Perfect Timing (15 page)

“You’d do that?” Frank raised his brows at the priest.

“It’s the only option. A couple cannot receive the Sacrament twice.” Father smiled at Ceara and Quincy. “We can, however, have a ceremony so ye can reaffirm yer vows, and sometimes at celebrations like that, couples dress as a bride and groom. It boils down to a personal choice. You can also invite friends to witness the exchange. Perhaps, by doing that, ye’ll feel it’s more of an actual marriage the second time around. Rest assured, it won’t be, though. Tonight will be the
real
marriage.”

“Sounds to me like you’ll be stickin’ your neck out, just askin’ to get your head whacked off,” Frank observed. “We need your help, Father Mike, but it ain’t our aim to get you in bad trouble.”

The priest smiled. “Nothing so severe as beheading will result, Frank, but if the bishop gets wind of a shenanigan like this, there will be serious repercussions. That said, sometimes a priest must follow his heart.” He sighed and directed his gaze at Quincy and Ceara. “Before I agree to take that step, I must ask both of ye a very serious question. Yer answers will be the deciding factor for me.”

Before the priest could voice his question, the doorbell rang again. Father Mike got up to answer the summons, but before he made it halfway there, Quincy heard the front door open. The security system chimed a warning, and then Loni’s mother, father, grandmother, and sister spilled into the room, still bundled up in winter outerwear. Quincy nearly groaned. He wasn’t surprised to see them. At the cancer institute in Portland, they’d been in constant attendance. Naturally now that Loni had been brought home, they’d quickly followed her south. Quincy liked Clint’s in-laws, but Loni’s grandmother and mom were spirited women, Scottish to the marrow of their bones, and bold as brass.

The grandmother stepped forward first, her arm extended. “Hello, Father Mike.” The pair shook hands. “You may not remember me. I’m Aislinn MacDuff, Loni’s grandmother.” She turned to refresh the priest’s memory about her companions. “My daughter, Annabel. Her husband, Matthew. And Loni’s sister, Deirdre Lavena.”

Father Mike clasped hands with everyone and then motioned for the Harrigans to squeeze over to create more seating. He needn’t have bothered, because Aislinn and Annabel were on a mission. Standing side by side, they were clearly mother and daughter, of similar slight builds with delicate features and deep blue eyes. Aislinn’s once dark hair had gone nearly white, but her face looked nearly as unlined as Annabel’s.

“No need for polite folderol,” Aislinn said. “We’ve been on the phone with Dee Dee and aren’t here for chitchat. My granddaughter is dying, and without your cooperation, Father, we’ll lose her.” Aislinn straightened her frail shoulders. Though eighty-four, she was still a power to be reckoned with, and Quincy could tell she didn’t plan to accept no as an answer. “I’ll tell you right up front, we are all devout Catholics, Father. I probably say my rosary more often than you do.”

Annabel chimed in. “And I do as well. We realize that you will be breaking all the rules to perform this marriage, and that you may be severely chastised, but rest assured, my mother and I will go to bat for you with the bishop. If necessary, we’ll even seek audience with the pope to defend your decision.”

Father Mike sighed. “I appreciate yer sense of urgency and yer loyalty to Loni. But this is a decision I must make without interference.”

Aislinn spotted Ceara in her antiquated gown and walked with amazing spryness across the carpet. A waft of stale cigarette stench trailed in her wake, a sure sign that she still chain-smoked. Quincy expected Aislinn to introduce herself to Ceara, but instead, much to his dismay, the old lady bent over to gather the folds of Ceara’s skirt in her hands, closed her eyes, and went absolutely still. After a moment, she let go of the silk and straightened. “Loni has it right. This girl is telling the truth.” Aislinn turned to the priest. “Like my granddaughter, I have the
sicht veesions
, Father. My gift isn’t as strong as Loni’s. I must always touch items belonging to a person to divine information about them. Touching Ceara’s clothing let me see into her past. Let me just say that where she came from sure as hell ain’t Kansas.”

Father Mike laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Ye’re preaching to the choir, Aislinn MacDuff. I’ve talked with Ceara, and I’m already convinced the lass is telling the truth. Now, if ye’ll
please
take a seat, I will talk with this couple and reach a decision, hopefully without yer input.”

