Arsenic and Old Armor (6 page)

The confident look on Iain’s face told
Marion that she was not going to like the suggestion, whatever it
was.

“
Pray continue,” the
prioress instructed.

“
The betrothal is well
established, and the banns have all been read,” Luke said. “The
wedding that is to take place at Blackthorn Hall in little more
than a fortnight is ceremonial. It is simply an opportunity to feed
hundreds of guests and to allow everyone to witness a momentous
union of the Armstrong and McCall clans.”

Marion felt like she was standing on the
edge of a cliff, ready to be pushed. Or to jump. She watched
Brother Luke wipe at the dust on his cloak before continuing.

“
That celebration could
still go on as planned, but what I would suggest is to have these
two young people marry before we leave the convent.”

“
That is impossible,”
Marion cried out.

“
Why is it impossible?”
Iain asked coolly. “You’re the one who brought up the
inappropriateness of the travel arrangements.”

“
My intention was to have
female companionship during what would surely be a very dull and
arduous journey.”

“
Now you will have the
company of your husband to keep you entertained,” he said with
finality. He turned to the prioress. “Fall is already here. The
rivers are running higher, and the bad weather is nearly upon us.
It will be impossible for me to arrange an escort to send your nuns
back before winter. This suggestion is a good one. It will give
Lady Marion and myself the opportunity to know each other better
before we get back to Blackthorn Hall.”

“
I’ll not do it.” Marion
glared up at him. “I’ll not marry you without…without my family
around me.”

“
You claim we have been
like a family to you for these past twelve years,” the prioress
responded, turning to Marion. “Is that not so?”

The old woman’s voice had become harsh
again. She was ready to get rid of her.

“
It is so,” Marion croaked,
fighting the sudden tears that were burning her eyes.

“
Then we shall stand
witness to this ceremony.” She motioned to Sister Beatrice, not
allowing Marion to say anything more. “Please alert the sisters and
gather everyone in the chapel. I should like the ceremony to take
place prior to noon prayers.” She next turned to Brother Luke. “I
expect you would like to assist our chaplain in the blessing of
this union?”

“
I would be honored,” the
cleric replied, beaming cheerfully.

“
And you, daughter, need to
change into something more suited to this joyous occasion than what
you are wearing now.”

Marion looked at her, trying to understand
what was happening.

“
She has no fine dresses,”
Sister Beatrice interjected.

“
Well, find her something
more suitable. Were there not some gowns left here when Lady
Fiona…?”

Marion sat down and buried
her face in her hands. Everyone had lost their minds. This did not
make any sense. She had been a child when she was sent away from
Fleet Tower. She didn’t know Iain Armstrong then. She knew him less
now. She didn’t care for him. In fact, she despised him for
separating her from her aunts. And his feelings were no different
toward her. And what did she know about being a wife?
Nothing
.

That’s it, she decided, standing up. She
simply could not marry him.

She married him.

Just as Iain wanted, they were on the road
by noon. No escort of shriveled and overly protective nuns, either,
only the affable Brother Luke and a troop of grinning Armstrong and
McCall warriors. The men were obviously entertained by the entire
turn of events, never mind happy to be heading home.

Everything was finally going according to
plan…with the little exception of three large trunks Marion had
insisted on taking back to Fleet Tower. Twelve years of collected
memories, she’d called them.

The wedding was behind them, but Iain had to
admit that it hadn’t been the most joyous of ceremonies. Throughout
the proceedings, Marion had not once stopped grousing about her
distaste for the arrangements. And not even a minute after Brother
Luke and the wee mouse of a chaplain had said the final prayers,
pronouncing them husband and wife, she had run out of the chapel
alone. Iain had simply accepted the congratulations of the prioress
and his own men for both of them.

Outside, the horses were saddled and ready.
Her trunks were stacked and lashed on a cart. Marion, naturally,
was nowhere to be found. Her absence, however, was not prolonged,
and more than a few jaws dropped when she entered the courtyard.
She had changed into a black gown with a black hood and veil. She
appeared to be in mourning.

Iain looked over his shoulder at his wife,
riding one of the spare horses he’d brought with him on the journey
north. She had positioned herself toward the rear of the group. Her
eyes met his and then she quickly looked away. He turned his face
forward to hide his smile.

Several hours later, night was slowly
descending on them. Since leaving the priory, she had spoken very
few words, and none to him. He was certain that Marion’s mood was
every bit as sour as when they had left, despite Brother Luke’s
attempts to engage her in conversation. The cleric caught Iain’s
glance and separated himself from the mourning bride, joining him
in the front of the group.

“
I believe it is time to
find a place to set up camp for the night.”

Iain looked ahead at the road snaking
through the mountains. They had been traveling at a slow pace
because the ground was soft from the previous week of rain. “Not
yet.”

“
Lady Marion is not
accustomed to spending so many hours on horseback, don’t forget,”
Brother Luke objected. “Why, the poor lass must be hungry and
thirsty, too.”

“
You wouldn’t be a wee bit
hungry, now, would you, Uncle?”

“
Not I,” the monk said
scoffingly. “I’m just thinking of the lass.”

“
Very noble,” Iain said,
smiling. “There are dry meats, oatcakes, and a skin of wine in her
saddle, if she wants it.”

“
But that is not
enough.”

“
Did she say
so?”

“
No. She is being shy
and—”

“
We continue to ride,
Uncle.”

“
Show her some kindness,
and perhaps you’ll receive some of the same,” the older man
advised.

“
I doubt it.”

“
Listen, nephew. This is no
way to start a marriage. You’re older, wiser. Consider her
situation over the past twelve years. A woman needs to be wooed,
lad.”

Iain grunted. “We are not stopping. Not
yet.”

