In the end, she ignored him and read for most of the day, having picked up a novel from the last inn. When it became too dark to see, she reluctantly set it aside and endured Alister’s silence. He pushed on until midnight when they finally stopped at Newark-on-Trent. By this point, Lyra was wondering if they weren’t making a terrible mistake, for he’d barely spoken two words to her all day. She wondered if he was angry with her for some reason, although she couldn’t fathom what it might be. She considered trying to coax him to talk to her, but when he retreated to his room, nearly slamming the door in her face, she decided against it.
She put a hand to her fluttering stomach. She knew that if he kept this up for the remainder of their journey to Scotland, her nerves were going to be strung as tightly as a bowstring.
Thankfully, the next day they were able to make better time, as the roads had cleared up considerably. Alister hadn’t been quite as moody that morning, as he tried to engage her in conversation, but Lyra found that the closer they drew to their destination, the less eager she was to chat. After a brief stop in Leeds to eat where she picked at her food for the most part, their last stop brought them to the village of Bowes and The Ancient Unicorn.
This time after getting ready for bed, Lyra went over to the window, finding that she was having a harder time falling asleep than before. Of course, it didn’t help that this inn was the site of a rather well-known pair of star-crossed lovers, Edwin and Emma, immortalized in a poem entitled, “Bowes Tragedy.” She could only hope that wasn’t a precursor for her future with Alister.
She stared out at the darkened sky and the stars twinkling overhead, at the towering peaks of the Pennines and Barnard Castle in the distance. If nothing else, she had to admire the beauty of this area. She’d never been this far north and she knew that if given the chance, she would have lingered. There was just something soothing about this rugged landscape that touched her soul.
She sighed. By this time tomorrow, she would once again be married. To say she was apprehensive about the whole affair would be a radical understatement. The very idea of submitting herself to another man, to give him complete power over her, caused her no end of reserve. She hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy a true sense of freedom. But that wasn’t what caused her the most anxiety. What would life with Alister be like? As an agent, he was constantly thrown into danger. How many times would she be up at night, pacing the floor and worrying if he would come home? Not only that, but filling the role of a duchess was rather daunting. Would Alister be patient with her, or would he eventually come to resent her for being forced into marriage? Would their desire fade to the point they hated to look at each other in the mornings? Already he’d seemed to pull away from her.
Her breath fogged on the pane. She just had to remember that Alister was different. He was nothing like Roger.
At least, she prayed it was so.
* * *
The small village of Gretna Green, located just across the border in Scotland was famous throughout England for marriages that took place over an anvil by the local blacksmith. It was believed that after Lord Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1754, a couple wanting to get married when they were under the age of twenty-one and without parental consent could elope here—or, in Lyra and Alister’s case, if their union would be rife with controversy and threatened by the hangman’s noose.
It was strange for Lyra to walk through the infamous doors of the large, black-and-white building of the Old Smithy late the following afternoon where they interrupted the sound of a hammer pounding away on a piece of hot metal. For years she’d heard of ceremonies taking place here, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sight of a heavy-set man wearing a thick leather apron. He glanced up at their entrance, and instantly a wide smile split his face. Obviously, this was a common occurrence for him.
“Aye, and what do we have here? A couple of lovebirds looking to tie the knot, I would imagine.”
Lyra couldn’t speak; her throat had closed up. Thankfully, Alister filled in the details. “You would be correct, Mr.…?”
The large Scot wiped his hands and strode forward to greet Alister. “Mr. Conrad MacGregor’s the name.” He glanced at Lyra, then turned back to Alister with a wink. “You’re a lucky man.”
Alister looked at her. “Indeed, I am.”
Their boisterous host chuckled heartily. “I suspect I need to make this a quick ceremony. Do ye have any witnesses?”
Lyra blushed hotly at the implication, although Alister merely replied, “I’m afraid you’ll have to supply those.”
“That I can do. I’ll be right back.”
While they waited for his return, Lyra turned to Alister uncertainly. “Are you sure this is legal? He doesn’t appear very…ecclesiastical.”
“He’s what is referred to as an ‘anvil priest.’ Scotland has different rules regarding marriages, but you can rest assured that everything will be as it should.”
Moments later their officiating “priest” returned with a couple in tow. “This is me wife, Lana MacGregor, and me nephew, Ewan McDonald.”
“It’s a wonderful day for love,” the smitty’s wife said with a charming Scottish lilt. She wore a dress of green plaid and had red hair. Lyra felt she couldn’t have been more appropriate for the setting if she’d tried.
After the greetings were exchanged, Conrad returned to stand behind his anvil.At least he removed his apron, Lyra thought uncharitably. As he began to speak, she stood quietly and witnessed her second wedding with a kind of detachment that didn’t seem real. Until Mr. MacGregor asked Alister if he had a ring.
All this time, she hadn’t even known that Alister had a band, but as he slipped the simple, gold circle onto her finger, he said, “It’s just something I picked up along the way. Once we return to London, you can pick out your own if you wish.”
In truth, Lyra thought the gesture was rather sweet, although she couldn’t get over the odd sensation of seeing that glint of metal on her finger once more.
After the ceremony concluded and a flurry of congratulations were expressed, Lyra walked out of the blacksmith’s shop a wife once more. In all, it had only taken about a quarter of an hour for her life to be lashed back into servitude. Her veins instantly turned to ice.
“Lyra?”
Her head jerked toward her new husband. “What is it?”
“I asked if you were well.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
