Her mother smiled, tucking her hand in her arm. “And so you shall.”
Portia hooked up the pony cart and drove them to the chapel. She squared her shoulders as she caught sight of the crowd gathered there. Since it was Christmas morning, well, of course more people than usual would be in attendance.
She noticed that her mother and Minnie squared their shoulders as well. The Maclean women were not short on pride and they held hands as they went forward.
Their appearance created a bit of a stir, a sign that they were the topic of discussion. People tried not to stare and smiles grew forced.
One person who avoided Portia’s eyes was Mr. Buchanan. He stood beside the Duke of Montcrieffe and Lady Emma, whose open hostility in her expression would undoubtedly fuel more gossip. The duke’s man would probably be paying them a visit sooner or later to evict them because Lady Emma would want Portia gone. Her pride would demand it.
Of course, that no longer mattered, not now that her mother and her sister would be married women. Both General Montheath and Mr. Oliver Tolliver had been anticipating their arrival. The two gentlemen fell into step besidethem, flanking them as if to gallantly ward off any attacks.
And then Mrs. Macdonald and Robbie, the gardener, joined them. “Good Christmas to you,” Mrs. Macdonald said.
Her words were echoed from all around the Maclean women, the greetings coming from even the Scots who had usually kept their distance. “Good Christmas,” they said in greeting. “Happy Christmas.”
They gathered around the women to escort them to the chapel doors, and Portia realized they were protecting her. Was she still considered English? Yes, probably, but she was also one of them and they were letting her know it.
Still, Portia was relieved when they’d taken their seats in the pews. General Montheath sat at the end of the pew, her mother beside him, then Portia, Minnie, and Mr. Tolliver.
Portia bowed her head, letting the opening words of the service flow over her. She studied her hands folded in her lap and remembered her midnight prayer—
“Stop this service.”
Harry’s voice rang out over the congregation, interrupting Reverend Ogilvy’s reading from the Gospel.
Harry. Portia closed her eyes. He could not be here. She was too fragile to resist him. Too emotionally drained.
Heads turned to the back of the church. Minnie reached over and squeezed Portia’s gloved hand.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Reverend Ogilvy said, “but this is a place of worship. You are welcome to sit and join us but your outburst is not acceptable.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said. He’d been in the back of the church. He now marched forward. “And I apologize, but what I have to say can’t wait.”
He stopped when he reached Portia’s pew. She could feel him, smell him, almost hear the wild beating of his heart.
“Portia Maclean, I love you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Time seemed to stop.
No one moved, made a sound, or even seemed to breathe in the close confines of the chapel. They were all waiting for Portia’s response.
She released her hand from Minnie’s and crossed her arms as if she could protect herself from his words. Love was so wrong, so dangerous for them both.
“You can’tnothear me,” Harry said to her. “You know I love you as well as I know how deeply you care for me.”
Shedidknow his feelings. That was what she’d been hiding from. He had pretended a distance, but she’d known in her woman’s soul that he loved her. She could see all of that clearly now.
“Say something,” he ordered. “Call me every vile name, deny me, refuse me—butsaysomething.”
Portia stood, faced him. She was taken aback at how reckless he appeared. A day’s growth of beard darkened his jaw. The intensity in his eyes almost broke her resolve.
“Wecan’t,” she said. “We mustn’t.”
“We already have,” he answered. “I love you. I thought never to say those words to anyone. And yet, from the moment we met, there was something about you that was different from anyone else I’d ever known.”
“It’s the curse, Harry. The curse is doing this. The witch wants you.”
