Ramsey saw the priest before he saw Ramsey. He waved to him and called out a warm greeting.
"Laird Sinclair," Father Laggan said as he came to a stop in the courtyard. "I received your summons. I have arrived without delay, as you requested. I only hope there is nothing the matter. Your soldier was not very forthcoming."
"Rest assured," Ramsey said as he directed the man into the keep, "it is nothing grave. But, I do require the sacrament of reconciliation."
"Indeed," the priest questioned. "You have sinned, my son?"
"I am afraid so, Father. Could you stay for a couple of days?"
In the hall, Ramsey motioned for two wine goblets to be filled while the two men sat at the end of the long table.
"Days," the priest asked before he took a long swallow from his goblet.
"Yes. You see, I am in need of two sacraments over these two days to see me once again right in the eyes of the Church."
"Two, my son? Have you grievously injured someone, then? Is yet another one of your enemies in need of last rites?"
"No, Father," Ramsey laughed. "You know me better than that. I kill my enemies. I do not injure them. And, even if I did, I would never send for a priest. I would leave them outside of these walls to die slowly and painfully like the dogs they are."
Father Laggan knew the truth in what Ramsey said. Behind his exterior, his kind and decent heart, and his reputation for diplomacy lay a ruthless killer who would never fail to serve anyone deserving a well-meted justice.
"I had hoped my clanswoman, Bridgid KirkConnell, could have greeted you when you arrived but she appears to be nowhere in sight. However, she will be joining us for dinner."
"This Bridgid, is she important to you, Laird?"
"She is. Can we commence with reconciliation now? In anticipation of your arrival, I have taken the liberty of setting up a screen in my room. Would you care to join me there?"
"I am ready, Laird."
Father Laggan followed Ramsey above the great hall to his chamber.
"This sin we go to address, does it involve Bridgid KirkConnell?"
"You are a wise man, Father."
Ramsey went outside when he heard the horses return. Father Laggan trailed eagerly behind him.
He saw that Proster was escorting the horses back to the stable while Bridgid was walking to the kitchens.
"Have you no greeting for your laird?"
She seethed at the high-handed tone of his voice. Yet, when she turned she had plastered a most accommodating, almost simpleton grin on her face. When she approached them, Father Laggan gasped while Ramsey did his best to quash the broad smile that threatened to break out on his face. He scowled instead. A thin layer of dirt coated her body. Random dirt stains were sprinkled throughout her plaid as well as dark red splotches that resembled only one probable thing.
"My child," Father Laggan rushed to her, "you are hurt."
"Oh, no, Father," she said in reassurance. Just then he noticed the sling of dead rabbits that she was carrying. "'Tis not my blood. I am perfectly fit."
The priest turned to Ramsey to gauge his reaction. Ramsey held a hand in front of his mouth to hide his smile and coughed to hold back his laughter when the priest queried, "You seek to marry this girl?"
He cleared his throat and resumed scowling at heavy price to his composure. "You tell me, Father, do I have any other choice?" But Ramsey knew his answer before he gave it.
"No, of course not. The deed is done. One can only sanctify it to satisfy the Church. Laird, I would that others of your kind," he leaned in to Ramsey to supply the next under his breath, "I speak of the Buchanan in this – could be so utterly straightforward as you when it comes to matters of the spirit," the next under his breath, "and the flesh."
Ramsey smiled, then, knowing his own brand of trickery in this instance surely rivaled his friend's. "Yes, Father, we could learn something from one another."
Bridgid had tried to follow the cryptic conversation between Ramsey and Father Laggan but could not discern any meaning behind "the deed" and "satisfy the Church" and assumed it was a matter well out of her purview. "With your permission, I would like to be excused. I am to the kitchens to deposit my kill."
"Your kill?" Father Laggan knew very well what she meant as she saw him notice the rabbits moments ago. Still, he seemed utterly taken aback. "She is a savage, Laird. No proper lady would have need to deposit her kill." He nearly spit the last in disdain. "Still, one man cannot reason through another man's desire. You have clearly made your choice and will marry on the morrow."
"Marry," she stomped, suddenly infuriated. "Laird, may I have a word with you in private?"
"Are you not to the kitchens, then?" Ramsey grabbed her and spun her. Leading her to the kitchens, he called back to the priest. "Father, Bridgid and I look forward to dining with you this evening."
The priest watched the pair, his mouth agape. He nodded and waved at Laird Sinclair but when he turned, he shook his head, mumbling, "I am surely no expert in matters of the heart."
Bridgid was fuming. Ramsey was laughing.
"Well," she said, "explain yourself. Have you, indeed, gone behind my back and solicited a priest in your attempts to sway me to marry you? Do you stoop so low, then? Your treachery rivals Laird Buchanan and when the priest finds out—"
"Calm yourself, my sweet." He could not suppress the laughter in his voice. "You knew very well I had sent for the priest."
