The Laird of Blackloch (Highland Rogue #2)

Chapter 26

T he interior of the kirk was chill and dark, save for the glimmer of several altar candles at the end of the aisle and the muted light filtering in through several arched windows of stained glass. The dank, stale air was overlaid with the faintest hint of incense as Sarah drew a ragged breath, trying to ignore the fact her ‘groom’ was holding a lethal weapon in the vicinity of her heart.

Malcolm called out to the kirkman, his voice echoing around the stone chamber as he forced Sarah to walk down the aisle, past the empty wooden pews and fluted stone columns.

In reply, a wooden door—perhaps leading to the vestry—scraped across the flagstone floor and a rotund, balding man of middle age in a black frockcoat with a high white clerical stock around his fleshy throat, emerged. He was clearly the minister. He tipped his spectacles down his nose and peered at them.

“Oh, my word. ’Tis you, my Lord Tay,” the man said with a deferential bow. His gaze shifted to Sarah. “And who might this young lady be, my lord?”

“My bride.”

“Oh, Miss Lambert.” The clergyman gave another solemn bow. “’Tis an absolute pleasure to meet you. My name is Reverend Lennox.”

Sarah bobbed her head in acknowledgment, conscious of the blade pressing into her side. Surely Malcolm wasn’t going to force her to wed him under duress? The folds of his greatcoat and the way they were standing—Malcolm had pulled her firmly against him—obviously hid his dirk as the reverend continued to smile at them both as if nothing in the world were amiss.

Dare she scream? Try to run? There had to be a way to get out of this nightmare.

She had to, not only for herself, but for Alex.

Perhaps guessing her train of thought, Malcolm’s grip on her arm grew tighter and the sharp press of the steel blade beneath her breast became more insistent. “Reverend, Miss Lambert and I wish to wed. At once.”

“But, my lord,” protested the clergyman. His eyebrows shot up and his gnarled hands flew to his chest. “Not all the banns have been posted yet. You’re not due to wed until the seventh?—”

“I don’t care, Lennox.”

“But, this is highly irregular, my lord. I’m already overlooking the fact that your scheduled ceremony is taking place during Lent?—”

Malcolm’s brows crashed together. “Who helped pay for the repairs on the steeple, Reverend Lennox?” he shouted, his voice vibrating like thunder off the stone columns and in the vaulted ceiling above them. “Whose family owns this land and established this very church? Who pays your wages? Who provides the very roof that keeps you dry?”

“Why…why you. And your family, my lord,” whispered Lennox. His face had turned as white as his collar.

“Good. Now we have that established,” snapped Malcolm, “why don’t you go and get your prayer book and change into your robes and we’ll begin.”

“Aye, milord,” the cowed clergyman bowed. “I’ll also need to summon the sexton, as a witness. He’s outside tending one of the new graves.”

Sarah found her voice. “Wait...”

Lennox turned back, a concerned frown creasing his brow. He peered at her over his spectacles. “Yes, my child?”

“I... I...”

Malcolm’s brown eyes bore into Sarah’s and he jammed the knife against her side with even greater force.

“I-I need to use the necessary,” she whispered. It was a lie, but she’d say or do anything if it meant she could get away from Malcolm.

“Oh.” A dark red blush spread across the reverend’s face. “I can show you to the vest?—”

“I’ll take her,” growled Malcolm, tugging her toward the open door of the minister’s office.

“My lord, I-I must protest,” spluttered Reverend Lennox. “You are not wed yet!”

Malcolm paused on the threshold. He clenched his jaw so hard, Sarah swore she could hear his teeth crack. “Very well.” He pressed his mouth against her ear as though bestowing a kiss and whispered, “Do not try to run, my love . I will be very, very angry if you do.” He twisted the dirk so the tip of the blade pierced the red wool of her riding habit. “You already have an ugly wound on your forehead and I’m not afraid to add to your collection of facial scars. I don’t mind marrying a bride who isn’t quite so pretty. The only thing I care about is the contents of your bank account.”

His threat was abundantly clear. He would think nothing of disfiguring her if she failed to comply.

Sarah gave a jerky nod. “I won’t run,” she whispered.

Malcolm released her and once she’d stumbled through to the vestry, he closed the door…but not all the way. It was still slightly ajar by an inch.

Damn. Hopefully Malcolm wasn't going to spy on her the whole time she was in the reverend’s office. Regardless of the risk, she had to do something to try and save herself.

Her gaze darted frantically about the room, looking for a way out or a weapon. The vestry was relatively small and sparsely furnished: there was a desk, a pair of wooden chairs before it, a glass-fronted bookcase, a wooden screen with the reverend’s black cassock draped across it, a small window…and between two carved cabinets at the back of the shadowy room was what she’d been looking for—a door that appeared to lead outside. Even if Malcolm peeked through the gap in the door to the chapel, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

Sarah dashed over and grasped the door’s handle but damn it, it was locked and the key was nowhere to be seen. Tears scalded her eyes.

“What are you doing in there, my sweet ?” called Malcolm.

Her voice tight with terror, Sarah called back, “I...I bumped a chair.” Dear God, I hope he believes me.

She hadn’t much time. Any minute now Malcolm would demand that she come out or he would come in to get her. Breaking the window clearly wasn’t an option. She needed a weapon.