The curses mumbled under the cleric’s breath
might have seemed contradictory to his profession, but Iain took no
offense. He knew his uncle was often directed more by his belly
than by any higher power. Iain spurred his horse on.

Marion’s behavior at the chapel and since
then was beginning to bother him. There had never been any doubt in
Iain’s mind who would become his wife. It surprised him that she
thought any different. He couldn’t understand the childishness, the
temper, the attitude. His uncle was correct in saying that this was
no way to start a marriage, and Iain was getting too old to let
this fester for long. Marion needed to learn a lesson. She needed
to change her attitude before they reached Blackthorn Hall.

The temperature continued to drop and the
Highland air was downright cold by the time night was fully upon
them. It was dangerous trying to push ahead after nightfall.
Darkness hid many dangers. Putting his stubbornness aside, Iain
decided it was time to stop for the night.

Leading his men down into a wooded glen, he
quickly found a flat area covered with soft pine needles beneath a
grove of trees. A river ran past, not too far down the hill. He
could hear the burbling water through the encroaching gloom. The
Armstrong warriors took care in looking about the area before
seeing to the horses and starting to set up camp. It seemed to be a
good place, and Iain was satisfied.

He looked around him for his new wife. In
the midst of the commotion, no one was watching her. Just as a hint
of concern began to rise in his throat, he spotted Marion,
dismounted and walking by herself in the direction of the river.
Iain handed his horse to one of his men and followed her.

Her pace was proof enough that she was made
of hardy stock. She was definitely not as fatigued as Brother Luke
thought she was. There was a break in the trees ahead, and he
watched her cross a small meadow. Patches of heather looked like
wild beasts crouching in wait, but she hardly gave them a glance as
she passed. On the far side, Marion entered the line of trees, and
Iain lost sight of her. A moment later, he reached the fast-running
river. With the heavy rains, the surface was a raging torrent.
Water rushed around and over the rocks that bordered it. She was
nowhere in sight.

“
Marion!” he shouted,
looking down the river. If she fell in, she could be halfway to
Loch Lomond.

“
Don’t turn
around.”

Her sharp words caused him to do exactly the
opposite of what he was told.

“
Can I not get a moment’s
privacy?” she yelled at him. She was crouched under a tree, not
half a dozen steps from the river. He turned around. “I’ll have you
to know that since our so-called wedding ceremony, my dislike of
you has multiplied tenfold.”

“
I’m very sorry to hear
that, lass. Perhaps tomorrow we could increase that to twentyfold
and cover twice the distance.” He leaned a shoulder against a tree.
“You still haven’t told me why I shouldn’t be watching
you.”

“
You’re an ogre,” she
replied. “Your complete lack of consideration for anyone but
yourself makes me think of strangling you with my bare
hands.”

“
I think you should pursue
such thoughts. Do your worst.”

“
Really?”

“
I’ve nothing to lose,”
Iain said. “And anyway, strangling me might just improve your sour
attitude.”

“
My
sour attitude?”

“
I promise not to put up a
fight,” he said encouragingly.

“
You, Iain Armstrong, are a
liar and a coward!” He heard her rising to her feet and shaking out
her skirts. “But you’d not be foolish enough to let me get my two
hands around your miserable throat.”

She walked to the edge of the river and
stepped onto a couple of sizable rocks. She leaned down and washed
her hands and her face.

Iain wondered if she knew how slippery those
rocks could be. He came up behind her.

“
I think you’re far too
timid. Here I am giving you the chance you claim you’re looking
for, but you refuse to take it.”

She stood up and whirled about too fast.
There was no way he could reach her in time. She desperately waved
her arms and fell backward into the river.

“
Now, that was brilliant,”
he muttered, clambering over the rocks to reach her. When Marion
surfaced, she was in the middle of the river, way out of his reach
and moving quickly.

“
Help me,” she called
before going under again. The moon moved behind the
clouds.

It didn’t matter if she knew how to swim or
not. The current was strong. Iain unbuckled his sword and threw it
on the riverbed. As he flung off his cloak, he turned and dived in
after her. The rush of cold water nearly took Iain’s breath away.
Rocks scratched his legs as he sailed by them. He tried to stay
afloat and avoid smashing into the boulders.

“
Marion!” he shouted. The
roar of the water was his only answer.

A sense of urgency seized him. All their
differences aside, Iain was responsible for her. He was responsible
for this accident. His stubbornness had caused this. She didn’t
deserve to drown. Her life had been placed into his hands by her
father as the earl drew his last breath on the battlefield. He had
to save her.

He didn’t know what lay in their path, where
the next bend in the river led. He wasn’t sure if she was strong
enough to keep her head above water.

“
Marion!” he shouted again,
swimming with the current and scanning both shores for some sign of
her. The moon had once again emerged from the sea of
clouds.

Iain thought he heard a scream from
somewhere ahead. It could have been a bird in the night. He wished
he could believe Marion was that bird, sitting on a branch of a
tree and laughing at him as he bobbed up and down like an apple in
the water. The river became narrower but deeper, and he felt
himself drop down a number of levels. Where the current passed
between large rocks, the flow of the water was stronger and faster.
He tried to remember if there were any waterfalls ahead.

He found himself making
promises with his Maker.
Please, let her
live
. He would try harder. They
would
get
along.

With its roots pulled loose from the bank, a
tree stretched across the river ahead. His heart jumped with joy
when he spotted the dark figure holding on to the very end of one
limb.

“
Marion!” he shouted,
gliding in long strokes toward the figure.

She turned and stretched a hand toward him.
The water was pushing him away from the tree. In a moment, he’d
sweep past her. He swam hard across the current, trying to close
the distance to her. But the river had a mind of its own, pushing
him away.