Page 31 of The Scottish Duke
The appearance of the minister at the market wasn’t wholly unexpected. Mrs.MacDonald had threatened to speak to him days ago. Evidently, the woman had found the opportunity to do so. Lorna thought she might be addressed after church services, but she never thought Reverend McGill would choose the crowded square to single her out.
The man was dressed in severe black with a white knotted neckpiece. His bushy hair was gray and so were the sideburns and the beard that cupped the lower half of his face. A thin mouth and deep vertical grooves etched into his skin indicated that this was a man who didn’t see much humor or good in the world.
“Is it true that you have whored?” he asked.
She knew, only too well, that the man could shout the rafters down. Any moment now he was going to raise his orator’s voice so the entire village could hear him.
What could she say to stop him? Not one word or explanation came to mind.
It was the Duke of Kinross’s fault. God should not have created such a beautiful creature. I was only human.
Hardly something she would say to a minister, especially Reverend McGill.
Nan had warned her, but she had never envisioned a scene like this. She met the eyes of several of the villagers she had gotten to know over the last months. Mrs.McGivry, who bought her tea to soothe her toothache. Mr.Wilson, who used her comfrey balm to ease the ache in his back. Their eyes were flat and condemning, even as Reverend McGill’s voice grew louder.
He pointed a long bony finger at her and asked, “Are you a widow or a whore, Lorna Gordon?”
She was too late. His voice was already loud enough to summon the dead from their graves.
People stopped and turned. The entire village seemed to be on the green, and each inhabitant was now staring at her.
Her cheeks prickled with warmth.
His attention dropped to her stomach. She placed her hand atop it as if to protect her child from his venomous look.
He stepped toward her, reached into his cloak, and pulled out a Bible.
“Swear to your widowhood, woman,” he said, stretching out his hand. “And no one will gainsay you. Upon this holy book will you swear to be free of fornication and whoredom?”
He wanted her to swear that she’d been married? That she wasn’t an unwed mother?
When she hesitated, he smiled.
“God sees your sin, daughter,” he said, the Bible still held out in front of her.
What did he expect her to do, fall to her knees and beg for his forgiveness? Would that work? She’d never heard of the man comforting anyone. But condemnation? He evidently relished that part of his ecclesiastical duties.
He stood in the same stance, arm outstretched, hand holding the Bible, legs widened, almost as if he were going into battle. Did he think that she epitomized the Devil himself? Did the good reverend see himself on the side of the angels?
At first there were only a few people behind Reverend McGill. Then they formed a ring around the reverend and her. Now the circle was three deep, as if the entire village had left their houses on this miserable gray afternoon and were intent on watching this drama play out.
Alex entered the carriage after giving his driver instructions to take him to Wittan Village. He was under no illusions that Charles was ignorant of who he was going to see. The man might be the epitome of tact, but he kept his eyes and ears open.
Alex had never thought to be in this situation. He’d behaved in a way that would have outraged his father. No doubt the situation would amuse his uncle no end. If possible, he wanted to make sure Thomas never heard about Lorna.
Outside the village, the carriage slowed, then came to a stop. Alex heard his driver’s voice through the metal grate.
“Your Grace, it looks like there’s some kind of disturbance in the village square.”
“What kind of disturbance?”
“It’s a mob, sir, and they’re surrounding a woman.”
When Charles spoke again, there was a curious note to his voice.
“Your Grace, it appears to be MissGordon.”
Of course Charles would know her.
