by Allie Borne
Andrew rose and left the cabin, needing some time to clear his head. He could not marry a Protestant. The church would not recognize their union. He would question the sanctity of the pact. His children would be raised Catholic, of that he was certain. Pacing back in forth, Andrew argued with himself.
Mary watched her savior from the tiny, dirty window above the bed. He was walking back and forth, talking to himself. She hoped he did not intend to send her home. She missed Merianne, and despite herself, she had begun to fall for her friend’s brother-in-law. Mary knew her feelings were in vain. Men like Sir Andrew married heiresses. He deserved an heiress. A Catholic heiress.
Mary would never admit that she didn’t see an insurmountable difference between the Protestant and Catholic faiths. The Catholics never spoke out against the church’s corruption, preferring to put faith before politics. The Protestants chose to demand reform. She respected both view points.
Her problem was she was too accepting, too understanding of other’s beliefs. She could not choose between one, stating the other was wrong. To her, both Protestants and Catholics were sincere in their faith, their love of God. Most would disdain her thoughts. She was wise enough to keep them to herself.
“Wouldst thou be willing to convert?” Andrew blurted out, poking his head into the doorway.
Mary jumped on her perch. “Convert what?” Mary asked, knowing full well what he meant.
“Convert to Catholicism.” Andrew stood, his arms behind his back and his legs shoulder width apart, as if he were a military commander.
“I am already a Christian. Is that not enough?”
Andrew looked down at Mary, considering her words. “I would prefer that ye convert.”
“Why?” Mary asked, truly interested in the rationale.
“Why? W-why?” Andrew sputtered, as if the answer should be as clear as her immortal soul’s salvation.
“B-because we Murrays are Catholic. Tis our belief. T'would shew thy loyalty to the clan.”
“What of my loyalty to my parents?” Mary asked, back stiffening further than usual.
“I am sure thy parents meant well, they were just...misguided. They are in heaven now, I am sure. They will understand thy decision.”
“But they were Protestants. Art thou saying that Protestants go to heaven?”
Andrew stood for a while, peering blankly at Mary’s face. He turned about and strode back out the door. She ran back to the window and watched him pace again. Mary covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. She wanted to feel bad that she had put him in such a religious quandary, but seeing him work it out was really quite entertaining.
This time, when he turned towards the door, she was not quite ready for him. She was caught, standing on the bed frame when he dashed in.
“Wh-what?” he asked, looking from Mary to the tiny frame of glass, then back again. Mary blushed crimson. Andrew flushed himself, realizing that his behavior must seem bizarre to her.
“D-do ye believe that ye must speak directly to God?” Andrew asked. “Is that the source of thy resistance? Because I do, ye know. I go to confession, and I pray to God.”
Mary contemplated Andrew. Stepping down from the bed, she regarded his sweet expression and a bit of her reserve melted into a puddle at her feet. She smiled tenderly at him.
“I have no qualms with the Catholic faith, Andrew. I find all of the religious practices perfectly acceptable.”
“Then why art thou Protestant?”
“I did not say that I was.”
“But ye said ye were raised a Protestant and were hesitant to convert.”
“I do not protest anything about the Catholic church. On the same token, I also see no problems with the reforms of the Protestant religions. In short, I believe in them both.”
Andrew’s mouth fell open and closed, a gaping cod. Mary felt exposed and vulnerable. She had not spoken such sacrilege aloud before. Now, she revealed it to this man, a devout Catholic.
“Y-you can no’ be both.”
“I am not’ both. I am not neither. I am a Christian. I respect all men’s right to choose the faithful worship that is right for them. While I am in thy brother’s house, I will worship as the clan does.”
“But ye will not convert?”
“I would feel as if I were lying before God, if I denied the faith of my parents.”
“Converting does not require ye to deny thy parent’s faith.”
“I am not so certain. Think of the way you reacted just now. If you think being a Protestant is wrong, you must know that most Protestants believe the Catholic Church to be corrupt.”
“Would ye be willing to talk to a priest before ye decide?”
