the devil are
you
waiting for?”

Thinking he spoke to her, she jerked her head up, only to discover that although her chief attendant, Janet Beaton, had walked
away with the others, Lord Berridge still stood beside Kit in the place he had occupied as best man.

Berridge gave her a searching look as if to judge her emotional state. When she met his gaze steadily, he nodded and said
to Kit, “Don’t murder her, lad. I’m persuaded she meant only to aid her cousin.”

Kit did not respond, waiting with exaggerated patience until Berridge made a profound leg to Anne and strolled away toward
the house.

“Please, sir,” she said when she and Kit were alone, “I know you must be dreadfully vexed, and I’ll willingly apologize, but—”

“Not another word if you value your skin,” he snapped. “I do not want to create more entertainment for our wedding guests,
so you will honor those vows you recited long enough to do as I bid you now. We will walk to the hedge garden, where you will
continue to be silent and listen to what I say to you.”

She had no energy left to argue even had she retained the will to do so. Whatever strength had sustained her through the ceremony
and its aftermath had abandoned her the moment he spoke sharply to her.

If the few moments she had waited for him to demand an annulment had seemed long, the time it took to walk to the hedge garden
seemed appallingly short. He continued to grip her arm, forcing her to hurry along beside him, while with her free hand, she
strove to hold the heavy skirts of her wedding dress off the ground. Concern that she might trip passed through her mind only
to vanish as he jerked her to a halt and pulled her to face him, grabbing both shoulders and giving her a shake as if he could
not restrain his fury for another moment.