Rexanne Becnel - Scandalous Weddings

Behind her followed a not-so-beloved figure. Angus Stewart. Ian enjoyed watching the confident smirk on his face shift to shock and concern at seeing the clan chieftains together. Robert Macrae had invited the solicitor to the meeting at the church, telling him that the villagers had come to an agreement. Ian had then called him and asked for a meeting just two hours later. Obviously, Stewart had come to Corridan believing he had two deals in hand, one to complete at the church, the other just afterward. Ian laughed. His deals would be completed, all right.

"Now see here, Sinclair," Angus Stewart called out, pushing past Meredith and hurrying down the aisle. "Just what do you think you are doing here?"

Ian let him get almost to the front, then replied coldly, "Lower your voice, Mr. Stewart. Ye are in the house of God. Please take a seat."

Stewart stopped in mid-stride, glaring at Ian. "What the hell do you think-"

Ian, a full head taller than Stewart, glared down at him. "Shut your mouth, Mr. Stewart. You've had your turn at talking. Now it's time to listen." Ian took Stewart by the arm and forced him to take a seat in the front pew. Then he looked up and nodded to Meredith to join him. When she reached his side, he took her hand, and he heard a communal murmur from both sides of the church.

Ian gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, although his own pulse was beating rapidly. He turned to the congregation. "I thank ye all for coming," he began. He looked from one side to the other. " 'Tis been a long time since the Macraes and the Sinclairs shared a house of worship." He heard a rustle of disconcerted laughter before he went on. "It's been too long. And for too long our clans have fought one another. 'Tis time to put an end to these useless hostilities. The Macrae and I, and this lovely lass, are here today to ask ye to bring this lend to a close."

Meredith was deeply touched by the sincerity in Ian's plea but even more by the effort he had made to honor her wishes. She knew it had taken a lot of both courage and patience to work with Robert Macrae over the past few days to bring this meeting about. None of them had any idea whether their plan would be successful, but i hey had all three agreed that the time had come to bring everything into the light of day and try to get their fellow clansmen to see the futility of their ongoing quarrel. They had chosen the church for the meeting place, doubting that anyone would resort to violence within a house of worship.

In the silence that followed Ian's startling request, Meredith saw people lean forward, astonishment written on their faces but curiosity precluding them from interrupting Ian. Pride swelled in her heart to see that he had the power to influence.both clans and the integrity to use that power for peace. He was a man she would be proud to marry. One day. She listened as he continued.

"For two centuries, this feud has cost both our clans the blood of our brothers. More recently, it might have cost us all everything we own." He nodded at Stewart. "This… ah… gentleman"-he emphasized the last word cynically-"almost managed to use our animosity toward one another to steal away your village," he said to the Macraes, "and your clan's castle," he added, addressing the Sinclairs.

Angus Stewart burst to his feet with indignation, but Ian pressed him back into the bench with firm hands on both shoulders. " 'Tis your turn to listen, remember?" At the clear threat in his voice, the man retreated, and Ian continued.

"On Monday last I was visited by Mr. Stewart, who informed me that he represented a group of investors who wished to buy Duneagen Castle and restore it, purely from their loyalty to Scottish heritage. But he also threatened that if I didn't sell it, and at a 'right' price, he would reveal that his research shows that the Sinclairs don't own the castle at all."

The silence was shattered with a buzz of amazed speculation, but Ian held up his hands and continued. "Mr. Macrae, would ye be so kind as to tell my kinsmen exactly what. Mr. Stewart offered your people?"

Ian's rival turned to the Sinclairs and repeated the solicitor's claim that the Macraes did not own their land and that the Sinclair was preparing to execute a clearing to make way for a tourist resort. He concluded by outlining the offer of their relocation. "I doubt if it would bring tears t' any of yeer eyes to see us go," he added with a sardonic laugh, "but I can clearly see Mr. Stewart's scheme, and I for one would like t' see th' lout at th' end of a rope for tryin't' stir up trouble between us again."

A rumble of agreement issued from both sides, and from the corner of her eye, Meredith caught the distress on Stewart's face. Let him squirm, she thought. Let the little worm squirm.

Ian took the floor again. "The only thing that needs clearing here is the air. As long as we're at it, I'd like to ask, does anyone know what caused the feud in the first place? What have we been fighting about all this time?"

The members of both clans stared at him blankly. Then one young man from Sinclair country stood. "I heerd it was because a Macrae killed a Sinclair."

"Well, ye heerd wrong," challenged a strapping jumbo-sized Macrae. "It's ye Sinclairs that murdered our brethren." Meredith cringed, half expecting a brawl to break out in the church after all.

"Quiet!" Ian's voice boomed above the din of the commotion. The crowd calmed and turned toward him again. "If we're ever to get this settled, we must know the history. This woman," he said, turning to Meredith, holds the truth in her hands. Mr. Macrae, she is of your clan. I ask permission that she be allowed to reveal what she has discovered."

"Ye have it.".

“I also must seek your agreement that whatever is revelled will be considered strictly as the history of the matter, not an incitement to new hostilities." Ian extended his hand to Robert Macrae, who accepted it.

"Agreed," said the Macrae, and the two men shook hands.

Emotion tightened Meredith's throat, but she cleared it and explained briefly about the message she had discovered embroidered into the hem of the tablecloth. I hen she began to read the story of the beginnings of the feud. At first she heard a titter of laughter when the listeners recognized the familiar story of the ugly bride and the doomed bridegroom. But as she continued, the room grew deathly quiet as the folk tale turned from mere legend to harsh history. She was nearly finished when a ruckus broke out again, the Sinclairs claiming it to be a lie, the Macraes indignant at the wrong perpetrated by Peter Sinclair. With difficulty, Ian managed to quiet them.

