Page 20 of Heather and the Highlander
“Now what?” Heather asked, fearing the worst.
Niall looked out. “Ah, we’re here. Gretna Green.”
Nervousness blossomed in Heather. “Are you sure this will turn out all right? I mean…marriage…”
“Only a little marriage,” he reminded her. “And then we’ll both be free again.”
Niall ushered her out of the carriage and over to the nearest building, which happened to be a blacksmith.
“Horseshoeing or wedding?” the burly man asked, winking at Heather.
“Wedding,” Niall replied.
“Oh, aye. One moment.” The smith put aside the tools he’d been working with and walked out into the sunshine, brushing his hands on his heavy leather apron.
“So. A wedding. Oh, right, I need the book.” He popped back into the smithy and returned with a ledger, which he placed on a table that was ready for any impromptu wedding that might occur.
Heather smoothed out the wrinkles in her hand-me-down dress. Unlike many girls, she never dreamed of a perfect wedding day. But she definitely never thought she’d be married in a secondhand dress while on the run.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered out the side of his mouth. “A pretty face suits the dish-cloth.”
“What?”
“That is…it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, because you’re fair of face, ye ken?” Niall assured her. His accent seemed to thicken when he was jumpy.
And no man was jumpier than one at his own wedding.
“Name?” the blacksmith asked, pen poised above the book.
“Niall MacNair,” he replied. “Of Carregness.”
The blacksmith raised an eyebrow. “Proper Scotsman,” he murmured, writing it down. “What’s a man like you need to come to Gretna Green for?”
“It’s complicated,” Niall said. “But the important thing is that we both want to be married. And we are in a bit of a hurry.”
“You want to marry this gentleman?” the blacksmith asked, turning to her.
“Oh, yes, very much.” Heather said quickly. Much more than she wanted to marry Mr. Webb!
“And your name, lass?”
“Miss Heather Hayes, of Lancashire.”
“Hmm. Scottish groom, English bride. So that’s why the rush. Well, let’s get to it.”
“Wait!” Niall said.
Heather thought he was backing out, but he instead pulled a ring from his pocket.
“You had a ring at the ready?” she asked, more confused than ever.
“My mother’s,” said Niall. “One of the heirlooms I couldn’t bear to part with down in London. Let’s put it to better use now.”
The blacksmith conducted the ceremony with the confidence of someone who’d done this many, many times before. Niall and Heather agreed to love and respect and honor each other till the end of their days. At the blacksmith’s instruction, Niall slid the ring on her finger. Heather blinked at the quality of the sapphire. This was no mere trinket.
And then it was over. They were married.
“Eh, aren’t ye going to kiss the lass?” the blacksmith asked Niall.
