Amanda Scott (34 page)

“Aye, for murder.”

“Murder!”

“Aye, and ’twas the cardinal’s ship,” he went on, oblivious to her dismay as she remembered only a short while before thinking
that Kit had looked ripe for murder. “I were on that ship, too, sithee,” he added.

“Tell me about this murder,” Anne said.

“Nay, ye’ll ha’ tae ask him. I can tell ye he were falsely accused, but even were me tongue as loose as he said, we’ve nae
time for long tales. Still, I wanted tae warn ye about Eustace, because Kit’s in no frame o’ mind now tae hear me. I’m thinking
I’ll ha’ better luck finding him some help on me own.”

“If you mean me, I cannot imagine what you expect me to do.”

“Just tae keep your eyes open,” he said. “He has other friends not too far from here, at Dunsithe Castle. I’ll ride there
tomorrow and tell them what’s happened. And I’ve friends o’ me own hereabouts, too, who will help us.”

“Why do you care so much about him?” Anne asked curiously.

“He’s me friend,” he said simply. “Even went a-reiving wi’ us. It were me pony Kit rode the night he brought ye home, m’lady.”

“Yours? But that man’s name was—”

“Willie,” he said, bowing deeply. “I’m Mad Jake here, sithee, but the reivers do call me Willie.”

“Well, I’m afraid your having been prisoners or reivers together does little to increase my trust in you or in your judgment
on this matter,” Anne said.

“It should,” Willie said earnestly. “Nowt bonds men more than sharing such experiences. Moreover, Kit likely saved me life
at least once.”

“How?”

He reddened. “Our first mate ordered me flogged for nae good reason, and Kit stopped it. Said the flogging would kill me,
that he’d take it instead.”

She gasped. “What happened?”

“As ye’ve seen, me lady, we’re both here,” he said. “D’ye want details, ye’ll ha’ tae get them from Kit. I just wanted tae
tell someone afore I leave what I suspect about Eustace. I doubt ye can prevent his mischief, seeing who he counts as his
friends, but I’ll feel better knowing someone here kens what I do.”

“But you only
suspect
he plans murder,” Anne said, hoping desperately that that was all. The chill along her spine turned to icicles when he shook
his head.

“It’s no just a suspicion,” he said. “That man’s got a plan, and only one plan I can think of would do him any good. If Kit
marries your cousin, Eustace loses her unless Kit dies and Eustace persuades his eminence tae put aside the consanguinity
laws. He were angry at table, but a short while ago, he were all smiles again. That isna natural for the man at the best of
times. I ken fine, he be plotting mischief.”

Anne had to agree. “Is your true name Jake or Willie?” she asked.

He hesitated, then said with a wry grin, “Me name’s Willie Armstrong.”

“A good Border name,” she said, smiling. “Kit is lucky to have a friend like you to watch his back.”

“Aye, that he is, because the one thing I’ve learned since we returned is that nowt is what it seems tae be, especially betwixt
Eustace and the cardinal.”

“But what else—?”

At a sound below them on the stairs, he stiffened, and before Anne could finish her sentence, he slipped silently away up
the stairs.

She wasted no time following but hurried back to Fiona’s room and entered without ceremony, saying, “You can stop badgering
poor Molly, Fiona. I’ll do it.”

A
s it happened, their deception proved remarkably easy to carry out, and Fiona’s unexpected capacity for prevarication astonished
her cousin.

Shortly after Anne returned to the house, when Olivia entered Fiona’s room to tell her she had invited the women to help her
dress in the morning as they had before, Fiona agreed with a sigh, and Anne was able to indulge briefly in a hope that the
terrifying plan had failed before it had begun. But when Olivia had gone away again, Fiona said, “That’s all right, then.
We’ll have them in, so they will all see me dress, and then no one will suspect afterward that anything is amiss.”

“But how—?”

“You’ll see. It will be easy. In the morning, we’ll tell everyone you have fallen ill and cannot attend me. Mother will not
care about your absence, because she wants only to impress Buccleuch and the cardinal with her kindness toward Janet Beaton.
But if anyone tries to visit you, your Peg must keep them away.”

