Amanda Scott (18 page)

That awareness did not make his choice easier, however. Wresting control from Eustace, if he was indeed entrenched at Hawks
Rig, could prove very difficult. He was certainly not the first man to usurp a title and estate, nor could Kit believe he
would back down simply because the rightful man had returned to claim them.

Other Chisholms might help him, but he needed first to learn who sided with Eustace and who did not. In the meantime, embroiling
himself in Mistress Carmichael’s problems, even for the sake of getting to know Anne Ellyson better, would only fetter him
and make maneuvering more difficult.

In any case, if he remembered correctly, a good bit more of the ceremony remained before the point where he must speak or
stay silent.

Catriona saw Maggie and Fergus and waved at them to join her on her branch not far from Kit, where she had perched to keep
watch over him.

“As you see, he is here,” she said. “But he cannot decide. Do you think I—”

“Nay,” Maggie said. “If he be the man ye say he be, he’ll do right by the lass. If he does summat else, ye’ll ken ye were
mistaken in him. But keep an eye on them others, too. I feel Claud’s presence gey strong here today.”

Catriona pouted at the refusal, but as Maggie’s last comment sank in, she perked up and obediently turned her attention to
the wedding guests.

Catriona was so near he could almost touch her, almost taste her lips and feel her soft breasts and silken skin. His body
ached for her, and his frustration grew stronger with each passing moment.

He had been floating in dense grayness, and then suddenly he had seen them again, the three of them together, and heard his
mother say she felt his presence. He could feel hers, too, and another one, stronger and far more malevolent.

Clearly, his father was nearby, and he wondered if Jonah merely taunted him by letting him occasionally glimpse what he had
lost. That thought stirred an anger greater than any he had ever known.

“Dearly beloved,” Parson Allardice began, “we are gathered together under the sight of God and before this company to join
together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate instituted of God in the time of Man’s innocency,
signifying unto us the mystical union… ”

Certain words in the text shouted at Anne, specifically “honorable” and “innocency.” Although Fiona certainly qualified as
innocent, Eustace was wicked, and the whole business was less than honorable, including Anne’s own part in it.

She had to stop it. No matter what happened to her or even to Fiona as a result, knowing what she knew, it was simply wrong
to let the ceremony proceed. Sir Christopher might think his reasons for holding his tongue were good ones, but she could
not hold hers any longer. In truth, she did not even know that he was who he said he was, but she believed him, and Fiona
did not deserve to be shoved into marriage with a wholly despicable man who had presented himself falsely to her.

The parson paused and looked out at the assembly as he said, “If any o’ ye here present ken cause or just impediment why these
two persons should not be joined lawfully in holy matrimony, speak now or forever after hold thy peace.”

Heavy, dramatic silence greeted his invitation.

Drawing breath, hoping she had courage enough and that Eustace or Olivia would not order her dragged off and locked up while
the ceremony proceeded, Anne turned to face the priest. “Wait,” she said, but her voice emerged as a croak.

“Therefore,” the priest said, “do I require—”

“Wait!” shouted a voice from the back of the crowd. “I will speak. I must!”

“Thank heaven,” Anne said, turning to see who had spoken just as Fiona gasped and fainted away at her feet.

A path opened before Kit as he strode to the front of the crowd. He had seen Anne drop to her knees beside the fallen bride,
but his attention was fixed on Eustace, who glowered fiercely at him.

He could not be certain Eustace recognized him, but it did not matter, because he would see the matter through now, wherever
it led. Wilhe had melted into the crowd, so Kit was alone, and every eye but Anne’s was on him as he neared the steps to the
porch. Then she looked up, and as their eyes met, he felt himself relax. Whether he was doing the right thing or not, she
clearly believed he was.

“Who are ye?” the priest demanded. “State your name and business.”

Meeting the angry cleric’s gaze, Kit told himself it was time to strike the fierce, as the Chisholm motto commanded. “I am
Christopher Chisholm,” he said in a clear, carrying voice, “the true Laird of Ashkirk and Torness.”

Behind him, the chorus of gasps and murmurs sounded like the stirrings of a windstorm.

The priest frowned. “Are ye, indeed?”

“I am.”

