All around her, people turned to the windows as if expecting a mad Scotsman to burst through. And truthfully, Iseabail couldn’t discount the possibility.
“Perhaps you could hire someone to help you,” pressed the countess. “You don’t have to marry him for it.” There was a wealth of disdain in her tone. One that was so often used to keep cocky footmen or cheeky maids in their place.
Iseabail would have none of it. She stood slowly, and when she found Mr. Bates remained on one knee, she tugged him upright to stand beside her. He moved fluidly, like a predator uncoiling beside her, and she smiled for what felt like the first time in years.
She had a hero now. He’d asked her to be his bride. She would not throw away this gift on the countess’s preference for a title.
“He is the one,” she said clearly. She turned toward Mr. Bates. “I accept. Please, how soon can we marry?”
He grinned as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “As soon as possible, I should think.”
The countess sniffed. “Three weeks to read the banns—”
“No, my lady,” he interrupted. “We haven’t time for that. The danger is too imminent.”
“But—”
“A special license. I can probably get one on my own, but it would be so much better if we went together.” He looked down at Iseabail. “All of us now. They won’t dare attack in a church.”
She wasn’t entirely sure about that, but she nodded anyway. Such was the force of his belief.
“My lady, please,” he continued. “You have been the greatest of friends to Miss Spalding. She and I couldn’t be more grateful to you. And though I don’t have a title, I have enough money to keep her in a wealthy, happy life. This I swear to you and to her.” That last part was added as he looked at Iseabail. “I will see you safe.”
“I will honor my vows to you,” she whispered. “To my last breath.”
He grinned, then looked back at the countess. “Please, my lady, will you help us?”
The countess wasn’t swayed. Not yet. But she clearly wavered. “This is happening too fast,” she murmured as she peered at Iseabail. “Are you—”
“I am sure.”
There was a moment when the lady studied them. A narrow-eyed scrutiny that would make lesser souls shrink into themselves. For the first time in forever, Iseabail had no wish to cower. She would marry Reuben. Hopefully within the next few days.
Seeing that her charge was resolved, the countess exhaled in a truly dramatic fashion. “So be it,” she declared loudly. Then she looked at her butler. “Get my carriage ready immediately. We must go now.”
Sadie jumped to her feet. “How soon will you leave for Scotland?”
“Immediately afterwards,” Mr. Bates answered. “We must take the fight to her uncle.”
“Immediately!” gasped Sadie. And it was echoed by everyone in the room.
Iseabail didn’t know if it was true. Honestly, everything was moving too fast for her to follow everything. Five moments ago she had been certain that she would live out the rest of her life wedded to Hamish or someone much worse. And now…
She felt Reuben’s thumb under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “Do you trust me?” he asked. “Will you obey me? We are treading in dangerous waters—”
“Yes.” Indeed, her marriage vows would include that very promise.
“Then let us go,” he said. He winked at her. “It will be a grand adventure!”
It could be the death of them both, but his glee was infectious. She felt it stir the embers of hope inside her body. As if the fire he lit slowly rebuilt her core, fragment by burning fragment. It was hard to believe soot and ash could become anything substantial, but then she had never had Mr. Reuben Bates beside her promising her everything she could possibly want.
And somehow, she believed. Despite everything she knew, every disastrous encounter with her uncle, and the furious hate of Hamish and his men. Despite it all, she believed that Mr. Reuben Bates would make it all right.
“To freedom,” she said. Then she looked at the countess. “Where are we going?”
“To see the Archbishop of Canterbury,” the lady responded, while everyone in the room gasped in surprise. Was the lady truly so powerful as to be able to call on so august a personage?
Apparently so.