Anne sighed.

“What?”

“Nothing, except that I have never known you to be so decisive before. Pray, explain the rest of this plan of yours.”

“It is simple, Anne. I shall let them dress me, and then I shall tell them I want a few minutes alone before I go downstairs.
You will be waiting, and Molly and I will help you change into my wedding dress and veil.”

“Fiona, it will never work. What shall I do when someone speaks to me?”

“No one spoke to me when the procession gathered last time, but if anyone does, just murmur as if you are angry or unhappy
or just shy. It is what I would do.”

Anne frowned, but she suspected that her cousin was right. The bride was no more in this marriage game than the fox was in
its game against geese determined to force it to a corner where they could control it.

Olivia had expressed no surprise at finding her daughter up and had not mentioned her supposed headache.

The next morning went exactly as Fiona had predicted, and only Anne retained doubts about the plan’s likelihood for success.
How, she wondered, as she stood quietly beside Sir Toby waiting for the procession to begin, could she have let herself agree
to such a masquerade even if Willie Armstrong was right and Kit’s life was in danger? She could not deny wanting to marry
Kit, but in the ordinary way, not like this. Never before had she so much as considered such rash, scandalous behavior. On
the contrary, she had carefully avoided upsetting anyone.

She had always disliked noisy scenes. Her brother having inherited the earl’s fiery, unpredictable temper, loud arguments
had been frequent at the Towers. She had hated them,yet her present actions were sure to incite just such angry chaos.

When such scenes had erupted at home, she had nearly always sought the sanctuary of her mother’s chamber and placid nature,
but there was no sanctuary now. Trying to ignore sudden tears stinging her eyes, she realized belatedly that to think of Lady
Armadale now was dangerous. What she would think of this mad start did not bear consideration.

Beneath the concealing veil, she winced as the unexpected, warring emotions struggled to surface. She realized that she missed
her mother more desperately than ever, both to seek her advice and because a girl’s mother should be at her wedding, even
a sham wedding like this one. On the other hand, and for the first time since Lady Armadale’s death, Anne could be glad that
that tragic event would spare her the indignity of watching her daughter create a scandal of the highest order.

Even so, and although Anne knew she ought to be riddled with guilt for the deception in which she was playing the leading
role, of the emotions whirling through her as she waited, guilt remained remarkably absent. Certain that it had simply not
struck yet, that when it did, it would flatten her, she told herself she was doing all she could to protect Kit from his uncle’s
evil plotting, but it was still hard to believe that Eustace might really kill him.

Indeed, aside from missing her mother and a certain awe-inspiring sense of the magnitude of her deception, she felt only the
fear of discovery and a strange pulsating excitement that settled deep within her.

Whenever her thoughts began to drift to what would happen when she had to lift her veil and reveal what she had done, her
imagination failed and those drifting thoughts turned without conscious direction to other matters.

Toby touched her elbow, and she realized that the musicians had begun playing and that Janet Beaton and the little girls strewing
flowers had walked on ahead. Janet had nearly reached the arched stone bridge.

Remembering when Fiona and Toby had barely made it across side-by-side, and remembering too, the day that she had pushed Kit
into the brook, Anne smiled under her veil and rested her hand on the plump forearm Toby extended to her.

Standing on the porch with Beaton and the supposed Lord Berridge, who had cheerfully offered to serve as his best man, Kit
remained silent, listening to two musicians strum lutes while a third played the pipe. He was surprised that Willie was not
with them, but decided the lad must have annoyed someone and been banished to the kitchen or elsewhere for his impudence.

As he watched his bride cross the bridge with Sir Toby’s arm around her to keep them from tumbling into the brook, he saw
that this time she was veiled, doubtless to protect her sorely tried sensibilities. Her chief attendant was different, too,
but much as he would have liked to see Anne, he was glad she would not be standing beside her cousin throughout this wedding.
He doubted Fiona would agree, though. She depended a great deal on Anne and would doubtless miss her support.

