The following day, Father Whyte arrived. Winnie announced the priest's arrival. Had it been Marcus, Elise would have taken the sgian dubh from the wall in the great hall and put it through his heart. That would be a more merciful end than the one he would suffer if his foolishness got them married.
Father Whyte asked if all were well with the wedding arrangements. "A week is a short time to prepare a wedding feast."
"A week?" Elise replied, then remembered Marcus saying the wedding would take place soon. He hadn't said how soon.
What if you did go through with the marriage, a quiet voice asked?
Then Price would go free, and Amelia and Steven wouldn't have recompense. But how many more would suffer as a result of Price? She had lost the two most important people in her life. Now she would lose Marcus. All because of her stepfather. But it wasn't so simple. If Marcus—or worse, someone else—discovered the truth, he would pay dearly.
In the end, Elise had seen to Father Whyte's comfort in the small abbey located on the southeast edge of Brahan Seer. Guilt piled higher at the realization that he was enthusiastic about the marriage. Why couldn't he have been one of those pinched-nose priests who believe rank shouldn't mix?
That night when Elise appeared in the great hall and started toward the kitchen, Marcus intercepted her and seated her beside him at the table.
"Winnie is expecting me." She tried to rise.
Marcus laid a firm hand on her shoulder. "Nay. She is not."
Elise glanced at the kitchen door.
"'Tis the way of things," he said. "You will have duties enough after we wed."
After we wed. Her stomach did a flip. Time was running out and she had found no answer as to how she would safely and successfully slip away unnoticed. There remained only one answer; she had to tell Marcus she wouldn't marry him. When all was said and done, he was a good man. Once she demanded to be allowed to return home, he wouldn't keep her prisoner.
Kiernan seated himself beside her. She was surrounded. Elise listened as he talked of school, friends, and the upcoming season in London. Everything, she thought, except the one thing that must be in the forefront of his mind. How would she respond? What would she say to this keen young man if he questioned her about her past? Kiernan's gaze turned intense. Her heart rate accelerated. Had she missed something in the conversation?
"I do believe," he said, "the ton will be set on its ear by my father's new marchioness."
"Marchioness?" Elise repeated.
Kiernan nodded.
Marchioness… Marchioness—the wife of a marquess. Nobility, Marcus was nobility? Elise's mind raced. What rank was a marquess? Baron, viscount, earl, marquis—marquess—she abruptly felt as though a thick fog had enveloped her brain. If Marcus was a marquess, then Cameron—she nearly choked. Marcus was a high nobleman, and she was an accused murderess—a wanted criminal with a bounty on her head.
"Have I said something?" Kiernan demanded in a low whisper.
Elise's attention jerked back to the young man.
"I meant no offense," he went on. "Your forthright manner will be a breath of fresh air for London's tainted society."
"Of course," she responded in a whisper.
His brow furrowed in concern.
Elise shook her head. "Forgive me. The excitement of the wedding—and London…" she let her voice trail off.
Kiernan hesitated, then smiled in polite acceptance.
Supper ended. Elise waited until Marcus had joined his father and son near the hearth before slipping from the hall.
"Where are ye off to?" Winnie inquired as she hurried through the kitchen.
"I am in need of fresh air."
Winnie gave a grunt of understanding as Elise passed out into the night. She hurried across the compound and down the lane to the abbey. Father Whyte hadn't appeared for the evening meal and she prayed he wasn't already abed.
Elise entered the chapel to find him kneeling before the candlelit altar. She stopped, intending to make a quiet retreat, but he twisted and looked at her over his shoulder. The smile on his face died when their gazes met.
"What's wrong, child?" He rose and started down the aisle toward her.
Elise hurried forward, meeting him halfway. "Father," she said without preamble, "if I ask a question, you are obligated to tell the truth, aren't you?"
"Aye."
"What is Marcus's rank?"
"Rank?"
"Title—rank," she answered impatiently.
"He is the Marquess of Ashlund."
Her heart beat faster. "What is a marquess?"
"In this case, he is the son of a duke."
"A—" Her head reeled. "So Cameron really is a…"
"A duke," Father Whyte confirmed.
Elise collapsed onto a pew.
"Madam!" He caught her hand and fell to his knees before her. "Are you ill?"
"My God," she whispered. "My God." She looked at him. "This is… no mistake?"
He looked confused.
"There's no possibility Marcus will not follow his father's footsteps?"