Aislinn huffed but found a seat at the end of one sofa. Loni’s father, Matthew, led his wife and daughter to sit at the table in the dining room, which was open to the living area and near enough for an easy exchange of conversation.

The priest rested his gaze on Quincy and then searched Ceara’s eyes. “Do ye both comprehend the sanctity of marriage and understand that it is a spiritual bond that lasts a lifetime? Ye can’t use this marriage as a ‘get well’ ticket for Loni and then separate. If I bend the rules and sanction this marriage, I must feel confident that ye both have every intention of honoring yer vows and remaining married. Otherwise, ’twould be making a mockery of the Sacrament, and I cannot officiate.”

Quincy felt the noose around his throat growing tighter. He ran a finger around his collar, caught himself, and lowered his hand at once. When he glanced at Clint’s haggard face, he knew he couldn’t run from this obligation.

“I completely understand the sanctity of the Sacrament, Father. I also understand that even though it won’t be a marriage recognized immediately by the state or the Church, it will be recognized by God.” In order to protect Father Mike from any repercussions, Quincy was willing to jump through all the hoops necessary to make this a legal union, recorded by both Church and state. After that was accomplished, all bets would be off, though. He had no intention of remaining married to a woman he didn’t love. To
him
, that
would
make a mockery of the Sacrament. Maybe it was wrong of him to lie by omission, but desperate situations called for desperate measures. He soothed his conscience by thinking of all the people who’d been married in the Church and later sought annulments for one very good reason or another. Surely never consummating a marriage would be considered by the Vatican a viable reason for dissolution. “You can count me in.”

Ceara’s cheeks lost their color. She glanced at Quincy, her eyes mirroring so many emotions that he couldn’t pinpoint them all. He did know she looked frightened. “’Tis why I came, Father, to end this terrible curse. Now that I am here, I must follow through. I will honor me vows to Sir Quincy and be a faithful wife. ’Tis not a game I came here to play.”

Father Mike rubbed his hands together. “Me vestments are over at the church.” He sighed and shook his head. “I could be defrocked for doing this.” He emitted another, lengthier sigh. “Ah, well, I’m fast approaching retirement, anyway. There are worse things than living out me final days with a fishing pole in me hand.”

Aislinn MacDuff sprang to her feet. “And hopefully with a nice, cold beer in the other, Father. Let’s get this done.”

Quincy stood with everyone else and followed the priest from the rectory.

* * *

All his life, Quincy had envisioned being married during a beautiful nuptial Mass. The reality fell far short. Father Mike emerged from the sacristy wearing his white collar and the appropriate vestments, but he smelled strongly of popcorn. Quincy, his bride to be, and all the family members present had gathered at one side of the altar.

Without any preamble, Father herded everyone into their appropriate positions, opened a book, and cleared his throat to begin. Every intonation of the priest’s voice bounced around inside Quincy’s head, sounding like gibberish. Even so, Quincy retained the presence of mind to say his vows when prompted, and so did Ceara. He knew she had to be just as drained as he was, if not more so. What a fine pair they were, parroting promises neither of them felt in their hearts.

Clint had done well picking Quincy’s wedding band, but Ceara’s was way too big. As Quincy slipped it on her tiny finger, he wondered if humans had doubled in size over the last five hundred years. He wasn’t a large man, but he dwarfed his bride. In that moment, Quincy knew that he had finally come to believe Ceara’s crazy story. In her large blue eyes, he saw nothing to indicate deception. What he did see was a bride with nervous jitters. How old was she, anyway? He’d been looking at her practically all day, noting the delicacy of her features and the glorious glint of her hair, but he’d been so busy trying to disprove everything she said that he hadn’t taken time to judge her age.
Shit
. She looked young, really young, early twenties, maybe. Maybe even younger. Hell. Quincy hadn’t dated a woman under thirty-five in more than three years.

He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t a cradle robber. Only even as the objection sprang to his lips, he heard Father Mike pronounce them man and wife. It was done. He was asked to kiss his bride. When he grasped Ceara’s shoulders, he felt the tremors that racked her slight frame. He bent his head and quickly grazed her quivering mouth with his.
Double shit
. Thank God he’d figured a way out of this sham of a marriage, and there would be no consummation. He wasn’t into deflowering virgins, willing or otherwise, and Ceara, for all her determination to carry through with this ceremony, was definitely
otherwise
.

