Page 90 of Rogue with a Brogue
“Ah. And do you, Mary…”
“Mary Beatrice Campbell,” she said.
Father Leonard turned gray. For a moment she thought he meant to faint. And then what would they do? “Good heavens.Do you, Mary Beatrice Campbell, take Arran MacLawry to be your lord and husband?” He leaned closer. “Shall I forgo the rest?”
“If you please. And I do, with all my heart.”
“Then by the power vested in me by God and the Church of England, I pronounce you husband and wife.” He glanced toward the line of windows. “Saints preserve us all. Kiss your bride, lad.”
With a slight, fond smile Arran cupped her cheek, then leaned down and touched his mouth to hers. The soft, gentle gesture made her ache to her toes. “You’re mine now,” she whispered.
“And ye’re mine. The father skipped the ‘let no man put asunder’ bit, but no one will sunder us, Mary Beatrice MacLawry.”
She kissed him back, holding his face in both hands. “No, they will not.”
“You’d best come sign the register,” Father Leonard said, his tone uneasy. She couldn’t blame him for his worry, now that he knew the MacLawrys and Campbells were involved.
Inside the vestibule first Arran and then she signed the thick book, and then Arran traded places with Peter so the footman could make his mark as their witness. Once Father Leonard had added the date and his own notation and dusted the ink with sand, she shook his hand.
“Thank you, Father Leonard.”
“I’m… You’re welcome, my lady. May God protect and keep you. Truly.”
Back in the main part of the church Arran had his back pressed against the door, his arms outspread. “Lass, do ye want to be a boy again, or shall we assume they’ve found us oot?”
Swiftly she pinned her hair up again and handed Peter his bonnet. “We make them earn it,” she said, the steel in her own voice surprising her. “I’m not simply surrendering.”
He nodded at her. “I’d nae go against ye, my fierce lass,” he returned, putting Howard’s hat back on his head. “Together?”
She took one of Peter’s arms, and he took the other. “Together.”
Chapter Twenty
Arran shoved open the church’s double doors. The two men standing just outside stepped back, startled.
He likely would have been wise to cut them down before they recovered. Instead he put his arm around Peter, as if protecting the old woman the footman was pretending to be. “Step careful,màthair,” he said, not quite able to bring himself to apologize to the two men.
“What are they yelling aboot?” Mary asked, in a fine imitation of his own brogue.
“I dunnae ken,bràthair,” he answered truthfully. If the Campbells were certain they’d found their quarry, stealth from them would have seemed the better choice. He eyed one of the men as his troop maneuvered around them. “What’s amiss, then?”
The man frowned, actually taking another step back. “I…” He sent a glance at his companion. “John?”
With a disgusted snort Peter urged them forward, and the clearly baffled men let them pass. Surprised they’d made it even that far, Arran kept the three of them at a slightly accelerated walk toward the waiting wagon. If he could get them back north through the village, they had at least a slim chance of returning to their hiding place by the stream.
“Stop them, you halfwits!” came from farther down the hill.
Everything happened at once, but at the same time Arran seemed to have the clarity to make note of every moment, every action. The Marquis of Fendarrow topped the rise, spurring his horse as he caught sight of them. Another, larger group of riders charged up from the east, scattering Campbells as they came. In fact, they wore MacLawry colors.
Bear,he realized, even as he moved forward to put himself between Mary and the weapons that seemed to be appearing everywhere. He might have been relieved to see his mountainous younger brother, except if Ranulf had sent him, they weren’t allies. Not any longer.
“Stay back!” he bellowed, pulling a pistol from each pocket and leveling them at the nearest group.
The Campbells skidded to a stop, but didn’t lower their own weapons. Peter produced a blunderbuss from somewhere Arran didn’t care to contemplate, and the footman swung it around to gain them some room on the other side. No one had yet opened fire, but it would happen—and it would happen soon.
“Back to the church,” he growled.
“Father Leonard just barred the doors,” Mary said from directly behind him. He felt her hands at his back, and then she had his spare knife in her grip.
