“I daenae ken ye, Skye Pressly. Or yer maither. But what Laird MacKeith says makes sense to me. I ken yer husband is next in line now. It makes sense he’d want to stop this wedding.”
“Lilias,” Arran interjected, his tone softer but no less urgent, “please consider what Skye is saying. Surely ye’ve heard the stories—terriblestories—about how he has treated his wives.”
Lilias looked between Arran, Skye, and Blackwell, her expression torn. Skye knew then that the woman had heard the rumors about her groom.
“But I need this union. Me children… We have nothing,” Lilias said, her voice breaking. “I need to secure me children’s future, and I have nae way to provide for them.”
“Me maither once said those exact same words. She married Blackwell for the same reasons. And sure, it was fine for a time,but even after the beatings started, she stayed. She stayed for me, and because she was too scared to leave. But ye daenae have to sacrifice yerself, Lilias,” Skye reasoned. “There are other ways, other paths ye can take. I can help ye. Laird MacArthur and I will help ye.”
Blackwell sneered at her, but then he turned to Lilias, his tone soft and pleading. “Daenae listen to them, Lilias. They are desperate fools and only trying to stop our wedding for their own gains. I am a man of honor. I would never lay a hand on a woman.”
“Liar!” Colin shouted, stepping forward. Skye had never seen him look so angry before. “I’ve had words with people who kent yer previous wives, who saw what ye did. Everyone in Castle MacKeith heard Lady Helena’s screams the last night before she fled.”
The priest, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward, his expression stern. “These are serious accusations,” he said. “Do ye have proof of these claims?”
“It’s true.”
Skye gasped when she heard a familiar voice from the back of the kirk. It was Mary!
“And who are ye?” the priest asked.
“I am Mary, Faither. I have served the MacKeiths for many years. I kent Helena, and I kent Laird MacKeith’s wife he had before her. Both were beaten and beatenregularly. I saw it with me own eyes.”
Skye’s heart nearly burst with pride at her friend’s bravery.
“Ye would believe a servant!” Blackwell boomed. “She’s friends with Helena and Skye. I’m sure they planned this. She’ll benefit from this, I promise!”
Lilias turned to him. “Is this true, Grayson?”
Before he could answer, a lad of about sixteen years of age with the same black hair as the bride rose from the front bench and raised his hand. “Maither, perhaps ye should take some time and reconsider.”
Blackwell glared at him. “Ye sit down, lad. Ye maither can think for herself,” he hissed when the boy opened his mouth to say more, and then he turned back to his bride. “Lilias, it isnae true. I can line up over a hundred of me clansmen, and they will testify to such. In fact,”—he looked over at the wedding guests—“if there is anyone, besides this greedy servant, who wants to testify that they’ve seen me behave in a dishonorable way toward me wives, they can speak now.”
There wasn’t a sound in the kirk. No one stood up to corroborate what Skye said. Her heart sank, and she looked at Arran with wide eyes. She then glanced over at Lilias, who regained her assurance in the silence.
Blackwell’s smirk returned.
What do we do now?
The door opened, and Magnus stepped inside. From behind him, a voice shouted, “I am his wife! I will speak now!”
“Maither!”
Waves of whispers and mutterings reverberated around the kirk.
“But Helena’s dead.”
“Who is that?”
“What’s going on here?”
“Blackwell cannae marry—he’s still married.”
Skye turned and looked at her stepfather, who stood rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open in shock.
But he quickly found his voice. “Imposter! Helena is dead. Laird MacArthur here said so himself! This is just another ploy to stop the wedding. They couldnae slander me character, so now he’s accusing me of bigame! Daenae ye see?”
“I’m Helena, Grayson, and I can prove it.”
