by Amanda Scott
Chapter 17
As 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 aweinspiring 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 sig
ht 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.”
“It wasna my notion but yours,” he reminded her angrily.
“I changed my mind, and so did she, although apparently you failed to notice.”
“Where’s Maggie?” he demanded.
“You go and find her if you like,” Catriona recommended. “But do not get in my way again, or I will make you sorry.”
Flinging his hands in the air, Fergus vanished.
Beaton scarcely paused for breath before he went on, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
Behind them, solemnly, Toby said, “I do.”
Beaton acknowledged him with a nod before saying, “Christopher, if thou wilt have this woman to thy wedded wife, repeat after me…”
Still stunned by her inability to speak, Anne paid no heed to the cardinal’s words or to Kit’s until Kit turned toward her, took one limp hand in his much larger, much warmer one, and said in his familiar deep voice as he slipped a cool gold band onto her third finger, “With this ring I thee wed; with this gold and silver I thee serve; with my body I thee worship; and, with all my worldly chattel I thee honor.”
She could barely see him through the blue lace veil, but she realized that her turn was coming. She could end it then, and if marriage to Fiona had been all that threatened Kit, she would have done her part to save him and Fiona as well. And if she had ruined any small possibility that might have existed of marrying him herself one day, she undoubtedly deserved the loss. Tears welled in her eyes at the thought, but at least the horrid veil kept anyone from seeing them.
The ring on her finger felt warm now, and she stroked it with a finger of her other hand. Wearing it felt right and good. The worst part of all would be giving it back to Kit in the face of his certain fury, especially since she knew now that she wanted more than anything in the world to be his wife. She had never known a man like him, had never felt so close to anyone before, or so well understood.
Beaton turned to her and said, “Fiona Anne, if thou wilt have this man to thy wedded husband, repeat after me…”
Instead of flinging back her veil and announcing her perfidy to the world, as she had intended, Anne heard her own voice repeat obediently, “I, Fiona Anne, take thee, Christopher, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for fairer for fouler, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, and I vow to be meek and obedient in bed and at board until death us depart. From this time forward, and if Holy Kirk it will ordain, thereto I plight thee my troth.”
“For as much as Christopher and Fiona Anne have consented together in holy wedlock before God and this company,” Beaton said, “I pronounce that they are man and wife. Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” Quietly then, he said to them, “You may turn and face the company before we go inside to celebrate the nuptial mass.”
Anne put one shaking hand to the blue lace veil, then the other.
“Just this last bit now, and it will be over,” Kit murmured gently beside her.
Knowing he meant only to be kind, to encourage Fiona, Anne nodded, and a tear spilled down her cheek.
Beaton said loudly to the crowd, “It is my great pleasure to present to you Sir Christopher and Lady Chisholm of Ashkirk and Torness.”
The crowd began cheering.
Hesitating only long enough to use a fistful of the blue lace to brush the tear from her cheek, Anne flung back the veil.
The cheering stopped instantly. At Anne’s left, Janet Beaton gasped. At her right, a heavy, ominous silence loomed and seemed to swirl darkly around her.
In the garden, pandemonium erupted, led by Olivia’s shriek as she clapped a hand to her breast and collapsed into Eustace’s arms. Toby looked stunned and Eustace speculative, although Olivia soon succeeded in claiming his full attention.
A large hand gripped Anne’s upper right arm so tightly that she knew it would leave bruises, but she did not protest.
“Have you gone mad?” Kit demanded close to her ear.
“I expect so,” she replied evenly.
“By heaven, what you deserve, my lass—What you and your cousin both deserve is a good skelping, and if I have anything to say—”
“Where is Fiona?” Olivia cried, recovering suddenly and jerking herself free from Eustace to confront Kit. “What have you done with my daughter?”
Still gripping Anne’s arm, he said grimly, “What have I done with her?”
“As I recall, you were not as eager as one might expect to marry her, so doubtless you perpetrated this charade,” Olivia retorted. “Where is she?”
“I haven’t a notion,” he said. “Why do you not ask your niece?”
Anne swallowed hard as every eye turned toward her. Stark silence fell again as the entire company awaited her response.
To her astonishment, the words came easily. “Fiona did not want to marry him,” she told Olivia. “She said she would rather offer herself to a nunnery, and begged me to take her place, but I do not know where she is, for she would not tell me that. But I warrant, if she did go to a nunnery, she will not be hard to find.”
“Oh, the poor dear,” Janet Beaton said sympathetically.
“Do you know what you have done?” Cardinal Beaton demanded austerely.
An icy chill shot up Anne’s spine at his tone, but she turned to face him. “I know I should not have agreed to take my cousin’s place,” she said. “At the time, however, it seemed to be the only way for her to make her position clear.”
>
“All she had to do was announce her refusal to marry,” Beaton said.
“I told her that,” Anne said, “but she said my aunt had told her that when a girl who is under age is betrothed, that betrothal is utterly binding on both parties.”
“That is the law, is it not?” Olivia snapped.
Beaton frowned, turning his stern gaze upon her. “Did you not tell me those vows were exchanged by proxy, madam, by adults?”
“Aye, they were,” she said.
“Were they exchanged in the present tense or in the future tense?” he asked. “That is to say—”
“I know what it means,” Olivia said, but now she was frowning. “They were exchanged in the future tense, of course, promising for all time to come. It did not occur to me that they could be done otherwise.”
Beaton nodded. “Then it is as I thought, and the vows were not unbreakable. A betrothal is mutually binding for all time only if the vows are exchanged in the present tense, as those of the marriage ceremony are. Since hers was a normal betrothal, your daughter could simply have declared her change of heart.”
“But she has not changed anything,” Olivia protested. “Moreover, I gave strict orders that no member of the household was to leave the grounds without permission, so she must still be inside. Malcolm shall go and find her and command her to present herself,” she added, beckoning to the steward who stood nearby. “Go and fetch Mistress Fiona to me at once.”
For once, Malcolm did not instantly obey her, looking uncertain instead. Then, still hesitant, he reached into his tunic and extracted a folded sheet of paper, which he silently handed to her.
“What is this?” she demanded.
“I do not know, your ladyship, as it is sealed, but I fear it is not at all what I was led to believe,” he said. “Mistress Fiona’s Molly asked me if I meant to attend the ceremony and when I said I did, she asked me to give that to you afterward. I assumed that Mistress Fiona had written some sort of thoughtful message that you would cherish long after she had gone away with her new husband, but I fear now that that cannot be the case.”