Page 89 of Rogue with a Brogue
“Begging yer pardon, Father,” the footman said in his normal voice, untying the bonnet and pulling it off to set it on one of the pews beside Arran’s and Mary’s hats.
“Good heavens,” Father Leonard said faintly, staring at the stocky man with his worn face and ample bosom. Then he shook himself. “Well. To each his own, I suppose. You’ll be the witness then… sir?”
“Aye. But I’m nae a sir. Gilling’s the name, Father. Peter Gilling.”
“Very well. Let’s begin then, shall we?”
Mary started up to the front of the church, then stopped, surprised, when Arran held up one hand. “Just a moment, if ye dunnae mind, Father. The lady’s nae asked fer my hand, and I’ll nae be swayed until she does.” He folded his arms over his chest, eyes dancing in the light cast through the stained-glass windows.
The bats in her stomach became giant geese. Part of her hadn’t even expected they would reach the inside of the church. She’d completely forgotten that he wanted a proposal from her. Clearing her throat, she stepped forward, her boot heels tapping on the hardwood floor.
“I’m not feeling very eloquent at the moment,” she said, looking up at his face and very aware of Peter and Father Leonard standing well within hearing.
“I didnae ask fer eloquence,” Arran returned softly, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I just want to hear ye say the words and know ye mean them as much as I do.”
She captured his hand, holding it tightly in hers as she faced him. His fingers shook a little, she realized; he was not as calm about this as he pretended. That actually bolstered her somewhat. She blew out her breath. She didn’t need to be flowery or effusive or dramatic; he would say yes. All she need do was ask.
“Arran.”
“Aye, m’love?”
She gazed into his eyes the blue of Highland mornings, and everything simply faded away. No one else in the church, no trouble waiting outside. Nothing but Arran and her, holding hands in the multicolored sunlight.
“I should never have met you,” she began slowly. “We should certainly never have conversed. But we did. And from that moment you made my life adventurous, terrifying, amusing, and all the other emotions that had never touched me before. Just for that, I would love you. But you also saved me, not just from a marriage I didn’t want, but from a life I found perfectly comfortable, perfectly ordered, and perfectly dull. You are my friend and my love, and I don’t want to spend another day without you.” She wiped a tear from her cheek with her free hand. “Will you marry me, Arran?”
His blue, silent gaze seemed to see all the way to her soul. “By God, lass,” he finally murmured. “I only expected that last part. Ye are my beating heart, and every other part of me that keeps me on this earth. Aye, Mary. I’ll wed ye. I’d like to see anyone try to stop me.” He took her other hand. “And I’ll ask ye the same question, my bonny lass; will ye be my wife?”
“I will. Happily.”
Father Leonard blew his nose into an embroidered handkerchief. “I don’t generally get to witness that part,” he said briskly, then motioned them to stand before him at the altar.
“Where do ye need me, Father?” Peter asked, handing Mary the bouquet and then using the hem of his gown to wipe his eyes.
“Where you are is fine.” He cleared his throat. “We are gathered here today in the sight of God to unite these two souls in holy matrimony. The Good Book says—”
Shouting erupted outside. And it didn’t sound friendly.Oh, no.
Beside her Arran was as still as granite. “Father, I’d be grateful if ye’d get to the meat of this ceremony and have us sign yer register.”
“I… Is that ruckus about you?”
“More than likely. Peter, block the door.”
“Aye, m’laird.” Hiking up his skirts, the footman hurried to the rear of the small building. “Dunnae worry. I can still witness ye.”
“If ye please, Father Leonard.”
“Oh. I—very well. Do you…”
“Arran Robert MacLawry,” Arran supplied.
“MacL… Oh, dear.”
“Father,” Mary put in, as the shouting and yelling and angry talking grew nearer and louder. “Please hurry.”
The pastor closed his eyes for a heartbeat. “Do you, Arran Robert MacLawry, take… Mary to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor and—”
“Aye. I do. Forever.”