"Yes, but, I assumed that the man could be swayed by reason. Yet, he speaks as if the matter is not negotiable at this point."
"It is not."
"It is."
"It is not."
"It is." She glared at him to emphasize her point.
They entered the kitchen and Bridgid smiled at the cook as she handed her the rabbits. The cook, in turn, received them with measured delight, scanning her laird for his feelings on the matter. It seemed a commonplace occurrence to Ramsey and he wondered how much and for how long this beautiful woman had supplied his table.
When they left the kitchen, they walked to her mother's cottage in silence. Outside the door, Ramsey stepped toward her, backing her against the door, his body lightly touching hers. He reminded her of their dinner.
"We shall host him together."
She nodded, weighing the duty in her mind. "Together, you say?"
"Yes," he supplied. "Side by side, if you will."
The man kept reminding her of her request from the previous night, making it impossible to regard him entirely as a callous ogre.
"I would be remiss, then, if I did not."
"Absolutely," he affirmed.
"'Twill give me an opportunity to lay out my side on the matter of our marrying."
"If you like," he smiled, "but I would warn you now, he seems," he pretended to search for the proper words, "set on the matter. You would do well to choose your words carefully with him."
"As you clearly have," she returned, her ire rising.
"'Tis easy to speak the truth. Of course, you have that working against you."
"Hmm," she snorted, "we shall see which truth," she stressed the word derisively, "he favors. I warrant that I can be very persuasive."
"Ah, that you can," he said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her. It was becoming a ritual, building her anger and then deflating it with a kiss. He played with her lips, drawing some of the bluster from her. Then he coaxed them open, tasting her with his tongue and mingling with her own. He lingered there, content to have her in his arms; the feeling of being close to her, holding her was like nothing he had ever felt before. And, though she fought him in every other respect, she did not, could not fight his kisses. Finally, he pulled himself away, ending the embrace with a simple peck on her nose. "Then again," he said, staring into her eyes, "I can be very persuasive, too."
Bridgid agreed with a glazed nod as Ramsey smiled and walked off.
He called back to her over his shoulder. "Bridgid?"
"Yes, Laird?"
"You're filthy." His laughter sailed behind him.
Bridgid immediately glared at his back, then wiped her face. In truth, she was filthy.
When Bridgid entered the great hall for dinner it was teeming with the chosen, those given the special privilege of dining with their laird. Men sat eating heartily. Conversation and wine flowed easily. Some acknowledged her as they broke off a piece of bread or sipped from their goblets and she smiled or nodded in return.
She was certain she was inarguably late when she spied three place settings waiting patiently at the end of the table. But, where were Ramsey and the priest? She sought Lochlan to inquire.
"Where is Laird Sinclair?"
"Good eve', my lady. He sits by the fire with the priest." Lochlan pointed with bread in his hand to the two tall-backed chairs near the hearth.
She nodded in thanks when she saw them, but addressed Lochlan again. "What do you here, eating before the laird has eaten?"
"'Tis no sign of disrespect or disobedience, my lady. He asked that we start without him. He waited on you, I believe."
Satisfied, she sought Ramsey and the priest but called back to Lochlan. "Lochlan, I am not 'your lady.' I am merely Bridgid KirkConnell, if you'll remember."
"Aye, my lady, I do remember your lovely name," Lochlan responded with laughter in his voice.
Bridgid ground her teeth at the burgeoning conspiracy within the clan to place her as their lady without her say. An effort that Ramsey seemed only too pleased to foment.
"Laird Sinclair, Father Laggan, I apologize if I am late."
They both stood and appraised her.
"No apologies, my child," said Father Laggan, "we were merely enjoying our conversation here by the fire until your arrival. And you look lovely this evening, well worth the wait, is she not?" He turned to Ramsey.
"She is, indeed," Ramsey replied as he stared at Bridgid, smiling. "Come, you must be famished, Father. I hear that Cook has prepared us a lovely rabbit stew."
The three sat, Ramsey at the head, Bridgid to his right, and Father Laggan to his left, and enjoyed their dinner. They spoke about the state of the clan and the Church, about Laird and Lady Buchanan's recent marriage, about the kidnap and safe return of Alec Maitland, and about the conspiracy to lure Ramsey to his death and takeover the Sinclair clan. Bridgid was involved in every facet of the discussion. Indeed, Ramsey placed his hand on hers from time to time and seemed genuinely interested in her thoughts and feelings. Though the din in the hall threatened to drown them out, Bridgid felt that it was a most enchanting evening.
When the men and servants cleared out, Bridgid thought it finally the appropriate time to speak to Father Laggan of her concerns.
"Father, I cannot help but wonder what brings you to the Sinclair lands so soon after leaving them?" She knew exactly why he was there and swallowed the knowledge in her attempts to affect a curious tone. "We did not expect you to come around again for some months."
"Yes, my dear," Father Laggan wiped his mouth and set his dishes from him, "but surely you must know that I am here at your laird's request." Father Laggan glanced at Ramsey uncomfortably and then looked at Bridgid.
