Bride of the Solway (33 page)

'Aye, sir.'

'She is a prisoner at
Langrigg
House. Fraser has tried to buy the help of some of the servants there, but they are all too afraid of James Elliott.'

'Aye, sir. '
Twas
always the way. He thrashed one wee lad till he was half-dead. And all but shot another. Nobody dares to cross him. Not any
mair
.'

'Not any more? Why? What has happened?'

if he
disna
get the money from someplace soon, he'll lose
Langrigg
. That's what I was
telt
. Without
Langrigg
, he'd have no power left. Selling Miss Cassie is all that he can do.'

'Have you heard something, Morag? These people will not talk to me. Or even to Fraser.'

'No, sir.
Outrels
.'

'What? Oh, outsiders.'

'At Gretna, when we had to bide a wee while for the horses, they
telt
me that Miss Cassie was to be wed. I
didna
believe it.'

Ross almost doubled up with pain. It was worse that being struck by a heavyweight prizefighter. He could not stifle a terrible groan.

Morag let out a strangled cry as the truth hit home. 'But ye'll save her, sir, won't ye? Ye must save Miss Cassie!'

He would try. By God, he would try. She could not have stopped loving him. He would not believe it. Not when he needed her...loved her so. Not when she needed him to take action to save her. Now.

'Tell me, Morag. Where will she be? He has her a prisoner. Where will he hold her?'

in her chamber, at the top o' the house.'

'How can I tell which is her room? How do I reach her?'

'Ye
canna
do that, sir. There's split-new bars on the window. And ye
canna
climb the wall. Ye
canna
get her out by that way.'

'So I have to go in through the house?'

She nodded.

'Will there be many servants? Able-bodied men?'

'Aye, surely. The
laird'll
expect ye. He'll shoot ye. And there'll be nobody to cry "
murther
" when he does.'

Ross beat one clenched fist into the other palm. A suicide attack would not save Cassie. There had to be another way. 'Tell me about the wedding, Morag.'

'What d'ye mean, sir?'

'How will it go forward? I know nothing of the customs in this part of the world.'

'Well, a wedding hereabouts can be just a declaration, with witnesses. There
disna
even have to be a minister.'

'So he could force her, without even leaving
Langrigg
?'

'Aye, but he'll no' do that. A lady has to be wed in the
kirk
. Or before the minister,
somewheres
else. The gentles wouldna accept the marriage, without that.'

'I see.' Ross bit his lip. There must be something here he could hold on to. 'So...either she'll be wed in the church, or her brother will
hiin
^ the minister to
Langrigg
House. Which church will it be? Which minister'?'

'Annan
kirk
. '
Twould
be
unco
strange to use another.
Langrigg
is on Annan parish.'

Ross put an arm round Morag's shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. 'Time for us to go back to Annan, Morag. I think I need to have an interview with this minister of yours.'

The minister,
Mr
McLean, was a bald, cheery-looking man with a very florid complexion. He readily admitted that Miss Cassandra Elliott was soon to be married. He himself was to officiate.

Ross began to stride up and down in the neat sitting room of the manse. It was all he could do to keep his anger in check, 'I have to tell you, sir, that this is a forced marriage. Miss Elliott does not go willingly to the altar. You must prevent it.'

'I could not do that, my dear sir. I have the word of the lady herself that it is her wish.'

'I don't believe it!' The harsh words were out before he had time to stop them. And then he
realised
they were true. She would never have agreed. Never.

'I beg your pardon, sir?' The minister's red face had flushed an unbecoming purple at the implied insult.

Ross swallowed hard, fighting his emotions. What had happened to his vaunted self-control and his soldier's experience? He needed the minister on his side, but he had just called him a liar. Or as good as.

'Forgive me,
Mr
McLean. I did not mean to suggest... I had it on good authority that the lady was not willing in this match. Or so I thought. But I can see that I was much too hasty in what I just said. I ask you to accept my apology.'

The minister nodded. His
colour
subsided and his cheerful manner returned. 'No offence taken, young man. No offence taken. I can quite understand that Miss Elliott might not have
favoured
the match at first. The groom is...well...somewhat older than the lady, and already twice widowed. But he is a man of good standing in society. And with a fine estate over by Newtown Douglas. I imagine Miss Elliott became reconciled to the match when she learned of all its many advantages.'

Ross would not let himself reply. The minister seemed to think that Cassie Elliott would willingly marry some lecherous old man, just for his wealth and status. She would not. Not his Cassie. Not when she was already in love with Ross. She would not!

So why had she told the minister that she agreed?
  
'

'You saw Miss Elliott alone, did you, sir?'

'No. Why would I do that? There was no need. Her brother was by. '
Tis
he who will lead her to the altar, after all.'

'Ah, yes. Of course. I had forgot. Will you be so good as to tell me, sir, when the wedding is to take place? I should very much like to be present.'

'Excellent. I like to see a good congregation for a wedding. All the
Langrigg
people will be there, of course, and some of the groom's people, too. But I am less sure about the gentlefolk hereabouts. They may not be aware...'

'When is it, sir?' Ross asked again, with quiet determination.

'Why, tomorrow morn.'