Everything after that passed in a blur for Quincy. The handshakes and hugs. The whispered congratulations, which rang hollow. He and Ceara had to stay behind to sign documents, which Father Mike would date later. Everyone else dashed back home to be near Loni, elated because she would now supposedly be past the crisis and on the road to recovery.

Quincy had driven halfway home before he realized he was completely on autopilot, so lost to his troubled thoughts and physical exhaustion that he could barely make out the road signs. Ceara said nothing. She just huddled on her side of the seat, staring straight ahead, her face pale in the glow of the dash lights. Quincy couldn’t think of a single thing to say that might reassure her. Hell, he needed some reassurance himself. He’d married a stranger. And, hello, if he found that alarming, how in the hell was she feeling? She’d told him early this morning that she was a virgin—
a virgin daughter of the O’Ceallaigh
. She was probably expecting him to jump her bones the second they stepped into his house. He wouldn’t do that. He’d
never
do that to any woman. But how could he tell her that? If he brought it up, she’d be bound to think he was hoping to do that very thing.

When they reached his ranch, Quincy pulled the truck up in front of the house and turned off the ignition. The vehicle’s interior and exterior lights remained on for a few seconds, but the sudden silence after the diesel engine sputtered out was absolute, broken only by the pop of cooling metal under the truck hood.

“Well, we’re home.” It was all Quincy could think to say.

“Perhaps ye are home, Sir Quincy, but I am na and never shall be again.”

Quincy didn’t want to seem unfeeling, but the bottom line was, he had played no part in her departure from Ireland, and he couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t come. Thinking that way made him feel like a bastard. If he was coming to believe that Ceara was actually from another century, then he needed to wrap his mind around the fact that this marriage might be Loni’s only salvation, not to mention that of his other sisters-in-law.

“I know this must be—” Quincy broke off. He detested it when anyone patronized him. “Well, I don’t know how you feel. All I can really say is that somehow we have to make the best of this.”

Quincy exited the vehicle, slammed his door, and walked around the front bumper to help Ceara get out. To his surprise, she made no attempt to manage by herself this time, a telltale sign that she was even more exhausted than he was. As he opened her door and grasped her elbow, he made a mental note to get some food and drink into her. So far as he knew, all she’d eaten that day were a few bites of Polish sausage soup.

They ascended the steps. Quincy unlocked the door and opened it, guiding his wife over the threshold in front of him. He reached to the right to flip the wall switch. Light bathed the kitchen. Ceara blinked owlishly.

“’Tis so bright.” She looked up at the lights embedded in the ash tongue-and-groove ceiling. “Do ye not worry about the candle flames setting fire to the wood?”

Quincy glanced up. “There aren’t any candles up there, Ceara, only bulbs powered by electricity.”

“Electricity?”

Quincy helped her out of the jacket and hung it on the coat tree. “Yeah, electricity. It’s sort of like lightning during a storm, only with modern technology we’ve learned how to harness it and feed it through wires for power.”

She frowned, clearly in over her head, which Quincy thought was understandable. He didn’t fully comprehend how electricity worked himself, and he’d been using it all his life. “We need to get something to eat.”

He no sooner spoke than his cell phone whinnied. He drew the apparatus from the case riding his belt and saw his own image on the screen. Clint, wanting to FaceTime. Quincy unlocked the phone and answered. Only it wasn’t his brother’s face that popped up. Aislinn MacDuff stared back at him. Ceara, still standing at his elbow, gasped when she saw the image.

Leaning close, she asked, “How did she get in there, pray? Is it a modern-day crystal ball, only shaped different?”

“I’ll explain later,” Quincy whispered. “Hi, Aislinn.”

Aislinn clearly meant to waste no time on pleasantries. “It didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work?” Quincy saw the buttons on the old lady’s blouse, then the top of Clint and Loni’s cooking range. “Aislinn, are you still there?”

“I’m here. And it’s the marriage that didn’t work! Loni’s as cold as death. I’m in the kitchen filling bottles with hot water. We need to get her body temp up.” Quincy glimpsed Aislinn’s face again and saw tears glistening in her eyes. “We’re losing her, Quincy. Clint is about to fall apart. He expected to see an improvement when we got back. Instead she’s worse.”