She rushed over to the desk. There was a letter opener but that would be a poor match against Malcolm’s wicked-looking dirk. Besides, Malcolm would best her in a knife fight. No, she needed to use the element of surprise as a weapon as much as anything else.

Then she spied them—a pair of heavy brass candlesticks stood on the mantel shelf. Praying both God and Reverend Lennox would forgive her for what she was about to do, she removed one of the candles and slipped the candlestick through the slit of her skirt into the deep embroidered pocket concealed beneath. The very end of it poked out a little but hopefully Malcolm wouldn’t notice.

“Sarah!” he barked, making her jump.

“I’m coming,” she called then slipped behind the wooden screen which hid the necessary.

When Malcolm entered the room a moment later, she stepped out, pretending to smooth her skirts. The candlestick was a comforting weight against her leg.

“You’re taking too long,” he growled, taking her arm in a firm grip. To Sarah’s relief, she noticed that he’d hidden his dirk. “The reverend and sexton are waiting.”

“My apologies,” she murmured.

Malcolm shot her a sharp glance as they emerged from the vestry, but she was careful to keep her gaze trained on the floor and her expression demure.

“Lord Tay, Miss Lambert, everything is ready,” announced Reverend Lennox. He stood before the altar, the Scottish Book of Common Prayer in his hands.

“What...what about your robes?” Sarah asked as she and Malcolm took up their positions facing the clergyman. She’d do anything to delay what was about to happen. She also needed to find an opportunity to strike Malcolm.

Somehow, she had to distract him.

“I think we can dispense with all of the formalities on this particular occasion,” replied the reverend with a strained smile.

The sexton, a tall thin man who stood to the side of the altar, gave a single nod. Sarah supposed it was only natural that he too was unwilling to gainsay the powerful Earl of Tay.

Reverend Lennox began to speak but Sarah barely listened as her mind buzzed with various plans. When he asked if either of them knew of any impediment that would prevent them from being lawfully joined together in matrimony, she briefly contemplated then discarded the idea of stating she was already handfasted to Alex. With no way to prove her claim, Malcolm would probably just accuse her of lying. She also couldn’t see the reverend supporting her in the face of Malcolm’s blistering ire.

Besides, there was the very real and ever-present threat that Malcolm might physically injure her in some way. Disfigure her .

An icy tremor shivered through Sarah as she recalled his earlier words: I don’t mind marrying a bride who isn’t quite so pretty . He might have put his dirk away, but she had no doubt he would use it on her if she refused to wed him. Even now, his right hand rested on something at his hip—probably the hilt of the knife.

Sarah slid her left hand into her own pocket and wrapped her fingers about the cold brass candlestick. If she were going to use it, she’d best do so soon, before it was too late.

At that moment, Reverend Lennox asked Malcolm, “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

Sarah held her breath as Malcolm raised her hand to his lips and then murmured, “I will.” The glint in his dark eyes terrified her.

She didn’t believe him. It was all a lie.

Reverend Lennox’s gaze shifted to her and he proceeded to ask the same series of questions. “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband,” he began. “To live together…”

Sarah couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. How could she possibly say “I will” and agree to be tied forever to such an abominable excuse for a man?

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed and he squeezed her right hand when it was time for her to respond. “Sarah,” he prompted through gritted teeth.

She swallowed, the sound audible in the silence, a silence that pulsed with tension and palpable menace.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Malcolm snapped. He glowered at the reverend. “Her answer is yes, she will.”

“My lord,” spluttered Reverend Lennox. “You cannot answer for?—”

“Don’t try me, Lennox,” barked Malcolm. “For everyone’s sake, I recommend you keep going. Skip to the blessing of the ring.”

The threat in Malcolm’s voice was clear and the reverend nodded. With a shaking hand, he held out his prayer book to receive the ring. “My lord...”

Malcolm reached into his greatcoat and pulled out a slender gold band. When Sarah gasped—she hadn’t expected him to be this prepared—he made a scoffing sound. “I’m not totally lacking in decorum, my dear,” he said with a smirk. “I want the world to know that you are mine.”

He placed the ring on the open pages of the prayer book but the reverend’s hands shook so much, the ring slipped to the stone floor with a faint metallic clatter.

“Christ, man.” Malcolm sniped. He bent low near Sarah’s skirts to retrieve the ring. “Clearly, if you want a thing done well?—”

Oh, God. Now, Sarah!

She pulled her weapon from her pocket and as Malcolm began to straighten, she swung with all her might. The heavy brass candlestick connected with the back of his head and with a grunt, he crumpled to the floor.

She dropped the candelabrum and jumped back, her hands flying to her face. Oh, dear Lord, forgive me. I’ve killed him. In a church.

But then Malcolm groaned and his eyelids fluttered.

Reverend Lennox grasped her arm. “Run, dear child,” he urged. “Just run.”

Sarah didn’t need any further encouragement. Picking up her skirts, she turned and fled down the aisle, heading for the door.

It wasn’t until she was flying along the road on her mare at full gallop, heading north again, that she dared a backward glance. The village of Balloch was receding. No one was in pursuit.

At least not yet. And she had well over twenty miles of unfamiliar ground to cover on her own.

She prayed she would find the way.

As evening descended, it seemed heaven had decided to answer her prayers. In the distance, Fairy Hill appeared. The rising moon illuminated the snowy peak, guiding her back toward Loch Rannoch and the husband of her heart.

Alex.

If only Malcolm would not follow. That would be a miracle indeed.