The priest's face had always reminded Fallon of an old shoe, misshapen and leathery, the scuffs of countless years' journeying gouged into its surface. Yet it was a face oddly more comfortable than anything shiny and new and stiff.
Somber new lines now carved about his mouth, and she knew she'd been the one to put them there. "This is a very serious step you are taking, albeit a necessary one for the coming child," Father Gerrard said. "Yet I fear you haven't heard a word I've spoken."
Heat stung Fallon's cheekbones. For an instant she feared he'd demand that she repeat whatever he'd said, as he had while attempting to get a wild, wayward girl to attend to her catechism. "I'm sorry, Father. I'm just so... happy it's hard to think of anything else." As a child she'd always felt as if God had put an invisible window in people's foreheads so that Father Gerrard could see inside. She prayed now that she'd been wrong.
"Mary Fallon, I wish you would send for your brother. Let Mr. Hugh share in your joy. A wedding is a time for family."
"Now, Father Gerrard," Redmayne chided. "I thought we'd discussed all this before you even came upstairs to meet with our bride. The couple is somewhat shamed by their circumstance. They wish to be wed before they face her brother. It is understandable, I think. In your ministry, I would imagine you've stumbled across irate fathers or brothers, ready to revenge themselves on the rake that had seduced an innocent young woman. And explain it as you may, the fact is that Miss Delaney is carrying this man's bastard."
"It's none of your blasted business, Redmayne," Ciaran snapped.
Redmayne's taunts had been infuriating enough to Ciaran when only the three of them were present to hear them, but now, with Father Gerrard here, they were intolerable.
Always, the priest's goodness had shone through—unshakable faith, nobility of spirit, unfailing compassion. That this decent man should think Ciaran capable of an act so vile obviously seared like acid.
She could sense how much Ciaran wanted to proclaim the truth to the priest. That he'd never seduced her. That he would rather have died than taken a woman's honor when his own was so precious to him. But he was helpless to do so.
"Captain Redmayne," Father Gerrard said, "I must ask you to keep your comments to yourself."
Redmayne's eyes narrowed a fraction. In grudging admiration for the priest's courage in reprimanding an English officer? Fallon wondered. Or had Father Gerrard just made a dangerous enemy?
But the priest had turned back to Ciaran, his voice gentling. "As for you, my son, your anger does you credit. It's obvious you are angry with yourself and you regret that you have sinned. But you must forgive yourself for your mistake. I've always felt that showing our love with our bodies as well as our souls is a gift God gave us. In return, he asks only that we use that gift reverently. Wisely. Appreciating both its beauty and power. There are those who would disagree with me, I know."
Disagree? Fallon was certain there were those who would have Father Gerrard defrocked for such a view. And yet, her affection for the old man grew, for he stared full-faced into reality, loving the earth with all its wonderful flaws, instead of trying to mold his parish into a replica of heaven.
The priest smiled. "In a perfect world, we would have the patience to wait until vows were spoken. But we are none of us perfect, I fear. Perhaps you were not patient, my son, but you are making it right, giving your child your name. You love Mary Fallon, and in the face of that love, God will forgive you. You must forgive yourself also, no matter what others might say."
"Hugh Delaney, for instance," Redmayne observed. "If Miss Delaney were my sister—"
"But she is not." Father Gerrard frowned. "And Hugh Delaney is not just any man! He understands human frailty, that people make mistakes. And he's never attempted to make them pay for it. He deserves better than this, to be banned from his only sister's wedding. Mary Fallon, child, I beg you to reconsider."
"No, Father. Miss Delaney and Mr. MacDonough have made it perfectly clear that they do not wish Hugh Delaney's presence. Now, will you begin with the vows, or should we wait until Miss Delaney's belly swells big enough for all of Glenceo to see?"
White-hot violence. She could feel it rise in a wild tide inside Ciaran. Lightning fast, he spun, his fist knotting to smash into Redmayne's smug face, but Father Gerrard lunged between them. The priest had spent seventy years gauging the emotions hidden in men's souls. His voice rang out, clear, sharp. "Mr. MacDonough!"
Ciaran froze at the last moment, and Fallon could feel every muscle in his body vibrating with the force it took to rein in his fury. "Enough! Mr. MacDonough, would you have blood spilt at your wedding?"
As long as the blood was Redmayne's, Fallon was certain that nothing would please her bridegroom more.
"This is God's house," Father Gerrard warned. "Show proper respect. I've never believed in caning unruly schoolboys, but considering your behavior, I might be tempted to try it if you don't stop this nonsense."
"Not another word, Redmayne," Ciaran snarled, "or I vow, I'll drive them down your throat with my fist, wedding bedamned."
Redmayne flicked an imaginary speck of dust from the gold braid decking his uniform. "Miss Delaney, your bridegroom shows a distressing lack of manners. And this tendency to fits of temper. Most unappealing. Perhaps you should reconsider."
Fallon shook as she grasped Ciaran's arm, dragging him back. Lord, at this rate, Redmayne wouldn't have to prove Ciaran was a smuggler to hang him—the man was a heartbeat away from murder. "Please, Father. Let's just get on with it. You can see that everyone's nerves are on edge. And as for my brother—you must know that Hugh and I are... are not close."
It had chafed her when those aged eyes had been soft with gentle disappointment, astonished her when they sparked with anger. Now a very real mourning stirred beneath sparse gray lashes. "It would grieve your mother so very much to know that, child. Before I offered her last rites, she sent for Hugh. Her last words to him before she died were a plea that you would love each other, take care of each other for her sake."
The priest might as well have shoved a thorn beneath Fallon's skin. It stung and burned. Mama had sent for Hugh, wanted to see him, speak to him one last time. But she'd left Fallon without even saying good-bye. "A pity Mama never mentioned her wish to me," she said. "But it's a bit too late to worry about it now, I'm afraid. I wish to get married. At once."
The aged priest had seen that stubbornness in her features often enough to realize that imploring her further would be futile. She could see the surrender in his eyes, and the regret. With an almost imperceptible sigh, the priest turned the full light of his saintly eyes upon Ciaran.
"And you, sir. Do you wish to be married as well?"
Oh, yes, Fallon thought with grim irony. Her bridegroom was so eager he was all but grinding his teeth to dust. "Yes," Ciaran grated.
"And your faith?"