“I suppose I could do that...” Mary responded, feeling pressured to make a snap decision.
“T’would mean much to me, Mary,” Andrew added, looking soulfully into Mary’s eyes.
Mary looked back, surprised that this issue was of so much significance to Sir Andrew. He must really believe that my soul is in danger, Mary thought. Why else would he be so, so determined to change me?
Mary wished she was as direct as Merianne. Merianne would just ask him why it mattered. Mary was afraid to push the issue. Instead she changed the subject. “Wouldst thou like an apple slice?”
Mary offered the piece, shivering when Andrew’s hand slid against her own. “Thank ye,” he smiled.
Mary could not keep her eyes from him as he ate his apple. She was mesmerized by the white flash of his teeth, his well sculpted hands and jaw. Carefully, she picked up another piece and held it out to him. This time, when he reached for the slice, Andrew stepped closer.
He took her hand in his and lifted it, apple and all, to kiss her wrist. Mary shivered with desire. A tingling sensation ran along her scalp and down her spine. Another bit of her icy reserve broke and pooled somewhere north of her feet, somewhere south of her stomach.
Mary looked down, embarrassed by her reaction. He was being a gentleman. Merianne had been kissed just so by dozens of men and it never affected her. Why was she being such a milksop?
Andrew still had hold of her hand. Mary looked up expectantly, thinking that he must have something important to tell her. When she did, Andrew lowered his head to hers, kissing her ever so lightly on the lips.
Mary’s pulse thrummed. This can not be happening, she thought. When Andrew leaned in for another kiss, she stepped back. “This is not proper,” Mary censured, in a quavering voice.
“Oh, Mary,” Andrew cleared his throat. “I am sorry. I have no’ treated ye as I should. Please forgive me.”
“I am a paid companion, Sir Andrew. I am accustomed to those who feel they have a right to take liberties. I forgive you, but I will not forget. I must always be on my guard. I may not be a professed Catholic, yet, contrary to what you might have been told, that does not mean that I have loose morals.”
Andrew’s face flushed with the blunt reproach. “My intentions were completely honorable, I assure you.”
At that moment, the sound of hoof beats pounded through the door way. “Get under the bed!” Andrew ordered, shoving her roughly to the other side of the cottage and slamming the door. Andrew slid the small metal bolt in place and pulled the blanket over to cover the underneath portion of the bed. Standing on the frame, Andrew peered through the window, waiting to see who might approach.
A few tense minutes passed before Andrew sighed in relief. “Tis Arthur.” Unlatching the door, Andrew explained, “He is a friend. Ye may come out.” Andrew bent to pull Mary from the cramped space beneath the cot. The back of her skirt became caught on the bottom of the frame.
Andrew pulled beneath her arms with a strong, quick jerk, hoping to dislodge her afore his friend entered. They both stumbled back and then fell onto the cot. Just as Arthur walked in, Andrew scrambled to push himself up from his position on top of Mary.
“Oh,” Arthur said, stepping back from the cabin.
Andrew jumped up and came to the door. He wanted to answer it right awa
y, but the truth of the matter was that he was embarrassingly aroused by his closeness to Mary. Several long, uncomfortable moments passed before he could open the door. Looking back over his shoulder at Mary, he saw that she had straightened her skirts and stood by the fire place, her ears an adorable shade of pink.
“Arthur, come in. This was no’ as it appeared,” Andrew explained as he welcomed in his guest.
“Mary had to hide and I was helping her out of her hiding space.”
“Please-do no’ mention it,” Arthur looked at Sir Andrew meaningfully.
“I have come to talk with Mary so that we might get to the heart of this Merianne Warren debacle.”
“Debacle?” Mary asked, caught off guard by his choice of words.
“It seems we have been presented with three Merianne Warrens and Lord Redland wishes to be certain which one he was supposed to marry.”
Andrew looked at Mary, alarm coloring his features. She shook her head at him silently, pleading for him to understand that she was not his brother’s bride. “I am not Merianne Warren. Of that, I can assure you,” Mary declared. “I have been the companion of the real Merianne Warren for years. If you wish me to be a witness to the fact, I will happily do so.”
