the right path, and there, looming straight ahead, was the tall spire of St. Agnes parish, accurately resembling the one in the picture Roan had printed off the Internet. There were only two other like-size churches in the historic section and he’d passed them both going through the roundabout and getting lost on the waterfront. So it had to be the one. The massive, redbrick building butted right up against the road, leaving no room for parking, although he did spy a sleek black town car, idling at the curb at the far end of the building. He assumed, given the flowers and ribbons tied to the back, that it was the car the newly wedded couple would get in upon exiting the chapel, and though he was tempted to park in front of it in order to get inside the church as quickly as possible, he couldn’t risk coming out later to find his car had been towed away.
There wasn’t a soul outside the church, which meant the ceremony had probably already started. If he stationed himself in one of the rear pews, he would have a good opportunity to scan all the guests as they filed out behind the bride and groom, and hopefully gain the attention of Miss Katie McAuley.
He turned into a small alleyway just before the church, hoping to find parking, and, to his relief, there was a car park just beyond the stonewalled prayer garden situated at the rear of the church. He managed to make the turn without careening into anything, although an older woman walking a very small bundle of fluff had looked quite alarmed for a moment. She’d all but yanked her little lap rat clear across the road when he’d turned a bit wildly at the last moment. He would have waved an apology, but he was using all his available appendages to maneuver the vehicle safely through the narrow alley and into the car park. He crawled through each and every row of the sizable lot looking for the first available space—which wasn’t to be found.
“Who’s marrying here, royalty?” he muttered, then finally spied a wee area at a vee in the rows. Grateful for the size of his car for the first time, he managed to nudge the tin can into the narrow slot and exit without doing any further damage to himself or the cars on either side.
He winced a little as he straightened out his limbs and spine, and adjusted what needed adjusting. He patted his sporran, which contained his wallet, passport, and the picture of Miss McAuley, then locked the thing up before heading across the paved lot at a fast lope.
He thought about slipping in through a rear door, but not being familiar with the church, with his luck he’d pop in right at the pulpit, or something equally unfortunate. So, after a glimpse up the path that led into the beautifully sculpted prayer garden, he opted to take a fast jog along the cobblestone walkway that led around to the front entrance of the main chapel. But his plan faltered before he could take off—when he heard the swearing.
It was coming from…the prayer garden? He took several steps along the hand-laid stone pathway. Weeping he could understand in such a place…but swearing? An argument perhaps? Either with God himself or someone mortal, he didn’t know. Either way, it wasn’t his concern, but he didn’t turn back right away. The voice grew louder. Just one. A woman. A very unhappy woman from the sound of it.
He’d never been one to turn his back on another person’s troubles. If there was a broken-down car along the lane, he stopped to help get it back up and running. If a visitor to the island got lost out on one of the trails, or…anywhere, really, he guided them back to the familiar. Of course, given the entire loop around the island was just shy of ten kilometers, perhaps that wouldn’t exactly earn him sainthood, but ignoring a plea for help went against his grain. Only…the woman in question wasn’t pleading so much as…ranting. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever hearing a member of the opposite sex use such an…inventive string of invectives such as was being issued forth.
He definitely had no business intruding, and no real desire to confront a distraught woman, but found himself pausing another second longer when there was a break in the rant. Probably to regain her breath, he thought, somewhat uncharitably, but waited to see if there was another party as equally invested in the…conversation…as she was. How the other party would respond to such an outpouring, he had no idea, but he doubted it would be received all that well—which meant he’d be put in the position of deciding whether or not the woman could use a little…what did the Yanks call it? Backup?
But there was no second voice. And the woman didn’t start up again. He let out a little sigh of relief. He needed to get inside the church without further delay. But before he could change direction, a vivid swirl of white satin and lace whipped out past the end of one of the tall, manicured hedgerows. Quite an abundance of it, actually. It disappeared swiftly, as if snatched away.
He was truly torn. If he wasn’t mistaken, the ranting woman was the bride. An exceedingly unhappy bride, from the sound of it, which, again, was not his concern. His job was clear and quite tightly focused. Find Katie McAuley, convince her he wasn’t a madman, but a man with a problem only she could help him solve. On the interminably long flight over, he’d decided his best bet was to follow Shay’s advice and put the entire thing forward to her as a business agreement. In fact, he had the preliminary documents Shay had drawn up, in the car with him.
He was planning to use them only as talking points, a guideline of what he expected, but if she agreed to help him, pretty much everything was open to negotiation. He’d make sure she was adequately compensated. If there was such compensation for legally wedding a complete stranger to keep him from losing his land and his people.
Now Graham was the one swearing, albeit under his breath. There had to be some other way to thwart Iain McAuley’s threat. Of course, right that very second, the smarmy horse’s arse was quite likely using that genetically blessed visage of his to court any number of available MacLeod lasses. The MacLeods had been quite prolific in their ability to procreate members of the opposite sex…unlike the past generation of McAuleys. And while Graham liked to think he had the loyalty of his people locked up tight, it would only take one lass whose head could be turned by that pretty face of Iain’s to ruin it all. Given the challenges the young people of Kinloch had finding someone on the island to date, much less marry—someone who wasn’t already a relative—aye, but he couldn’t imagine it would be all that hard a task for the newly transplanted McAuley.
To Graham the idea that his fate and the future of his homeland lay in the hands of a complete stranger and a young, vulnerable woman was disturbing to say the least.
He purposely didn’t contrast and compare how equally disturbing his specific mission was. After all, his goal was nothing if not purely motivated. He had no idea what Iain McAuley’s goals or motives were—something Shay and Roan were supposed to be digging into during his absence.
So, the very last thing he should be concerning himself with, was the trials and tribulations of the woman presently stalking about the prayer garden. Except if she was indeed the bride, then the ceremony certainly wasn’t taking place at that particular moment, which bought him time to find Katie. Though it was doubtful he could have any meaningful conversation with her regarding his mission—not while crammed into a pew, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, with other complete strangers—he could possibly secure a moment of her time once the ceremony was completed.
Which it wouldn’t be…as long as the bride was out there muttering and swearing. So, he could either go and take advantage of the time stall…or offer whatever assistance he could. Those were his options, which were rendered moot a moment later when he heard the first sniffle, followed by a stifled sob.
Bollocks.
Crying women were near the top of the list of things he would rather not deal with. But only a complete cad would leave a bride sobbing behind her own wedding chapel—even if he didn’t know her, or a single member of the wedding party personally. Or course, that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. Muttering under his breath about the utter ridiculousness of stupid clan laws, wild goose chases, not to mention crashing the wedding of complete strangers, he
