St Veronica’s was a very small church, but then Glengour was a very small place. It was made of rough hewn granite blocks and had a thick thatched roof and a general air of ordinariness and functionality, but that was an illusion, because once inside it was like stepping into another world.
The windows had no glass, because glass was still a very scarce commodity. Instead there were thick sheets of linen inside with sturdy blue shutters outside. The pews were intricately carved of oak, and the stations of the cross were painted in oil enhanced with gold leaf, each one a masterpiece in its own right.
The altar was pink marble, its cloth made of snowy linen, and two silver candle sconces, one at each side, gleamed in the dim daylight.
A huge painted crucifix hung above the altar, and there was a statue of the Blessed Virgin in the small side chapel dedicated to the mother of Jesus. The burnt sugar aroma of beeswax, the exotic perfume of incense, and the fragrance of the hundreds of fresh flowers that were scattered everywhere filled the air.
The church had been built and donated to the people of Glengour by Alex’s grandmother, a very devout woman who had done much good work for the village. It was a place of silence and contemplation, but it was also a place of sanctuary, as was any church, and no weapons of any description were allowed there.
However, the two men who met there that afternoon had nothing peaceful on their minds. They were unable to wield swords, but that did not stop them from warring with words.
As soon as they met in the church it was evident that this was not going to be an amicable discussion, however. The two men bowed to each other and sat down in a pew on either side of the aisle.
“What did you wish to discuss, M'laird?” Lockie asked, with a thin smile.
Alex sighed and pinned Lockie with a stark blue gaze. “Please do not insult my intelligence, M'laird,” he said grimly. “You know perfectly well that we are here to discuss my wife. MY wife, not yours, much as you wish she were. She is carrying MY child and shares MY bed, so when another man comes along and tries to steal her from me, naturally I become a little annoyed, as I think you would be if the circumstances were reversed.”
Lockie was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “When I met Lorna I was happy. She was quiet, and obedient, the kind of woman I could share my hopes and dreams with. She has her moments of obstinacy, but we all have faults, do we not? But I find myself longing for Robina’s freedom of spirit, her laughter, and her sense of fun. When I saw Robina in the street a few days ago I instantly regretted my decision to marry Lorna, and on a moment of impulse I went over to her and made a complete fool of myself. I was a little drunk after a few too many in the Bull’s Horns. I am sorry.”
“I cannot forgive you,” Alex replied grimly. “Only Robina can do that, and I doubt that she will, considering that she utterly despises you, but then, she is a kind and forgiving person. Do you not have any regard for yourself that you would debase yourself by asking another man’s PREGNANT wife to be yours?”
Lockie ignored this. “What if I pay you for the slight to your honor?” Lockie asked desperately.
Alex shot to his feet and glared down at him, then pulled him up by the front of his tunic so they were nose to nose. “DO. NOT. INSULT. ME!” he shouted, punctuating each word separately, as if he was talking to an idiot.
Alex was extremely mad. Lockie knew that Alex could not slay him as people could easily think that Alex wanted to kill his wife’s former man in order to please her. That would be murder and Alex would be hanged. Lockie knew all that and he was playing with him. “I do not want your money, and now I do not want an apology either.”
That would not settle the matter. No. Alex had another idea to restore his honor without being accused of murder. “I want a duel. Just you and I fighting for our honor.” He dropped Lockie back onto the pew again with slightly more force than was necessary.
“To the death?” Lockie asked tremulously.
Alex sighed and ran his hand back through his corn-blond hair. “If you wish.” Alex wanted to intimidate him for a few moments. He wanted to feel Lockie’s fear. But even in a duel it was not an easy thing to kill a man with the power that Lockie had now. It would do more harm that good. “But...I did have something less dramatic in mind.”
“What?” Lockie’s voice was a squeak.
“The first of us who falls three times has to pay a forfeit,” Alex replied.
“What kind of forfeit?” Lockie asked, ashen-faced.
Alex though for a moment. “The loser gives ten pounds to each of the poorest families on his estate, and if the loser is you, M'laird, you apologize to my wife as well.”
“But I can do that anyway, without paying a forfeit!” Lockie protested.
“Publicly,” Alex went on relentlessly. “On your knees, in front of her.”
Lockie’s jaw dropped open. “I will not!” he cried, outraged.
Alex shrugged and smiled at him. “Then, M'laird, I suggest you do not lose.”
“And what if I do not agree to all this?” Lockie asked, frowning. “You cannot force me.”
Alex turned and folded his arms, then stood with his legs planted a foot apart, head down, looking like a bull about to charge, and glaring at Lockie from under lowered brows. “Can I not?” he asked silkily. “Do not try me, M'laird, or you will see how forceful I can be!”
In fact this was an empty threat, since Alex had no way of forcing Lockie to agree to his terms, but Lockie had no way of knowing that, and Alex’s sheer physical presence was enough to intimidate anyone into compliance. He could spread rumors about Lockie being a coward, but it was a gamble.
Lockie stood up and drew himself up to his full height, which was two inches shorter than Alex. “I agree to your terms, then, Laird Lindsay,” Lockie said, bowing.“May the best man win!”
“Indeed,” Alex replied. “Sunday morning at dawn.”
