Page 38 of Kilty as Sin
MacGill.
Shewasmarrying a monster. “MacGill?” he rasped. “She’s marrying Laird MacGill?”
“Aye, aye!” Sister Mary Titania was nudging him toward the door. “I’ll fetch ye a sack of food for yer journey so ye dinnae have to stop. Yemustsave her from this marriage, even if it means marrying her yerself!”
Grace—hisGrace—was marrying Laird MacGill.
His boots felt heavier than normal as he tripped down the corridors, the nun chattering at his side. But he heard none of it.
His pulse was pounding in his ears, and he kept hearing Grace telling him about her betrothed. He hadn’t believed it at the time, but now her words made so much more sense.
He’d only known one man to be so heartless, so brutal. To take pleasure in another’s pain. To beat a broken woman to death in the snow. To abandon his bastard son because the mother had been a whore.
Laird MacGill.
His father.
When he stumbled into the sunlight and saw Horse waiting for him, ‘twas as if a spark had been laid to kindling. Suddenly, Barclayknewwhat he had to do.
There was no way he could allow Grace to marry a man like Laird MacGill. His father was a horrible monster, the last man on earth who deserved a treasure like her.
Barclay whirled on the Mother Superior and snatched the sack of food one of the other nuns had handed her. “I must ride.”
“Aye, ye must!” When she made little shooing motions, it set her whole habit to jiggling…but she was smiling. “Save her, Sir Hunter, and when ye have married her, send word to me, so I can switch my prayers to someone more deserving.”
He swung into the saddle and grinned down at the short nun. “There’s no woman more deserving of yer prayers.”
“God works in mysterious ways, Sir Hunter. He sent ye to her, did He no’? Now, get out of here.”
With her blessing ringing in his ears, Barclay whirled his horse about and headed for the ferry.
It had been three days since he’d left her at the MacDonald holding. As far as he knew, his father hadn’t been present, which means Laird MacDonald would have to send for him. Barclay figured—hoped—he still had a few days to reach her in time.
Hehadto.
He had to stop this wedding.
He had to save her from certain hell.
Chapter 8
The blackness was never-ending.Grace felt it clawing at her throat, her stomach. Sheknewshe was dead, and this was her punishment.
Surely, she hadn’t been so wicked in her life. Surely, she hadn’t earned eternal damnation for defying her father and wanting to be happy—had she?
If she had, Eternity had a lot to answer for, that was for certes!
But…
After days—weeks? Years?—in suffocating darkness, there were sounds. Then sensations. Then, very occasionally, bursts of light.
Words.
Grace MacDonald, do ye…
To have and to hold.
Honor and obey.
