“What names will ye give?” Cullen whispered.
“I must give our real clan names, or the banns willna be official. But I’m going to use our middle names.” Rab and Cullen grew quiet as a young man stepped out of the sacristy. Rab wanted to run. He recognized the young priest, and after the initial shock, he doubted finding success at this chapel.
“Rab MacLaren?”
“Aye, Michael. Pardon me, Father Michael.” Rab locked eyes with the former Sutherland warrior. He’d known Michael as long as he’d known Lachlan Sutherland, since the priest was Lachlan’s cousin and Laird Hamish Sutherland’s nephew. They’d competed against one another as adolescents at gatherings, but he hadn’t seen Michael in years. It was clear why not as the tonsured priest approached.
“What brings you to Dunblane Monastery?”
“I need a priest. What brings ye to Dunblane? Ye’re far from Sutherland.”
“That I am. I was at an abbey for several years, but with my training done at Cambuskenneth and neither Maude nor Blair still at court, I accepted this assignment. Why do you need a priest?” Michael watched Rab, then glanced at Cullen, a deep crease forming between the priest’s brows.
“I’d like ye to post the banns for me to marry.”
“Here?” Michael blurted before recovering himself. “Why not at Edinample or the lass’s home?”
“That’s nae possible.”
Michael once more glanced at Cullen, who’d taken a discreet spot several pews back from where Rab and Michael stood talking. Michael ran his eyes over Rab, noticing the travel stains and how Rab’s tired eyes drooped.
“Who do you wish to marry that no one can ken aboot?” Michael inhaled a sharp breath as soon as he finished speaking. “Have you been at court?”
“Aye.”
“Lady Catherine? Yer da and her uncle will skelp yer arse. Laird MacFarlane will geld ye, and yer father will hang ye upside down by yer toes until the blood drains out of yer eyes.”
“Ye might live near the Lowlands, but ye still tell a tale like a Highlander,” Rab quipped after Michael lapsed back into his brogue. “But ye arenae wrong. That’s why I came here.”
“To a small village far enough from Edinample or Inveruglas that nay one kens ye’re here. But close enough to Stirling for Lady Catherine to appear each Sunday. Do ye wish to wed here too?”
“That was ma thought.”
“And she agrees?”
“I didna pick Dunblane until I was only a few miles from here. But, aye, she kens ma plan to find somewhere close to Stirling but far from our clans.”
“Things are still that bad?” Michael expression grew regretful as he watched Rab, recognizing the determination in the warrior’s stance and gaze. He’d seen the same when he met his cousin Maude’s husband, Kieran MacLeod. The man barely knew Maude when Michael met him, but it was clear from the moment Michael watched Maude and Kieran together that the man was determined to marry Maude. Unfortunately, Michael was far from convinced that Rab and Catherine could have the happily ever after his cousin had with Kieran.
“Aye. Politics pulled us apart and has kept us apart for three years. We arenae willing to risking losing the rest of our lives together. Only a marriage in a kirk will work. The king or the pope can overturn a handfasting or marriage by consent. A priest’s blessing and an entry in the parish records is what we need.”
“Do ye have three sennights to wait?”
“Likely nae, but I will make it so.” Rab shifted uneasily but caught himself. He crossed his arms, hoping pretending to be self-assured might make him feel that way.
“Ye ken it’s three Masses, nae strictly three sennights. Usually, it’s the Sunday Mass when everyone gathers and can hear them. But Sunday isnae the only day I perform Mass. We have All Hallows Eve on a Sunday followed by All Souls and All Saints this sennight.”
“Do ye mean ye could them read sooner?” Rab straightened from the end of the pew he leaned against. “I could marry Catherine in less than a moon?”
“I think that’s likely advisable if ye wish for nay one to tell yer father and her uncle.” Michael swept his eyes around the nave before gesturing for Rab to follow him into the sacristy. The priest drew forth a tome and flipped it open to a half-written page. “What names do ye give?”
“Clyde MacLaren and Eloise MacFarlane.”
“Ye ken that I will have to use yer full names in the marriage registry?”
“Aye. Robert Clyde MacLaren and Catherine Eloise MacFarlane.”
“I nearly forgot yer name is really Robert,” Michael chuckled.
