“Lady Margaret Willingham…”

The pastor stressed her title before her name as though it must be a blasphemy. “Did you come here today of your own accord?”

“Of course.” Margaret said. It was the only course of action that would ensure her future to any degree. But though it didn’t alter the fact that within moments she would be entered into holy wedlock with the stranger at her side, and, of course, she couldn’t help but be terrified out of her wits, she was certainly here of her own accord.

“And you, Mr. Gabriel... I can’t read your scribble here,” he complained, pointing to the document in his hand. “What’s this?”

“Morgan,” Margaret offered, impatiently.

The pastor regarded her evenly. “Yes, well… Mr. Morgan, did you also arrive here of your own accord?”

“Well, of course he did.” Margaret said, anxious for the ceremony to be done, and wholly terrified that Gabriel would change his mind at the very last moment. “Do you see any shackles on this man’s wrists?”

The pastor did not answer Margaret, and she chafed. “Really, sirrah!” She brandished an upturned palm. “You don’t believe I could drag this man all this way per force?”

The pastor narrowed his gaze. “A woman’s tongue makes a frightful lash,” he said somberly, and then he turned to look at his wife, muttering, “They dinna need horsewhips.”

Margaret peered up at Gabriel, trying to gauge his expression. There was little she could read, not the tiniest suggestion of his thoughts, and she wondered if he could be suffering regrets—wondered, too, if he thought her tongue as wicked as the pastor did.

More than anything, she found herself wondering in particular if he might be thinking about their impending kiss, and her face heated over that last thought.

“Shut your gob, Duncan,” the wife proclaimed. “Dinna ye see the laddie is not unhappy? Gae on with the ceremony sae we can go tae bed. Leave the poor lass alone!”

Margaret stared at the whip in the woman’s hand, wondering if she truly would use it on her husband. No wonder the pastor was so discontented. Still, she appreciated the woman’s defense.

“Yes,” Gabriel answered, “I come of my own accord.”

The pastor shook his head, as though lamenting Gabriel’s decision. “Ach well, my son... if you’re dead set about it, and if ye truly must, d’ye take this lady tae be your lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, and keeping only to her so long as ye both shall live?”

“I do,” Gabriel said, without hesitation. And Margaret wondered how anyone could say it, if he didn’t mean it.

Examining him, not for the first time, he seemed to be a perfectly healthy male, and she was prepared to allow him some leeway in this area. After all, it wasn’t as though they were eloping, madly in love. It was a marriage of convenience. So why did the truth make her teeth grind?

“And, you, Lady Margaret...”

“I do,” Margaret said quickly, searching for, and handing the man a symbolic ring from her purse.

The pastor peered up from his volume, raising his brows. In disapproval? But, why? Why shouldn’t a woman provide her own rings? Of course, she wouldn’t have expected Gabriel to provide them. And neither had she bothered to procure any of her own; her mother’s ring would do just fine. And if she hadn’t brought one for Gabriel to wear, it was simply a matter of consideration on her part. Under the present conditions, she would never expect him to go about shackled by a wedding ring.

“Go on now… tis late,” she reminded the man. “We simply must make haste.”

The pastor shook his head, casting another dubious glance at Gabriel as though he wished to be certain he should continue.

Margaret resisted the urge to stomp the man’s foot as he reached out to receive her ring. He handed it to Gabriel. “‘Tis no’ too late,” he said ominously.

“It most certainly is.” Margaret argued, sounding far more like a fishwife than she cared to. She cast an uncertain glance at Gabriel, hoping his opinion hadn’t been skewed.

The pastor sighed, again, shaking his head. “Gae on, then, place it on her finger,” he directed Gabriel.

“Hurry,” Margaret urged. But she worried all for naught, because Gabriel peered down at her, his demeanor composed, and he had the audacity to wink at her as he slid the ring over her fourth finger, sending the most delicious shivers down her spine. For a very, very disconcerting instant, she forgot where they stood. His touch lingered, and then, when he withdrew his hand, Margaret shuddered in total awareness of the man standing at her side. In mere moments he would be her husband... and she knew him not at all. Her hand trembled as Gabriel held it.

“Now, Lady Margaret,” the pastor was saying, “repeat these words after me... with this ring I thee wed.”

“With this ring I thee wed.”

“With all my worldly possessions I thee endow.”