"My laird's? No. Though this dinner would prove it otherwise, I am hardly privy to his thoughts. My laird Sinclair would hardly confide in me on any matters of import."
Father Laggan could not hide his confusion that the lass could be so ill-informed.
"Why, I am here to marry you and Laird Sinclair tomorrow."
His statement hung in the air between them. Ramsey looked to Bridgid, trying to gauge her reaction and her intent.
"Marry? Me? You must be mistaken, Father. I have not agreed to Laird Sinclair's proposal. Surely you are a man who would not force a woman to marry against her will. I know of your benevolence and," she added to solidify her case, "strict adherence to the custom that a woman, however lowly, may decide her fate in these matters."
Ramsey sat back, enjoying the conversation.
"Indeed, my child, I do adhere to the custom that a woman may decide her fate. But, I have an obligation to abide by the laws of the Church above all others and in this there can be no debate."
"I am afraid I am confused, Father. A proposal is not a betrothal. I am in no way bound to Laird Sinclair."
"Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong. You are young and, therefore, not knowledgeable about the ways between a man and a woman but Laird Sinclair seeks to right the actions of recent days in the eyes of the Church. I am here to see that he does."
"What actions of recent days?" The question was intended for the priest, though she glared at Ramsey.
Father Laggan looked at Ramsey, his discomfort and agitation oozing through every pore. Finally, Ramsey relented, placing his hand on hers.
"Please, Bridgid, Father Laggan is bound against repeating anything that he has learned in confession. I think you are more than fully aware of what we speak."
In truth, she was not. She had started this conversation feigning curiosity, knowing that her confusion was merely a ruse to draw the priest into a discussion on the matter of marriage. Now she sat, raptly searching for any knowing that could shed some light.
"My laird, I do not," she said to Ramsey. Then she looked to Father Laggan. "I know of nothing I have done that would bind me for life to this man."
Rising tension crackled in the air amongst the three. The priest was there in all good faith, allying himself with Laird Sinclair because he believed the man's actions to be above reproach. But, Ramsey knew that he was finally closing the trap he had been preparing for some days. Bridgid, willing or no, would marry him the next day. The priest would see to that.
Bridgid, for her part, could feel the noose tightening. She knew not how or why, but she sensed with increasing certainty that her choices were slowly slipping from her grasp. She swallowed the inevitable bitterly, even as she wracked her brain for the answers she sought, as she awaited an explanation.
Ramsey leaned into Bridgid, barely speaking above a whisper. "We speak, my love, of the nights we've recently spent together. I have ruined you for any other man. 'Tis only right and fair that it be sanctified by the Church." He looked to the priest and the priest nodded.
Bridgid was, at once, embarrassed and fuming. Without thinking, she flung a hand over Ramsey's mouth, as if closing it would draw back the words.
Father Laggan was stunned that a mere girl, though soon to be his lady wife, could treat her laird with such open disrespect. He sought Ramsey for a strong dressing down. While Ramsey merely grabbed her hand gently and placed it on the table, saying nothing.
Finally collecting her wits, "Father, there has been a mistake," she sputtered.
"Bridgid," warned Ramsey, "I know this topic must be embarrassing for you. Yet, you cannot think to lie to a priest."
"I do not lie," she pleaded with the priest, "it is only that…" She faded off as she searched for a suitable answer. She could not deny that she had slept next to Ramsey on their return journey from England. But, they had done nothing illicit. Surely dictates concerning a woman's compromise were not so stringent.
"Father, I am sure you can understand that she is flustered by this discussion," Ramsey interjected. "It is enough that you and I seek to right the wrong. Furthermore," he added, thinking on his words, "it would be exceedingly remiss of me not to admit that I am fond of her."
"Fond? Fond!" Bridgid stood. She had had enough. "Father, if I am compromised by a mere technicality of sleeping arrangements, then so be it. Although, I dare say that many a woman would be considered a camp follower in the eyes of God if the Church deemed such technicalities official." She turned to exit the hall as the men stood watching her. She was irate. The priest was aghast. Ramsey squelched a smile.
"If I must marry that arrogant lout tomorrow to remain in good standing with the Church, then I must," she fairly screeched the last word. "But, so help me God, I will not be happy about it. Laird, you have broken a promise to your father and in so doing have broken a promise to my father and in so doing have broken a promise to me. I was promised a love match, damn it!" At the door, she turned and looked at him, tears welling in her eyes. "You have not only broken your promise, you have broken my heart." And she left.
Father Laggan looked to Ramsey, expecting him to follow her and issue a harsh rebuke. But, Ramsey merely shook his head.
"She speaks of love," the priest asked.
"Yes," Ramsey answered. "She is naïve, isn't she?"
"I should say so. You have your hands full with that one, Laird. I do not envy you."
He agreed to the former but let the latter hang in the air, knowing any man would.