“And how am I to know that you are truly Mary Luke, paid companion to Merianne Warren?”
“I suppose you could write Merianne’s uncle and ask him to send you a detailed description and secret information that only I or the real Merianne might know.”
“Why would someone pose as Merianne? Are they hoping to marry Lord Redland?”
“I believe there is a plot to overthrow the Laird and take his post,” Arthur explained.
“But, that is ridiculous. If Bryan is killed, I am next in line. I have no designs on my brother’s position. I hope he lives a long life and produces many sons. I am happy running a small estate.”
“The plot would require ridding themselves of thee as well, Sir Andrew. But I am not certain. I must have proof that the Merianne Warren Redland married is the true Merianne.”
“How can I prove her identity, when I can not even prove my own?” Mary asked, exasperated and worried for her friend.
“Tell me, what was the name of Miss Warren’s nurse maid?” Arthur questioned.
“Sara Oswald was her nurse until she was thirteen. From that point hence, her uncle took on private tutors, so that she could prepare for society life and running of a household. Canst thou not ask me more personal questions? Ones that a fraud could not have memorized?”
“To what avail? I cannot prove what ye say to be true.”
“Write her uncle,” Mary encouraged. “All will be sorted out. He will not be happy, but it is more important that my friend be vindicated.”
“I have a better idea. Let us call the faux Miss Warren’s bluff. Let us stage a visit to her uncle. We will receive a letter, stating the grave health of the uncle. Redland can send her home. He will deny her any company other than myself and a lady’s maid.”
“I will volunteer,” Mary offered.
“As will I,” Andrew quickly joined in.
“Ye will no’ be able to turn your back on her. If she is the fraud, she will be determined to rid herself of you both.”
“Nothing we can no’ handle,” Sir Andrew winked at Mary, causing her to blush anew.
Arthur nodded. “Verra well, then. Here is the tale we will spin...”
Chapter 8-An Unraveling Yarn
It was nine o’clock before someone brought her breakfast. Merianne’s stomach growled in protest. Apparently, a surprise return of Sir Andrew and his rescued damsel had caused quite a stir.
“It turns out,” Arthur told her as he brought in her breakfast, “that the woman ye claimed as yer companion, is, in actuality, a kidnapped missionary’s daughter. Sir Phillip, she claims, had planned on staging the event with ye. Ye both had come up with the idea of nabbing Mary, a well educated but no’ well-to-do individual, to pull off the stunt.
“Predictably, this ‘Mary’ knew very little of the intrigue, only that she was to play a part. She ‘as now willingly agreed to act as companion and chaperone to the ‘true’ Miss Warren, as Lord Redland has jest received an urgent message that her uncle is ill and would like her to visit.
“As would be expected,” Arthur shook his head sadly, “the ‘true’ Miss Warren became quite pale at the mention of her uncle’s health.”
“Tell me that thou art spinning a yarn, Arthur,” Merianne pleaded. “I sense that thou art, but would not like to hear that you were denying me my uncle’s bedside in his hour of need.”
“That, I would never do, Lady Redland. Your uncle is well. The real Miss Warren’s uncle is very poorly,” Arthur grinned, encouragingly. He stressed the word, “real” in a manner that made it evident that he was implying the very opposite.
“I see. Then, pray, do continue,” Merianne sighed.
“Redland, o’ course, has men to bury and a clan to look after. He is, therefore, assigning myself, his brother Sir Andrew, and Miss Luke to look after his betrothed on her return to her uncle’s home. Mary is thrilled, seeing as how she will be able to reunite with her parents,” Arthur continued, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.
“I do not want any of you to go. That woman is clearly in consort with Sir Robert. They likely plan on eliminating Bryan and Sir Andrew. I fear for your safety.”
“We will be careful. We will not allow her to pack her own bag. Mary will do that for her. She is being forced to leave all jewelry and any other items that might carry poison behind. Only Andrew and I will carry weapons and they will no’ be close enough fer her to get her hands on.”
