George said slowly, looking now from Annabel to Pierce and back again, "Apparently not."
"Well." Pierce now spoke up. "If you good men would release me so I might continue?"
He was released. And he now had the attention of everyone: the minister, Thomas, George, the countess, the Boothe family, the entire crowd. "I love this woman," he said. "And I believe that she loves me. Which is why she cannot marry Thomas. I wish to marry her myself." He faced George. "But perhaps I should introduce myself first. My full name is Pierce Wainscot Braxton St. Clare. The Viscount of Kildare." And he bowed.
Annabel was stunned. "You are titled?"
He smiled at her. "Unfortunately, yes. You see, a year ago my older and only brother was killed in a hunting accident."
He was titled. He was aristocracy. In fact, Kildare was in Ireland -he wasn't English at all. Annabel's gaze swung to her father. How could he refuse Pierce now? And suddenly there was joy and elation.
"Wait one moment," George was paying. "Are you by any chance related to the Marquis of Connaught?"
"Julian is my cousin," Pierce replied quite smugly. "My first cousin. I take it you are acquainted with the family of his wife, the Ralstons?"
Even Annabel blinked. "Lisa is a friend of mine," she whispered.
Pierce's smile seemed to widen. "It is such a wee world," he said, lapsing into a hint of Irish brogue.
"I would like a private word with you, sir," George said stiffly.
"Actually, it is 'my lord,' " Pierce said. The two men stepped aside. Annabel had no intention of being left out, and she hurried around the side of the altar where they were speaking in whispers. As she did so, she glimpsed poor Thomas Frank, bewildered and morose, and she felt sorry for him. But he would not have been happy with her as a wife. Within weeks he would have realized that she was far too high-spirited for him.
"Why the hell are you a thief?" George demanded keeping his voice low.
"I suppose there are two explanations," Pierce said calmly. "I have a faulty character-and it has to do with my family."
"Do you care to explain yourself, sir?"
"My father was quite accomplished, actually," Pierce said with an apologetic shrug. "But in reality, I steal for more 'respectable' reasons. I've been retained by the British Museum for the past five years in order to restore the collection of jewels that once belonged to Catherine the Great's nephew. It was stolen twenty-five years ago and the museum wants it back, piece by piece, if necessary. It's been quite an exciting vocation."
Annabel felt herself begin to giggle. But only Pierce heard her, and this time, the look he gave her made her melt inside.
"My dear man," Pierce said. "I have finally met my match in life-your daughter. I love her and I wish to marry her. If you will allow me the honor, I will give up my career," he said flatly, "and live a more conventional life."
Annabel moved to his side and they clasped hands. She could not believe her ears-or what he was prepared to do in order to spend the rest of his life with her.
She looked at her father. "Papa, please."
George hesitated, and nodded gruffly. "Given today's turn of events, I do not think I have a choice in the matter."
Annabel clapped her hands, excitement filling her.
"I would like to do the deed now," Pierce said. He turned. "Mr. Frank, I am so sorry for the inconvenience, but would you mind stepping aside?"
Frank looked from Pierce to Annabel. "I knew it was too good to be true. Good luck, sir. Annabel-I wish you so much happiness."
"Thank you," Pierce said.
Impulsively, Annabel went to Thomas to hug him. Then she returned to Pierce's side as her father took his place with her family. Her mother was being revived by Missy.
"You, Reverend, may marry us now," Pierce instructed.
The minister stared, wide-eyed and flushed.
"Go ahead," George said, nodding.
Annabel and Pierce, hand in hand, faced the minister, who was recovering his composure. "This holiest state of matrimony," he began.
Annabel hardly heard. Pierce was gazing tenderly at her, and she could not look away.
"No one," he whispered low, as the minister continued to speak, "has ever made me contemplate changing my entire life, other than you."
Annabel gripped his hands. "I love you, too. But Pierce, I do not want you to change your ways," she whispered.
"What?" He was both perplexed and amused.
"I should be unhappy if you changed your ways," Annabel said, smiling but deadly earnest.
And he understood. He tipped back his head and laughed.
The minister coughed.
Annabel started. "I do," she said, firmly and loudly.
"Do you, Pierce Wainscot Braxton St. Clare, take this woman," he began.
"I do," Pierce said, cutting him off. "I take her for now and forever to be my wife and my partner in all deeds, good and"-he grinned-"bad." And he pulled her forward while she stood on tiptoe and they kissed, for a very long time.
"Excuse me, my lord, we are not done," the minister cried.
But neither the bride nor the groom heard him. The kiss went on and on. And slowly, the audience began to clap, until applause filled the reception hall.
Lucinda and Lizzie were crying. Adam and John were as obviously moved. Tears even appeared in George's eyes. And Melissa was smiling, albeit reluctantly.
"I now pronounce you man and wife," the minister said, somewhat glumly.
Annabel pulled away from her husband. "So when," she whispered, still on tiptoe, "is the next caper?"
And he laughed and kissed her again.
A WEDDIN' OR A HANGIN' by Jill Jones
For my sister, Janet,
Of th' ancient clan of Frazer.
Chapter One
"A weddin' or a hangin'. What’ll it be?"
The clan members gathered closer to the fire, laughing and speculating as they waited for the verdict, although Meredith guessed they knew what was coming. She could scarcely conceal a grin. These people must have heard this folk tale a thousand times, but still, the old storyteller held them rapt.
She was held rapt as well, by his story, by the night, by the enchantment of at last arriving on Scottish soil. It was a long way from where she lived in the mountains of North Carolina, but it felt like home, for since her childhood her grandfather had regaled her with stories such as these about Scotland and their kinsmen, the Clan Macrae. Meredith Macrae Wentworth, the American cousin, now sat with those kinsmen around a bonfire in an open field near the village of Corridan on the northern coast of Scotland. In front of her lay the North Sea, behind her rose the Highlands. Above, the aurora borealis shimmered, punctuated frequently by shooting stars.
She had arrived, she decided, in heaven.
That heaven consisted of more than beautiful scenery, however. Today, she'd cheered these Macraes through the local Highland games and forged the beginnings of a heartfelt bond with her clan. She gazed into the fire-warmed faces of the people with whom she shared an ancient and honored bloodline. Ruddy cheeks and sun-bleached hair bespoke their rugged outdoor lives. Broad smiles and genuine affection for each other said even more about these gentle giants who had treated her like a true daughter of Scotland. They embodied a noble character, were dignified in their own rustic way. Until they hit the playing field.