“And the cause or just impediment ye believe exists would be what, then?”

“I should think that must be plain to everyone here,” Kit said. “You have named my uncle incorrectly as Laird of Ashkirk and
Tomess, and thus he stands ready to claim Mistress Carmichael as his bride under false pretenses.”

“I do not know you,” Eustace declared loudly. “I doubt that any Chisholm here will recognize you as a kinsman. At least,”
he added sarcastically, “I doubt that any would claim you as my brother’s legitimate son. With your height and that chin,
I don’t doubt that you could be one of another ilk, however.”

Kit’s temper could be ferocious when aroused, but he had learned to control it through bitter experience. He met Eustace’s
scowl steadily but said to the priest, “I am indeed Sir Christopher, as I can easily prove, given sufficient time.”

The priest nodded, taking in the prostrate Mistress Carmichael and Anne’s anxious attempts to arouse her. He turned toward
the bride’s mother and erstwhile buffoonish escort. Clearly dismissing both, he gestured to a young man in the front row and
said, “Prithee, step forward, sir, and help Lady Anne take Mistress Fiona into the chapel where she may more easily recover
her composure.”

Anne looked up at that moment, and he nearly smiled at her, but something in the way she regarded him warned him against it.
It would do neither of them any good to let others know yet that they had met before. Casually, he returned his attention
to the parson but kept a wary eye on Eustace.

When the man who had served as his uncle’s best man took a step toward him, Eustace put a hand out to stop him but otherwise
remained where he was without moving or speaking.

Having seen Mistress Carmichael safely inside the chapel, the parson turned to Kit and said, “I will not ask why ye didna
speak up afore, lad, on any o’ the several occasions when I published the banns for this union.”

“I will tell you nonetheless, sir, that I heard about this wedding only two days ago. My intention then was not to intervene,
but I came to realize where my duty lay, and so I came here today.”

The parson’s gaze shifted to a point behind Kit as a feminine voice said curiously, “Are you really Sir Christopher Chisholm?”

Turning, he found himself facing the bride’s mother. Despite her obvious state of mourning and a certain limpness of manner,
she was a woman nearly as beautiful as her daughter, and one to whom he knew his father would have been strongly attracted.

Politely he said, “I am indeed Christopher Chisholm, my lady. I am sorry to interrupt these proceedings, but I hope you can
manage to forgive me.”

“My dear sir, of course we forgive you, but you did not mention the primary impediment.” Turning to the parson, she said,
“We all thought he was dead, you see, or my daughter could never have been betrothed to Sir Eustace, because she was already
betrothed to Sir Christopher.”

Kit grimaced. He had purposely not mentioned the betrothal, hoping to learn more about it first.

The parson looked from Lady Carmichael to him and back again, still frowning. “Clearly, we must talk at length before this
ceremony can go forward, if ever it can,” he said. “I fear ye must send your guests home for today, my lady.”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” the bride’s erstwhile escort said cheerfully, stepping forward and extending his hand to Kit. “Toby
Bell at your service, sir. Sir Tobias Bell, if we must be formal, and since this is—or was—a wedding, formality does seem
appropriate to the day.”

Lady Carmichael said faintly, “Uncle Toby, please, not now!”

“Sakes, lass, when if not now? Think of all that food!”

She stared at him.

“Just so,” Sir Toby said, grinning. “I’ll see to everything, so you’ve no need for you to bother your head about it. Matters
like this soon sort themselves out.” So saying, he turned to face the still-murmuring crowd, raised his hands, and shouted,
“Hear me, all o’ ye! The wedding feast will take place, wedding or no wedding. Someone’s got to eat that food, and whilst
I may look as if I can manage it all alone, I assure you there is far too much even for me!”

Laughter greeted his words, but the guests willingly let him shepherd them toward the house, leaving Kit and the parson alone
with Lady Carmichael, Eustace, and the best man.

“Sir Eustace,” Lady Carmichael said, “is it not wonderful that your nephew is not dead after all?”

When Eustace did not reply, clearly not sharing her sentiments, Kit decided to make the first move. Extending his right hand
to the older man, he said, “Come now, sir, surely you remember me well enough to recognize me if you will but take a moment
to do so. Although I’ve thickened and grown a bit, I’m only five years older than the last time we met.”

