Page 43 of Forbidden Dark Vows

I wait for them to drive away before I stand up, helping Ruby onto her feet. “We’ll stay here until the next bus pulls in, then we’ll run for it. They’ll probably wait at the farmhouse for us to come back.”

Ruby nods. “Eileen will keep them talking.” She chews her bottom lip. “I hope she doesn’t think badly of us when we don’t come back for our stuff. It makes us look guilty.”

“I don’t think Eileen will jump to conclusions without hearing all the facts.” I don’t know how I know this, but I’m certain I’m right. Eileen is the kind of woman who tells it like it is and pays no attention to idle gossip. “Besides, I think she liked having us around.”

Ruby rests her head against my chest, and I hold her tightly.

I don’t say it out loud, but I was starting to feel like we could stick around for a while too.

Day has melted into twilight when the bus pulls around the corner heading towards the bus stop. The sign on the front, in bold black letters, reads: GRETNA GREEN.

15

RUBY

It’s disappointinghow quickly the fun has been sucked out of running from the police. I don’t say anything to Harry, but I was starting to grow roots in the charming little fishing village. Not because I wanted to spend the rest of my life there, but simply because everyone had opened their arms and welcomed us into their fold.

They thought of us as Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff, and that’s who we were. Without even trying.

In Gretna, we find a guest house, a rambling whitewashed building surrounded by heather-filled flowerbeds. We check in under a different name: Earnshaw. And sleep in each other’s arms, our tummies rumbling because we haven’t eaten since Eileen’s cooked breakfast the morning before.

Gretna is quirky. Busier than the fishing village, it doesn’t take us long to figure out that it’s the Scottish version of Vegas: people elope to Gretna Green to get married. Or at least they used to, before legal requirements got in the way.

We wander around the pretty wedding venues, reading various plaques and notices about the village’s history. It seems that Gretna became a popular runaway wedding destination when the law in England and Wales prevented people under the age of 21 from marrying without parental permission. The same law didn’t apply in Scotland, and with Gretna being just across the border, word quickly got around.

“I knew there was a reason we caught that bus.” Harry tries out a Scottish accent and fails epically.

I laugh at him. “Ach, get away with ye.”

He shakes his head. “How have you picked it up so quickly?”

“I pay attention.”

We’re strolling past the wedding anvil outside the old Blacksmiths Shop, when a woman wearing an ivory lace-trimmed dress and carrying a petite posy of pink flowers comes over to us. Her partner is wearing a traditional kilt complete with furry sporran, white shirt and black jacket.

“Hello,” the woman says. “This might be a bit of a strange request, but would you be our witnesses? You see, we’re getting married today, now actually, and well, we didn’t want to tell anyone, and now we need someone to sign the marriage certificate.”

I glance at Harry, and he is beaming at the couple and shaking the man’s hand. “We’d love to be your witnesses. Wouldn’t we, Ruby?”

Their happiness is infectious.

We follow them into the old smithy where the registrar is waiting to complete the simple ceremony. I thought I wouldfeel awkward encroaching on the wedding of two complete strangers, but it feels strangely intimate, and I realize that it’s an honor to be invited to share their special moment with them.

I lean against Harry and wonder if this will be us one day. How will it feel to marry Harry? “You should get married in a kilt,” I whisper in his ear. “They’re sexy.”

“Only if we get married in the summer.”

When the registrar completes the ceremony by announcing, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” tears well in my eyes.

I can’t look at Harry. I know that he asked me to marry him in the hospital after his accident, and I’ve refused to acknowledge that he was serious, but knowing what I know now about him, I understand that he meant every word. He wants to marry me … now… But he’ll change his mind when we get back to Chicago and he speaks to my mom.

The couple kiss. I can see it in their eyes: this is their happy-ever-after moment.

I envy them this quiet wedding, their vows witnessed by two people they met on the street outside. I envy them for the freedom to fall in love and plan a future together, no running away, no fights, no secrets. I wonder if they realize how lucky they are.

They ask us to have a celebratory drink with them, and we accept. I wish I’d had time to buy some clean clothes, but they’re so wrapped up in their own little wedding bubble that they don’t even seem to realize that my jeans have grubby patches on the knees and my sweater has been worn three days in a row.

The pub is old-fashioned with dimmed lights, red velvet cushions on the seats, and a selection of desiccated bouquets strung around the walls, obviously donated by people who have gotten married here.

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