Margaret’s brows collided. She shook her head. “Not all,” she argued. “Merely some.” Else wise, why, indeed, would she be wedding anyone at all?

Gabriel merely smiled, but the pastor’s gaze snapped back up at him, looking as though he thought them both quite mad. “Go on,” Gabriel urged the man.”

The pastor grumbled, peering back at Margaret. He sighed, again, quite loudly. “With my body I thee worship,” he said cantankerously.

Margaret blinked, and for all her previous interjections, she suddenly couldn’t speak. She couldn’t promise Gabriel her body, and yet the thought did affect her, sending her pulses skittering. She looked up at Gabriel and saw a stranger—a stranger she knew no better than she did this confounded scotch-drinking preacher. She blinked again and saw the warmth nestled in the oddly familiar eyes. She blinked yet a third time, and his face blurred out of focus.

And then she swallowed convulsively, because there was simply no choice to be made here. She was no child to go flying away in fright. She had, in fact, contemplated this option quite thoroughly, and it had been her most sensible choice. So then... what was she waiting for?

“I thought you were in a hurry?” the pastor inquired, sounding perturbed.

Margaret frowned. Of course, she was. But she couldn’t get the words to squeeze past her constricted throat, even despite that this was clearly covered in their list of concerns. But, even if he was prepared to disregard her vows, the very act of speaking those very words threatened all her carefully laid plans. She could not promise to worship him with her body.

She was vaguely aware that Gabriel withdrew a timepiece from his vest pocket. He flipped it open, glanced at it, frowned, and then closed it quickly, replacing it into his vest. He gave her a brief nod, urging her to continue, and Margaret inhaled a breath, and blurted, “With this ring I thee wed. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The pastor slapped his book shut, outraged. “Ye canna change the wedding words, Lady Margaret!”

“I can and have,” Margaret informed him badly, with far greater conviction than she felt. “Please, do go on, sirrah!”

“Yes, please,” Gabriel insisted, coming to her defense. Margaret smiled up at him a little tremulously, uncertain as to whether she should be grateful for his compliance. He was staring again… specifically at her mouth… reminding her of their private arrangement just as surely as though he’d spoken it aloud. She lapped at her lips, averting her gaze.

The pastor glowered at Gabriel as though he were a goose gone mad. “Are ye daff, mon?” he said. “What are ye wantin’ with a wife if ye canna have the best o’ what comes wi’ her?”

“Leave them be, Duncan.” the pastor’s wife said.

Again, the pastor muttered something beneath his breath, and thrust his book into the wife’s hands. “Forasmuch as this man and this woman have consented to be together by giving and receiving a ring, I therefore declare them to be man and wife before God and these… witnesses” —he waved a hand indicating his wife and sleeping child— “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. Gae on tae bed,” he commanded his brood, shooing them off. “And dinna bar the door, Constance.” he said sternly, and with no small measure of disgust, he added, “You may now kiss your bride!”

Margaret let out a gasp, suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge that they were lawfully wed—she and this very intimate stranger who was staring so expectantly at her lips, with a smile that seemed so disconcertingly familiar.

Suddenly, she felt much too hot, and she couldn’t breathe. But a promise was a promise, she reminded herself. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she puckered her lips, tilted her face, squeezed her eyes closed, and waited, anticipating the brush of his lips…

“I believe I’ve changed my mind,” her husband said.

Margaret’s eyes flew wide. “Again?” Her brows collided. “What do you mean you’ve changed your mind? You cannot change your mind; it’s too late!”

“You don’t wish to marry her?” the pastor asked, sounding bemused, and perhaps a bit hopeful.

Margaret cast the man a withering glance.

“Of course I wish to marry her,” Gabriel said evenly. And more to her, he said, “I just don’t wish to kiss you, is all.”

Margaret’s face burned.

He didn’t wish to kiss her?

The pastor mumbled something uncharitable beneath his breath. “That’ll be half a guinea,” he demanded of Gabriel. “In all me bluidy days, I ha’e never seen the likes of this. Good luck, son. Ye’re gaein’ tae need it.”

Gabriel withdrew the appropriate payment from his pockets, offered an extra coin for the pastor’s troubles, thanked the man, gathered the necessary papers, looked them over, and then led Margaret out of the marrying house, leaving the pastor to complain quite bitterly, and the wife, having forgotten her whip for the time being, to soothe his riled temper.