Timeless Desire (31 page)

T
HE ENTRANCE OF THE PRIEST AND
M
RS
. B
ROWNLOW IMMEDIATELY
after Bridgewater’s introduction precluded any further activities involving the knife, a turn of events for which Panna was quite grateful. MacIver re-sheathed his blade, though the look he gave Jamie made it clear their tête-à-tête had been halted only temporarily.

“Is this the couple?” asked the priest, a slight man with glasses and a black cassock.

MacIver grunted.

The priest eyed Panna with a businesslike interest. “Did the groom rape her?”

“I certainly hope you don’t think I’d marry a man who raped me,” said Panna, irritated.

Jamie bit back a smile, but the priest, whose attention hadn’t wavered from MacIver’s face, waited.

“Apparently not,” MacIver said.

“‘
Apparently
not,’” Jamie repeated under his breath and shook his head.

“Was she a virgin?”

“Aye,” Jamie said firmly, and a pained look came over the priest’s face.

Panna, who knew enough to follow Jamie’s lead, tried to look appropriately deflowered.

“Where are your people, lass?”

“Penn’s Woods. My parents are dead.”

“She is under my protection,” Jamie said, giving her a gentle look.

“And this is what you consider protection?”

Jamie’s cheeks colored, and he lowered his eyes.

Panna gave his elbow a reassuring touch, and he patted her hand automatically.

“Do you understand the sanctity of the vows you are about to take?”

The priest had directed this at Jamie, perhaps assuming a woman wouldn’t have the mental capacity to comprehend such a thing or that Jamie would be answering for the both of them.

“Aye,” Jamie said.

“Are you able to promise your fidelity to her, in body and in spirit? Provide her with a home and such protection as you are able to offer?”

The priest imbued the word “protection” with the tiniest note of irony.

“Aye.” Jamie’s voice had grown softer. He looked as if he didn’t quite believe what he was saying—and why should he, after all? He didn’t believe in marriage and had made it clear this performance was for the sake of peace.

“The promises you are about to make, sir, last until the end of time, not a day or two, or until you tire of her and long for another.”

Jamie grimaced. “Aye.”

The poor man was enduring quite a lot of humiliation on behalf of the people of the borderlands, Panna thought. She suspected the beating at Adderly’s hands had been easier.

“
Forever
, sir,” the man repeated. “Not a day or two.”

“I
understand
,” Jamie said sharply, which did nothing to endear him to the priest.

“This is your grandson?”

MacIver nodded.

“In your opinion, is he fit to enter into the bounds of marriage?”

MacIver gave Jamie a long look, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “As you know, Father, his mother was banished from the family. I have not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance until recently, though I have observed him from afar. He is an able soldier—”

“English?”

“Unfortunately, aye. And a canny investor.”

“He rebuilt Bridgewater Castle,” Panna said.

“He did.” MacIver settled back against the table. Panna could tell his body ached. “With a fine chapel for his beloved mother.”

Jamie twitched with anger, and Panna squeezed his arm.

“He is no more bullheaded than most Englishmen,” MacIver added, “and I have seen one or two glimpses of an almost Scottish sensibility. I am comfortable he will make a decent husband for the girl. In any case, he is clearly besotted.”

It was Panna’s turn to flush. She stole a glance at Jamie, who kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

The priest nodded, though his face made it clear he was short of satisfied. He adjusted his glasses, opened the book in his hand, and peered at Panna. “I trust you know the man well enough to be sure of your heart?”

“I—” Her tongue seemed to have turned to a wet wad of cotton in her mouth, and all she could do was tighten her grip.

“Tis an ignoble sign, you see, that he could not forestall his desires. A man like that could easily abandon you.”

But it will be
I
who will leave
him
in that chapel
. “Yes, I am sure of my heart.” She was careful not to look to Jamie, who evidently was not as sure of his own.

“Then you are ready to begin?”

They were the same words her minister at home had said before her wedding to Charlie, and Panna felt a tide of emotion rise in her throat and an uncomfortable prickling in her eyes. “Yes.”

The priest found the page and reluctantly began the vows. But his words were lost in the din of the blood rushing in her ears. She felt light-headed and wondered if she was about to faint. Despite her promise to Jamie and even her own belief, the vow she had spoken seemed to carry enormous power— more than she’d even suspected—and she felt as if she’d collapse underneath the weight.

Perhaps sensing her unsteadiness, Jamie wrapped his arm around her waist.

She didn’t remember responding to anything, though evidently she had, for the priest looked at Jamie and said, “Do you have a ring?”

Jamie shook his head.

The priest sighed and gave Jamie a look that suggested this didn’t surprise him. He was just turning the page when MacIver hobbled up and thrust something into Jamie’s palm.

Jamie reached for Panna’s hand and threaded a ring onto her fourth finger. “With this ring, I thee wed and pledge my troth.”

His hand was shaking, and so was hers.

“May God bless you,” the priest said, and then, just as fast as it had begun, it was over. The priest closed his book and everyone began to move. Mrs. Brownlow, who, unsurprisingly, had been crying, threw her arms around Jamie. The priest offered his handkerchief to Panna, who was stunned to discover she, too, had tears on her cheeks. And MacIver, face softened, offered Jamie his hand in congratulations. Jamie took it and nodded. He looked a bit like a man who had just won an elephant and didn’t quite know what to do with it.

A bell sounded somewhere in the depths of the castle, and MacIver sent Mrs. Brownlow to have a cask of his finest French wine opened so that his breakfast guests could toast the newlyweds.

When Panna looked for Jamie, she found him enduring a lecture from the priest on the advantages of the
agápe
over
éros
. MacIver interrupted.

“Leave us,” he said to the priest.

“I was just—”

“Leave us. And take the girl.”