Despite his opposition to the union, he could feel sympathy for Fiona. It had to be hard to repeat the long walk through the
garden before a new audience, and she might well fear that someone would speak up to stop this wedding, too. He rather hoped
for such a miracle, himself, to end the farce. His anger after Beaton’s announcement had burned quickly. Stuffing the pair
of them into marriage together still seemed mad, but he had not been given any chance to talk with her since the cardinal’s
decision, let alone to persuade her to cry off, and now he felt only the resignation of knowing he was helpless against the
laws of both Kirk and Crown.

Even had he managed to talk to her, Beaton was the most powerful man in Scotland and could easily undermine his attempt to
recover his titles and estates. That factor more than any was the reason he stood meekly now awaiting his fate.

At least the cardinal seemed unaware of his imprisonment aboard the
Marion Ogilvy,
for surely he would have mentioned it by now had he known. However, should someone bring it to his attention, even now, the
resulting scene would be both awkward and humiliating, because Kit had no proof of his exoneration except his own word and
that of Tam and Willie. Neither was of sufficient stature to impress anyone, and the others who knew of his innocence were
all elsewhere.

The likely reaction if Tam and Willie were to speak for him after having perpetrated their separate, unholy deceptions at
Mute Hill House would be flat disbelief. Imagining that scene nearly made him smile.

It would be much better if his eminence were truly unaware and remained so.

The bridal party neared the chapel porch, and he saw Eustace near the path, watching. With him were two Chisholm cousins who
still had not deigned to acknowledge Kit’s presence in their midst, clearly counting themselves Eustace’s allies. Kit had
thought he understood their position before, but since the cardinal had decided in his favor and assured everyone that he
was certain to regain his rank and holdings, he did not understand them now. Unless, he reminded himself, Willie was right,
and Eustace expected him to die soon. The thought jarred, but he rejected it, unable to imagine how Eustace could think he
might win by killing him now.

The music stopped, and as his bride stepped onto the porch and took her place beside him, Kit turned to face the altar and
the cardinal.

Sir Toby remained at the foot of the steps, poised to give the bride away.

Beaton raised both hands, and the huge crowd fell silent.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company… ”

Anne felt as if she had somehow been trapped in a dream that was repeating itself without getting the details right. The cardinal’s
voice was the wrong voice, and her own role was certainly wrong. Her breath came in shallow gasps until Beaton reached the
first crucial point, and then she could not seem to breathe at all.

“If any man knows cause or can show just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony,
let him speak now or forever after hold his peace.”

Her heart thudded, and the assembly apparently held its collective breath just as she held hers. So silent did it become that
she did not hear even a bird’s chirp, so that only the distant murmur of the brook served as evidence that her hearing had
not failed. She half expected Eustace Chisholm to shout out that the marriage was a sham, or even for Fiona herself to step
up, announce that she had changed her mind, and please could she marry Kit after all?

No one spoke, and at last, the cardinal looked away from the gathering and directly at the bridal pair. In her relief, Anne
dared to release the breath she had been holding, but worse was to come.

Speaking directly to them, Beaton said solemnly, “I require and charge ye both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment
when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of ye knows any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined
together in matrimony, ye do now confess it. For I assure ye, if any persons be joined together otherwise than as God’s word
doth allow, their marriage is not lawful.”

She had been frightened enough just knowing that soon she would have to answer to Kit for her deception. Suddenly realizing
that she would have to answer to God was far worse. Anne opened her mouth to blurt out a confession, but no words came. It
was as if an unseen hand had clapped over her mouth.

“Catriona, ye canna do that!” Fergus shrieked. “Ye’ve nowt tae do wi’ her! Anyhow, how did ye do it? I thought we, none o’
us, had any power in a kirk.”

“We are not in the kirk, Fergus, but only on its porch,” Catriona retorted. “Moreover, whilst she may be your lass to guard,
she is exactly where she wants to be, doing exactly what she wants to do, whilst you seem still to be stuck on forcing her
to hold by her earlier intention. This way, she fulfills my task, too, because she will make Kit Chisholm happier than her
cousin would, so pray, use some of that talent you Ellyllon have for forgetting, and forget your foolish notion of marrying
him to Lady Anne’s cousin. That is not going to happen now, nor should it.”