'So soon? My goodness. She must have changed her mind quite suddenly, sir.' Ross was trying to keep his tone light, it was only the other day that I learnt—from the lady's own lips—that she had set her face against the marriage.'

'Ah, well, sir. Women are fickle. Very fickle. Yesterday, I learned that the wedding was to go ahead with all speed.'

Ross's eyebrows rose, indeed?'

'Aye. And with the ceremony due to her station,
forbye
. Her brother asked for just a quiet wedding, at
Langrigg
. But Miss Elliott was adamant that she had to be married in the
kirk
, or nowhere.'

Ah! The vice around Ross's heart slackened half a notch. Now he understood. His Cassie—and she was his—was risking everything on one mad throw of the dice. And on Ross's resolve being strong enough.

It would be.

Cassie's wedding day dawned grey and cold. She was perversely glad of it. She could not have borne to see sunshine, or a blue sky. This day would bring a new beginning. Or put a period to her existence.

She had to trust that Ross would come for her. And somehow rescue her. But, if he did not, she would take matters into her own hands. Even if it was a sin.

She smoothed the skirts of her fine muslin petticoat and carefully unrolled the leather pouch that contained her sewing materials. She extracted her longest bodkin and tried it on her thumb. Aye, it was surely sharp enough. She wrapped it in a scrap of silk and stowed it carefully in her pocket.

But one weapon was not enough. What if someone noticed what she was concealing there? She needed to be sure she could carry out her plan. She scanned the bare chamber rapidly. There seemed to be nothing but the plain furniture and that cursed white gown that her brother had thrown across the bed an hour before.

In desperation, she pulled out the drawer of the night stand. Spills, wafers, a tinder box, some candle ends... Ah, the tiny little knife she had once used to pare her nails. She beamed in triumph. No one had thought to look there. She had forgotten it herself. The knife was small, but it was sharp. Sharp enough to stop a man in his tracks.

She dare not put it in her pocket. She must find a different hiding place for this. Where on earth...?

With a shudder, she remembered precisely when she was likely to need a weapon. A pocket was not the place to hide it. Very deliberately, she rolled the little knife in a muslin handkerchief and pushed it under the top of her silk stocking. Then, gritting her teeth, she donned her bridal gown and stood, facing the door, waiting for James to come for her.

'Ross,' she breathed, fingering the tiny bulge in her stocking through the layers of fine muslin and lace, 'I know you will come. I love you, Ross. I am yours. And I will be yours. Or no one's.'

Fraser should be back by now. Where on earth was the confounded man? Unless perhaps he'd had problems with Morag? It was certainly true that she did not take well to horses, but in the hired gig... ? There should have been no difficulty, surely? All Fraser had to do was deposit Morag, make a few arrangements and grease a few palms, and then return to Annan to collect his horse.

If he did not arrive soon, Ross would have to go ahead on his own. He stroked Hera's glossy neck. 'Easy, girl. You shall have your moment of glory soon enough. Just don't let me down when I put you to that great door.' Ross twisted the reins in his fingers, trying to remain calm. He knew it was utter madness. It would create an enormous scandal. There was no doubt of that. News of it might even reach London. And if it did not, it would certainly spread far enough around Dumfries to ensure that neither he nor Cassie would ever be able to return there. But what choice did he have?

Ross straightened his shoulders and shook his head, more at his own anxieties than anything else. He had gone through every possible avenue—some even more outrageous than this—but neither he, nor Fraser, had been able to arrive at a better solution. He would simply have to grit his teeth and carry out their plan. Cassie would understand, would she not? Yes. She was bound to. If the choice was between scandal and a forced marriage, she would understand. For she loved him. She did.

Hera was starting to fidget. They had been standing still too long. Perhaps the burghers of Annan were already beginning to wonder why an acknowledged wedding guest was still sitting on his horse at the other end of the street, rather than making his way on foot into the
kirk
. If Fraser did not appear in the next few minutes, Ross would have to make a move. Meanwhile, he sat quietly, trying to calm his marc and watching the various people entering the church. So far, almost all of them had seemed to belong to the lower classes: servants from
Langrigg
—some of whom he recognised—and probably servants from the groom's estate, too. One or two of the better dressed members of the congregation might be tradesmen from Annan itself. If they were suppliers to
Langrigg
—even if they did not get paid—they would want to attend.

Ah, but that was no tradesman! A pair of fine horses trotted down the High Street and halted by the church. The tall figure of Colonel Anstruther dismounted. The other rider, equally a gentleman though unknown to Ross, joined him and the pair entered the
kirk
. They were followed, a few minutes later, by three more gentlemen and two ladies. It did not matter that Ross had no idea who they were. The presence of gentlefolk would make a huge difference. No matter how many of his henchmen James Elliott had around him, he would have to behave like a gentlemen in the company of his peers.

It seemed the guests were now all assembled. For several minutes, no one else entered the church. Everyone was waiting for—

Ross found he was holding his breath, waiting too. At last, the moment came. The Elliott carriage drew up in front of the doorway. Ross strained in his saddle, but he could not see. His view of the entrance was obscured by the carriage.

She must have gone in. With her brother.