Father Michael’s brow furrowed for a moment as he regarded the sheet of parchment in his hand. He glanced at Catherine, then nodded. “Follow me.” Michael made his way to the doors of the church, standing as he often did, to greet his parishioners as they left the church. People milled around talking to one another, making both Catherine and Rab wish the villagers would be on their way, so fewer people listened to Michael’s proclamation. Michael stood on the top step and raised one hand. Catching people’s attention, the crowd fell quiet.
“I publish the banns of marriage between Clyde MacLaren of the Parish of Dunblane and Eloise MacLaren of this Parish. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, you are to declare it. This is for the first time of the asking.”
There were several confused expressions as people stared at Rab and Catherine, but no one stepped forward. The couple breathed a silent sigh as Michael hammered a nail into the church door, posting the banns for the public.
“I’ll fix it this eve,” Michael murmured as he pulled the door open. “Be sure to be back tomorrow.”
The MacLarens, with their newest member, mounted and left the village of Dunblane. Once they were clear of the village, Rab called a halt. He lifted Catherine from the saddle and led her to the side of the road, into taller grass. Their kiss was tender, but jubilant. Their plans were coming to fruition, and they were married at last, at least in their eyes, and those of most Highlanders.
“Husband,” Catherine whispered before kissing Rab again.
“Wife,” Rab responded between kisses.
The sound of an approaching wagon made them pull apart. Catherine pretended to straighten her skirts as the farmer drove past, looking like she’d needed a moment of privacy. Before they stepped onto the road, Rab paused.
“What aboot tonight?” Rab asked.
“I—I dinna ken. We’ve risked a great deal sneaking out. But it will be an utter disaster if anyone finds me after I’ve sworn to being too ill to leave ma chamber.” Catherine’s eyes pricked with tears. “But I hardly want to spend ma wedding night alone.”
“I dinna want that either, but Kitty, I dinna want yer first time to be in a hay pile above a score of smelly horses.”
Catherine grinned. “I hadnae thought of the beasts until now. I was always too interested in ye.”
“I still dinna want to make love to ma wife for the first time with hay scratching places it should never touch. It isnae nearly clean enough nor soft enough for ye.”
“And I dinna wish to do it half-dressed.” Catherine’s shoulders drooped. She pressed her lips together as she contemplated. “There are other things we can do, what we’ve already done. It may nae be consummating the marriage, but it’s certainly bluidy enjoyable. I canna stand the idea of being apart from ye tonight. Well, any night really, but definitely nae tonight.”
“Do ye dare it?”
“Aye. We’re handfasted now. If anyone doubts it, at least five people heard us exchange our vows, even if they tried to pretend like they didna. We have witnesses.”
“And we have posted the banns once. By the time anyone finds us and makes their way to Dunblane, Michael will have corrected yer name.”
“Then we’ll meet tonight.”
“Aye, Kitty. I shall hold ma wife in ma arms tonight. At last.”
“And I shall nae let go of ma husband. At last.”
The couple mounted Bolt once more, and the party cantered back to Stirling Castle.
Chapter 12
Catherine and Rab sneaked into the hayloft, like they had the other nights that they dared their clandestine interludes. There was little talking the night of their handfast. Neither enjoyed putting a stop to their love play. But as much as they desired making love and being man and wife in more than only name, they both wanted their first time making love to be memorable and unhurried. And as Catherine pointed out, with a sheet that had the evidence of her virginity but didn’t smell like a horse.
The same as they had the first time they slipped away from the castle, Rab, Catherine, and the MacLaren guards used the postern gate and went to Dunblane the next two mornings. Each time Michael stood at the top of the church’s stairs to read the banns, Rab and Catherine held their breath, waiting for someone to charge forth and contest their intended marriage. But nothing went amiss. Which also made them nervous. It all felt too easy.
“What do ye think Evina makes of all this?” Rab asked the burning question that made his belly ache whenever they returned to the castle.
“I dinna ken,” Catherine replied as they rested together in the hayloft on All Saints night. “I guess she believes I’m spending the entire night with ye now. Before these trips to Dunblane, I wasna in our chamber when she retired, but I was always there when she woke. Now I’m nae there when she goes to bed or wakes, but I’m usually asleep, or pretending to be, when she returns after Terce. Mayhap she hears me come in when I come back from the hayloft to catch a couple hours’ sleep. We’re fortunate Father Michael says the Mass so early each day. I pinch ma nose and rub ma eyes before I talk to her, doing it under the covers. I must still look sick because she always offers to fetch me a tray herself.” Catherine shrugged. Guilt nipped at her not for the first time, but there was nothing she could do without changing their plans.
“We had better pray she continues to keep quiet,” Rab surmised.
“Dare we return here after the ceremony tomorrow?” Catherine asked.
“I dinna think that’s wise. Father Michael said he canna marry us until after sunset without drawing too much attention while we exchange vows on the church steps. It means we both miss the evening meal. That’ll draw at least Óg’s attention. Once he realizes we’re both gone, he’ll ken what we’ve done. We canna avoid that. We must put distance between us and Stirling. Even if he doesnae ken we wed at Dunblane, he’ll track us.”
“Do ye think he’ll assume we’re going straight to Edinample?”
