by Karen Ranney
“I think, perhaps, that we have the rest of our lives to study it,” he said, pulling her closer to him.
Epilogue
There was a hush in the priory, but unlike the last ceremony to be held here, there was no grief in evidence, and no sound of muffled tears.
The time of the ceremony had been chosen with care in order to show the stained-glass windows at their best. Now shafts of jewel like light colored gold, scarlet, emerald, and indigo illuminated the faces of the congregation, danced upon the altar, and pooled around the couple standing with hands linked at the front of the priory.
The magnificence of the scene would cause some of the worshipers in the Scottish Reformed Church to say it was reminiscent of popery. But should that comment have been made to anyone at Gilmuir he would have demurred and said that it was only history he witnessed and nothing more.
Generations of MacRaes had stood in this same spot over the centuries. The room itself, one of the largest at Gilmuir, had been rebuilt, but only as it had once been. The arches had been restored, the slate floor replaced. While it was true that the shape of the priory had been altered, that was only done to allow for the passage through the secret staircase.
Although this holy place had been rebuilt with the past in mind, the ceremony held here was very much one of the future. The whole of the clan was here, if not in physical form, then in spirit.
Jeanne Catherine Alexis du Marchand was marrying Douglas Allen MacRae. Standing behind them was their daughter, Margaret, a look of irritation flitting over her face as she caught sight of her nemesis behind a pillar. She frowned at him, while Cameron only grinned back at her.
Alisdair MacRae recalled when Douglas was born a lifetime ago. As an adolescent he’d been shocked and appalled at the travail of birth, so much so that the two times his darling wife had been brought to bed with a child he’d been awed by her courage.
James MacRae remembered when Douglas had been an angry seventeen-year-old, desperate to return to France, and longing for the woman he was now marrying a decade later.
Hamish had witnessed Douglas’s emergence into manhood, and had sailed with him for three years. He wasn’t surprised at either the success his brother had become or the strength of character he possessed.
Brendan remembered Douglas as a younger brother, when he’d been annoying and mischievous. He sent a cautionary glance toward his two older sons, who immediately subsided and stared straight ahead, afraid of further angering their father.
Mary MacRae, standing on Scottish soil for the first time in more than ten years, witnessed the marriage with a feeling of rightness and completion. She had given her life to healing, but she knew sometimes that wounds were never truly mended until the heart was engaged. She witnessed the glance between Douglas and Jeanne, feeling almost like a usurper seeing such tenderness. Tears came to her eyes and at that moment Hamish turned his head, looking down at her. She smiled to reassure him, but he only looked puzzled. In the quiet moment, she clasped his hand and squeezed it. He responded by bending over and tenderly kissing her.
The wedding finished, the vows exchanged, the bride smiled at the groom and the groom at the bride. The wind blew gently against the priory and the sun blazed even brighter as if in celestial approval. The priory was filled with joy, and if there were tears spilled they dried atop smiles.
Margaret extended her hands to her parents, one on each side.
“Now,” she said, very firmly and very loudly, as if addressing both corporeal and spiritual entities, “we’re a family.”
The five MacRae brothers smiled as one at the little girl so much like Moira MacRae.
A murmur began in the rear of the priory, and carried forward, growing in volume. One by one the members of the convocation raised their right fists in a gesture mimicking that on the clan badge.
The cry, which had been used in war, in battle, in despair and loss, almost shook the building. As it was repeatedly shouted, it subtly changed, becoming an acknowledgment of celebration, a victory over circumstance and time itself.
To the MacRaes! Our family, our strength!
Author’s Note
M ary King’s Close, or street, is a real place and the origin of it as depicted in the book is true. Plague victims were, indeed, walled up there, and tours now take place where guides tell of seeing apparitions and hearing the faint echo of long-ago screams.
Edinburgh is a fascinating city whose character can’t be adequately conveyed within the covers of a novel. Instead, it has to be felt to be truly appreciated. Like Edinburgh, Paris is rich with the aura of the past. As a teenager, I was fascinated with Montmartre, and used to stand on the steps watching the sunsets over Paris. If there are such things as ghosts among us, they linger in enchanted cities and special locales.
Unfortunately, the treatment Jeanne received at the Convent of Sacré-Coeur is based on truth. Having a child out of wedlock was considered a grievous sin in the eighteenth century, and the child was often sent away to be fostered and forgotten.
The Terror that gripped France actually began about two years after the book ends. But the beginning of the social upheaval started much earlier. People began leaving France with what possessions they could, as if knowing what would happen a few years later.
Spectacles have been around since the thirteenth century. A thousand years earlier than that, glass bowls filled with water were used to magnify print.
Writing the series about the MacRaes and Gilmuir has been a bittersweet labor of love for me. Even after leaving them I want to know what happened. Did Margaret and Cameron repeat history? Did Aislin choose to live at Sherbourne? Did Malcolm ever declare his feelings to Betty? What effect did the French Revolution and the Terror have on Hamish and Mary? I can only imagine all these things, and hope that you will as well.
About the Author
KAREN RANNEY began writing when she was five. Her first published work was The Maple Leaf, read over the school intercom when she was in the first grade. In addition to wanting to be a violinist (her parents had a special violin crafted for her when she was seven), she wanted to be a lawyer, a teacher, and, most of all, a writer. The violin discarded early, she still admits to a fascination with the law, and she volunteers as a teacher whenever needed. Writing, however, has remained an overwhelming love of hers. She loves to hear from her readers—please write to her at [email protected] or visit her website at www.karenranney.com.
Karen Ranney lives in Texas.
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Avon Romantic Treasures by
Karen Ranney
SO IN LOVE • TO LOVE A SCOTTISH LORD
THE IRRESISTIBLE MACRAE
WHEN THE LAIRD RETURNS
AFTER THE KISS • MY TRUE LOVE
MY BELOVED • UPON A WICKED TIME
MY WICKED FANTASY
If You’ve Enjoyed This Book,
Be Sure to Read These Other
AVON ROMANTIC TREASURES
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IT TAKES A HERO by Elizabeth Boyle
Coming Soon
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SO IN LOVE. Copyright © 2004 by Karen Ranney. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into
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Microsoft Reader March 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-137719-8
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