“I do not know you,” Eustace insisted. “I think your behavior in pretending to be my nephew is unconscionable. He is dead,
as everyone here knows well. My dear Lady Carmichael, surely you do not believe this scoundrel!”

She opened her mouth as if to debate the matter, but when he scowled at her, she quickly submitted, lowering her lashes and
saying weakly, “You surely must know better than I, sir, whether he is or is not a member of your family.”

But the priest was having none of it. “Beg pardon, my lady,” he said, “but if an agreement cannot be settled between these
gentlemen, a court of law must decide that point. However, if this young man is indeed Sir Christopher—”

“He is not!” Eustace snapped.

“… and if a betrothal exists between him and your daughter and—”

“It does not!”

“Please, Sir Eustace,” the cleric begged.

“But I do not please,” Eustace snapped. “There was no betrothal, only the beginnings of one. My brother had written to his
son, but his son never replied, so the appropriate papers concluding the arrangement were never drawn up or signed.”

“Nevertheless, if the old laird, as head of his family, made the agreement with Lady Carmichael, and the lass thus believed
herself betrothed—”

“She did, I’m afraid,” Lady Carmichael said with a sigh. “So did I, for the late laird assured us that no more than a proxy
exchange of vows was necessary.”

The priest nodded. “That is true. You see, sir, it is as I feared, and Sir Christopher’s arrival stirs many questions that
we must answer before your union with Mistress Carmichael can go forward, if it ever can. I was not aware that a former betrothal
of any sort existed, but if they exchanged vows, even by proxy, it was more than the barest beginning. If such is the case,
she was betrothed to your nephew according to the laws of the Kirk and thus of Scotland, as well.”

“This is nonsense,” Eustace said angrily. “I command you to continue.”

The parson shook his head. “Even if your nephew were truly dead, as you say, you must realize that your close kinship with
him places you within a forbidden degree of consanguinity and thus precludes your being allowed to marry her without papal
dispensation or, at the very least, a special license granted by a bishop.”

“Then, by God, I’ll arrange for a special license,” Eustace declared.

“You will have to apply to the bishop, sir. I cannot help you with that.”

“Bishop!” Sir Eustace made a rude noise. “I have resources more powerful than mere bishops, I promise you.”

Lady Carmichael put a hand on his arm, saying, “Pray, sir, do not fly into a temper. As my uncle has said, this will all resolve
itself in time. I trust you will not leave Mute Hill House before we have discussed it all thoroughly.”

He looked at her, and when she gazed soulfully into his eyes, he patted her hand. “I will not be so uncivil, certainly not
to you, who have always been kind to me. Moreover,” he added, “your uncle is right. We should not waste all that food.”

“Thank you,” she said, clearly relieved. Turning to Kit, she said graciously, “You must stay, too, Sir Christopher, at least
until you have had an opportunity to prove that you are who you say you are.”

He was tempted to refuse, feeling as if he were being invited, however kindly, to enter a slaughterhouse. Neither her attitude
nor Eustace’s sudden affability made sense to him, so he did not reply at once, trying to collect enough of his wits to compare
his previous beliefs with his new position.

Just then, Anne emerged from the chapel and smiled at him, making the decision an easy one, after all. “I’ll stay, and gladly,
madam,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Oh, this goes very well,” Catriona said, rubbing her hands together.

“Aye,” Fergus said, gazing raptly at her. “Ye’re a clever one, lass. I’ll grant ye that. O’ course, that other one—Mistress
Fiona—she’ll ha’ tae play her part too.”

Catriona laughed. “Oh, she will. You just watch. How could she not find him singularly attractive after that fiendish man
she just got rid of?”

Maggie shook her head. “Ye’d best learn no tae count things as done until they are done. Catriona. ’Tis only a matter o’ time
before summat happens that ye dinna expect.”

“Not this time,” Catriona said confidently. “Watch.”

When the lad who had carried Fiona into the chapel left, Anne had all she could do not to leave her cousin drooping in the
family pew and rush back out to the porch to see what was happening. There could be no question of that, however, until Fiona
recovered her senses, if not her color and her composure.