"Finish," he told her, and Meredith read aloud the curse of Megan Macrae:

May the dark of the night curse the name of Sinclair,

May strife on the land be his penance,

'Til the day comes to pass that a true-blooded heir

Of Macrae returns to the palace.

She looked up, wondering what would happen next. Ian cleared his throat. "Whether a true curse was cast against my kinsmen, or whether 'tis the curse of hatred that has blighted both our clans, there's been enough strife on this land. Our stubborn resentment against one another almost allowed this outsider to steal away our lands and our heritage."

Robert Macrae stepped forward. "Aye. What th' Sinclair says is true. And if it hadn't been for another outsider, this lass who had the courage to challenge tradition," he said, placing his hand on Meredith's shoulder, "we might have succumbed to this man's plot. Tis time t' vow an oath t' end th' feud, now and forever. Do I have your pledge?" he demanded of his clansmen in a voice strong and resolute. After a moment's hesitation, each person rose and nodded, murmuring a commingled "Aye."

Ian charged his own clan with the same oath, and they in turn stood and agreed. Tears filled Meredith's eyes. Could this be happening? Could they be making peace at last? She had every reason to believe so, for Ian had told her if they could get the clansmen to commit in public, their honor would hold them to their vows. She felt Ian's hand slip into hers.

"Very well, then. The feud is ended, by our word of honor." He turned to her, and in front of the entire congregation said, "Will ye marry me now, lass?"

Meredith's cheeks burned, and she heard the murmur of amazement rustle through the crowd, an astonishment that matched her own, but she looked into his eyes and saw the love of her life who had just moved heaven and earth for her. "Yes. I will marry you."

Ian turned to those gathered in the little church. "If there ever was a curse, it will be broken now forever, for tonight a true-blooded heir of Macrae will be returned to the palace."

Meredith jerked her head. "Tonight?" He grinned at her. "Ye said ye would marry me. Now." He turned and motioned toward the side door. "I've brought Reverend Fraser from Craigmont to join us in holy matrimony. 'Tis living proof the Macraes and the Sinclairs can dwell together in peace. Will ye?"

Meredith's heart pounded, but her fear dissolved. Only she and Ian, and perhaps Robert Macrae, knew that ending the feud was not her reason for marrying him, but she didn't care what the rest thought. Feud or no feud, the love that had sprung so suddenly between (lum could not be denied. It was a love that she felt deep m her heart, a love that transcended time and place, that demanded fulfillment in their marriage. "Yes," she whispered.

"This is an outrage!" Angus Stewart jumped to his feet. "I object. This is not a sacred marriage. It's a farce and a blasphemy, a last-ditch effort by the Sinclair to manipulate the Macraes." He turned to that faction. "Don't you see he's just marrying her to gain your sympathy? She's not even one of you."

Robert Macrae charged at Stewart and grabbed him by the lapels on his jacket. " 'Tis too late, Stewart," he snarled. "Your little scheme didn't work. Meredith Macrae is one of us, and this wedding will bring us together once and for all. You're the outsider here, and you're not wanted."

"Hang him!"

Stunned, Meredith looked toward the man who'd called out. It was the old storyteller from whom she'd first heard the tale of the cattle thief and the ugly bride. He pushed through the crowd until he reached Robert Macrae, who relinquished his hold on Stewart and stepped aside.

"We still hang thieves in these parts," the storyteller hissed into Stewart's alarmed face. "And ye're nothin' but a thief, tryin't' pit us against one another again so ye can steal our land. Give up your objection, Mr. Stewart, and let this weddin' commence."

Meredith's pulse thrummed in her ears, and the rest of the church stared at the two men in uneasy antici-

pation. Angus Stewart, wide-eyed and pale, was too tongue-tied to answer. The old man moved his face even closer.

"A weddin' or a hangin', Mr. Stewart, what'll it be?"

Angus Stewart's beady eyes darted from one face to another, and Meredith saw a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He picked up his hat, and, with an anxious glance over his shoulder, hurried down the aisle and out the door of the church.

She turned to Ian and saw amusement rather than triumph in his eyes, and her heart swelled once again. Even though he had defeated the solicitor, Ian Sinclair showed no sign of malice toward his enemy. He was the kind of man who would always play fair with his opponents, and she knew without a doubt she could trust him with her heart. Taking a deep breath, Meredith let go of her earlier apprehensions about marrying so hastily. She didn't know if the wedding Ian had arranged on the spot would even be legal-didn't they have to have a license or something?-but it didn't matter. A true-blooded heir of Macrae would indeed return to the palace tonight. They could take care of the details later. She smiled up into the handsome face of her very own Scotsman, and in the strongest imitation of his accent she could muster, she said, "I think 'tis th' weddin' he's chosen."

BENCHLEY HOUSE, HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND MAY 1824

Jinx Benchley spoke before her housekeeper could. "Whoever it is, say that I am indisposed." "But Miss Jinx, he said-"

"I don't care what he said. I cannot possibly see him, or anyone else, this morning."

Although Jinx's voice was firm, her hand shook-as did the single sheet of parchment she grasped. She didn't look at Mrs. Honeywell when she spoke to her, a behavior considered perfectly acceptable among the gentry when dealing with the help. But Jinx had always considered it inexcusably rude to treat anyone so carelessly, be they royalty or humble farmer. Today, however, she could hardly think straight, let alone behave as normal. Disaster had struck, and she did not know how to undo it.