With a shake of her head, she gave him an unconvincing smile. “Nothing that I haven’t already mentioned.” She looked away and cleared her throat. “So, what do we do now? Find a priest? Sign some sort of papers?”
“All we must do is gather a few witnesses and join Father Gabriel in the kirk.” He supposed he should warn her that MacTaggart Kirk was a modest chapel with an altar and a few pews, but Evie had never struck him as one who cared about such things.
“What sort of witnesses?” She slid her arm out of his and started fidgeting with her belt again. “I know Fern and her maids. Mrs. Dingwall. Lorna and Agnes. That’s it.”
It occurred to him she might be less ill at ease if her maids and Mrs. Dingwall attended. “I suppose it is too soon for Fern to be about, aye?”
“Absolutely not. Fern doesnotneed to go anywhere near all those steps and can lift nothing heavier than her babies until I say so.” She gave him a look that dared him to argue.
A snorting chuckle escaped him. “Yes, m’wee hen.”
When she cut him another stern glare, he coughed to hide his mirth. “I shall have Mrs. Dingwall and yer maids fetched, as well as Cook informed a feast needs to be readied.” Such short notice for a wedding celebration would make the already surly woman rage like a banshee, but it could nay be helped. He’d make sure she understood a small feast would do. “I shall get Rosstan, Kendric, and Dugan, aye? That will be six witnesses. A prosperous number.”
Evie scrubbed her hands together, then wiped her palms on her gown. Her cheeks had lost their color, and she kept breathing deep as though trying not to lose her breakfast.
“Evie?” He caught hold of her arm. “Are ye all right, lass?”
“I’m sure I will be fine,” she whispered, wetting her lips. “Just need to press on.” She pulled in a deep breath and blew it out. “I can do this.”
“If ye dinna wish it, ye dinna have to,” he reminded, as much as he hoped she wouldn’t change her mind now.
“No.” With a jerky shake of her head, she held up a hand. “No. I am going to do this.”
“Would ye care to lie down until everything is ready?”
“Perhaps, that might be best.” She grabbed up her skirts and headed toward the keep at a hurried pace, leaving him staring after her. If clad in her trews, he felt sure she would’ve broken into a dead run.
“I’ll send for ye, aye?” he called out.
She glanced back, gave a quick nod, then slipped inside the keep.
*
“M’lady! Are yeunwell?”
Evie pushed past Lorna, heading straight for the bench in front of the window. Today. He wanted to marry today. She clawed at the front lacing of the uncomfortable dress as she clambered up onto the bench. With a mighty shove of the iron bar, she forced the tall panes open as far as they would go. Air. She needed air.
“Let us help ye with the lacing, m’lady. Be yer kirtle too binding?” Agnes eased closer as if Evie were a cornered animal.
“Panic attack,” Evie wheezed, finally succeeding in unknotting the ties and spreading open the front of the gown. She peeled it off her shoulders and shoved it down as far as the blasted tight sleeves would allow. With a death grip on her chemise’s neckline, she fluttered the linen in a vain attempt at moving air. “So hot in here. Are the two of you not sweltering?”
“Nay, m’lady,” Lorna said. The maids exchanged bewildered looks.
Evie pressed her cheek to the cool slab of the stone windowsill and concentrated on slowing her breathing. This wasn’t like her, but considering how the past few days had played out, she had earned a full-blown panic attack for as long as she wished.
“Here, m’lady.”
She opened her eyes to Lorna, who offered a small glass filled with a sparkling ruby liquid. Some sort of wine. She had never much cared for wines. Or whisky. Apparently, that preference needed to change since alcohol appeared to be her best option for anti-anxiety medication at present. The heady fumes warmed her nostrils, warning the liquid was not the gentle honeyed drink they had served her at breakfast. “What is this?” She sniffed at the strong fruity concoction again.
After a glance back at the door, then a warning glance at Agnes, Lorna leaned closer. “I canna remember what Lady Annag called it. But she drank it every day. A lot.”
“And all the maids agreed the lady was much easier to deal with once she had a few glasses,” Agnes added.
The first sip set Evie on fire worse than any whisky. “Cripe’s sake, that is strong.” She pushed it back toward Lorna and waved the girl away. “Send it back to Lady Annag with my blessings. She can have it.”
Both maids remained rooted to the spot, staring at her.
“What now?”