Panna shook her head. “I’m not leaving.”

The priest met MacIver’s eye. MacIver made a motion with his hand. The priest scurried out, and MacIver closed the door.

“Do you wish to see the price your husband paid for my cooperation?” he said to her.

Jamie said, “Leave her out of this.”

“What are you going to do to him?” Panna said.

“Listen to that,” MacIver said, drawing his blade again. “Perhaps she’s as besotted as you.”

“It’s all right, Panna,” Jamie said.

“‘Panna,’” MacIver said. “Tis not a name I have heard before.”

“It is short for ‘Pandora,’” Jamie said, and his grandfather chuckled.

“You are a devotee of mythology, I see.”

“My mother was,” Panna said.

“Best take care not to open any boxes of trouble in my house. Your husband can tell you what that will get you.”

He grabbed Jamie’s hand and, like a flash of lightning, drew the blade across his palm. Jamie jerked, and Panna muffled a cry of horror. A bright red line appeared, and MacIver pulled Jamie toward the candle. He held Jamie’s hand high above the flame, letting the bright crimson drip into the flickering orange and sending the hot wax sputtering in every direction. He murmured something in Latin, his head bent and eyes closed.

The blood overflowed the wick’s base, falling in narrow streams of red down the side of the candle. Panna felt nauseous, but Jamie only stared into the face of his grandfather, eyes burning with a fire as bright as the flame’s.

“Swear your oath to the clan,” MacIver commanded.

“I swear my oath.”

MacIver said something more in Latin, then said, “
Nunquam obliviscar
. Say it. Tis the MacIver motto.”

Jamie pulled his hand away. “I don’t need to say it. I will never forget.”

MacIver smirked. “Then welcome to the family.”

“H
ONORED LADIES AND GENTLEMAN
,” M
AC
I
VER BOOMED AS HE
ushered the wedding party into the dining hall, “tis not every day I would welcome an English soldier to our midst.”

The guests quieted instantly, and more than a few made growls of complaint. Panna, who was still in a daze, felt all eyes turn toward her and Jamie.

“For the occasion of my grandson’s wedding, however, I am willing to make an accommodation, and I hope you will be, too. He and his bride eloped yesterday to Scotland”— a gasp went up—“and I was given word he wished for my blessing.”

Jamie managed a stoic smile.

“They will be joining us for breakfast only. I’m afraid his obligations preclude him from joining us afterward at our, er, meeting.”

A number of the men chuckled.

“Please give them your congratulations—Captain and Mrs. James MacIver Bridgewater.”

The table managed a smattering of applause, more polite than enthusiastic, and Jamie and Panna were directed to a pair of open seats.

“‘MacIver’ is your middle name?” she whispered to Jamie.

“Edward, if I’m not mistaken.”

The wine was poured, and MacIver toasted Panna and his “long-absent” grandson. Panna had never been so happy to be offered a drink at eight in the morning in her life, and she downed half the goblet’s contents in a single swallow.

As the serving of breakfast began, Panna’s other tablemate, a woman she assumed to be the wife of one of the chiefs, said, “Many congratulations, Mrs. Bridgewater. Have you known the captain long?”

“No,” Panna admitted. “This was quite sudden.”

The woman, slim and in her mid-twenties, with fine, high cheekbones, chestnut hair, and eyes the color of a spring sky, smiled. “If I am honest, I am surprised to hear that Captain Bridgewater married at all. I did not think anything would divert him from his career. You must be very special.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him, of course. The exploits of the English army are tracked quite closely, even in a village as small as Coldstream.” She waved off the servant offering slices of ham, just as she had the servant offering beef and fish pie a moment earlier. She touched Panna’s hand. “May I?”

It took a moment for Panna to realize what the woman meant. Then she saw the ring Jamie had placed on her finger. In the confusion of the ceremony and oath taking, Panna had forgotten all about it. It was a gleaming cabochon emerald surrounded by white pearls and set in gold dark with age. The cabochon was as big as her thumbnail and glowed with fire the color of Jamie’s eyes.

Panna gave the woman her hand and turned, alarmed, to Jamie, who had been watching her.

“My grandmother’s,” he said simply. “I wanted something for you.”

Rattled as much by the sentiment as by the stone, Panna returned her attention to the woman, who examined the ring and nodded appreciatively.

“It’s stunning,” she said. “I wish you great happiness.”

“Thank you.”

“Captain,” she said to Jamie, “I was just wishing your bride joy. Perhaps you would be kind enough to introduce me.”

Jamie shifted awkwardly. “I beg your pardon. Of course. This is my wife, Panna Kennedy Bridgewater, lately of Penn’s Woods.”

“And I am Abigail Kerr—of Coldstream.” The woman bowed her head in greeting.

Panna bowed in return. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” It was her husband whom Jamie had climbed the vines to consult.

“Your grandfather says you eloped last night. Were you married here in Annan?”

The question had been directed to Jamie, who stared at his roast beef, obviously uncomfortable.

“Aye,” he said at last. “We were able to convince the priest to unlock the church with a handful of coins.”

“A story you will tell your grandchildren, I’m sure.”

Panna tried the ham. It was succulent and slightly smoky. “This is marvelous,” she said, but neither of her companions was eating. “It must be a great source of pride to you to know how well respected your husband is among the clan chiefs,” Panna said, cutting another large hunk.

Abigail blinked. “I do not have a husband, Mrs. Bridgewater.”

Jamie took a quick sip of wine. “Miss Kerr is the chief of Clan Kerr, Panna.”

“Chieftess,” Miss Kerr correctly softly.

The second piece of ham seemed to turn to dust in Panna’s mouth. Abigail was the chief Jamie had been visiting.

An uncomfortable silence fell over their corner of the table.