“Why dost thou tell me all of this?” Merianne asked. “I am grateful, but Redland would not be amused.”
“Amused about what?” Bryan asked, entering through the adjoining door. His hair was wet from his recent bath and his shirt was slightly askew.
“Tis still painful,” Merianne noted, inclining her head towards Bryan’s damaged side. Clasping her hands to keep from straightening the shirt, she advised, “You need a poultice to pull out the infection.”
“Ye are no’ coming near me,” Redland growled.
“Then let the healer do it. Wade is a steady hand but he kens nothing of healing,” Merianne insisted, her cheeks red with the strain of biting her tongue against his cruel distrust.
“I will. Now, what are ye telling her, Arthur?” Bryan turned to his advisor, his eyes narrowed, assessing.
“I was explaining that we should ken within a matter of days, whether she or the other is Merianne.”
“Bryan should ken now,” Merianne stated quietly, looking her husband directly in the eye.
“I ken that ye are the lass I wanted to marry. Beyond that, I will wait to discover the facts.”
“What about what your heart tells you?”
“Hearts are foolish and blind,” Bryan retorted, his face devoid of emotion.
“Only the heart can see a person’s true intentions. Tis our mind that blinds us,” Merianne rebuffed.
“Mayhap.”
“Do what thou must, Lord Redland. The safety of thyself and the clan are important to me. I can wait. But, in a few days, when it is determined that I am, verily, thy true and rightful wife, I will expect a public apology for being called a whore and a traitor. I will also not be finished being angry with thee for a long while. I intend to sleep right here, in this bed, for as long as I desire.” Merianne crossed her arms and stared at Redland, eyes blazing.
“Is that a threat?” Bryan rumbled.
“Nay. I am stating my rights as a women scorned, to carry a grudge as long as I please. As well as my mind understands thy actions, my heart and my gut are appalled.
“Now, as long as I am in here, I will be needing a couple of books to read and some pen and paper. If Mary is visiting my uncle, I wish to send him a letter.”
“Do no’ seal it. I will naturally wish to see what ye write,” Redl
and stated evenly.
“I thank thee, Arthur, for the meal and the conversation. It was much appreciated,” Merianne responded, smiling at Arthur and ignoring Bryan completely.
“Arthur, please excuse us. I need to speak with my wife in private,” Bryan announced.
Merianne turned her back on the two men and walked towards the lovely view before her. She adored this small space. In her less angry moments she had envisioned it as a nursery for her young children. She was loath to admit such desires just now.
Arthur closed the door behind him and Redland began his tirade. “Ye would be wise to bite yer tongue in front of Arthur, Meri. Our personal life is no’ an open book fer others to examine. A woman does no’ criticize her husband, particularly in public.”
“Then tell that to thy betrothed, Bryan, for it seems I have lost the right to call you ‘Husband’,” Merianne’s words rang hollowly about the walls, devoid of emotion.
Her declaration snapped across his flesh like a cat of nine tails. He wanted to keep her safe, until he knew the full story. He had had the opportunity, now, to speak with Mary and Andrew and he was convinced that his Merianne was who she claimed to be. Still, Sir Robert and the other Merianne would have to be ousted before they were safe. Merianne had to be a bit more calculated in her actions, or she would endanger them all.
“Meri,” Bryan reached a hand out toward her silent back. When she did not respond, he dropped it. “I will see to it that ye get the supplies ye requested,” he offered, then left through the adjoining door, turning the key as he went.
Merianne walked toward the outer door, knowing that it was unlocked and carefully turned the knob. When Bryan came around to lock it, the key turned but the bolt did not latch. Bryan did not walk away.
“Let go o’ the door knob, Merianne,” Bryan murmured.
“No,” was her only reply.
“I am doing this for thy own good. Tis no’ so much to keep thee in, as to keep others out.”
“You do not trust me to make the right decisions, Bryan. I am not part of your plot. It was I who made your good for nothing gate keeper open the door for thee and dear Arthur and Aiden. What did I get in return? Spit in the eye, a cut on the throat, and a ride of horrors, that is what I got.”