Page 32 of The Scottish Duke
Alex opened the carriage door and left the vehicle, striding toward the crowd.
“Your Grace, do you want me to come with you?” Charles called after him.
“No, stay with the carriage,” he said.
Rank did have some privileges, one of those being that people listened to him. Yet he’d never faced down such a large mob before, one that was eerily quiet. The only voice he heard was a stentorian one, speaking of hellfire, damnation, and the evils of sin.
Lorna was more than willing to swear on the Bible if it meant protecting her child, even if the price she paid was being doomed to eternal judgment. But she’d waited too long. When she raised her hand to place it on the book, Reverend McGill withdrew his arm.
“The Session has met, daughter. They wish you gone from this place before you soil others with your presence. These good people have no wish to have a fornicator and a harlot in their midst.”
She knew enough about the Presbyterian religion to know that a Session was a meeting of church elders, men who were often influential in village life. Perhaps she was fortunate that the Reverend McGill hadn’t appeared with a contingent of angry men.
“Who is the father of your child?”
“Does that matter? Isn’t it my sin that’s the topic of discussion?”
She shouldn’t have said anything. She’d just made the situation worse, if that was possible.
His face grew more florid. His lips thinned to the point they disappeared in his face.
“Not only a fornicator and a harlot but a blasphemer! You will not name him?”
“He’s not a villager,” she said.
They stared at each other for a moment that lasted as long as a week. He could stand there and huff and puff, but she wasn’t going to say anything else. He’d already essentially banished her from the village. If he could, he would have put her in a cage in the village square. Behold, an object lesson.
“The good citizens of Wittan value their immortal souls. Unlike you. The congregants do not want you here.”
She and her father had often been looked at strangely during their travels. His, after all, was an odd occupation. As a botanist he was more interested in plants than people. To that end, he would go anywhere to see something that other people rarely saw or wouldn’t care about if they did. She’d often heard people jeer or deride him in the places they stayed. They didn’t know about his three books or that he had been a widely respected professor. He was just an odd man who climbed hills or traipsed through bogs to find things that grew in weird places.
It doesn’t matter what other people think,he’d said when she had the courage to mention the comments.
This was the first time she thought he might have been wrong. As she watched Reverend McGill, she realized it mattered what other people thought of her.
“Do you think news of your sin hasn’t traveled far and wide, daughter? Not only have you transgressed, but you show no signs of remorse. Nor have you asked forgiveness of the congregation.” He stepped forward. “And you entered into sin with one of those among us who should be above reproach.”
To her surprise, he turned and pointed at someone else.
“Fornicator!”
Shocked, she watched as the Duke of Kinross stepped out of the crowd.
He took in what was happening with one glance, then strode toward the reverend. Whatever he said to McGill silenced the minister.
The duke came to stand in front of her. “Get your things,” he said. “I’m taking you out of here.”
“I can’t leave,” she said. “It’s market day.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, MissGordon, but it’s about to be a market riot. Gather up your things.”
He swept up the bundles of herbs on the table, bruising half of them.
“Don’t do that,” she said, pushing his hand aside to gather them up with more care.
A moment later she glanced at the silent minister. He might not be talking, but he was certainly glaring at her.
“What did you say to him?” she asked the duke.
