Dear God, what had happened to the man’s face? It looked as though half of it had been melted off at some point. Bella gasped softy, and Greg tightened his hold on her once more.
“What are ye wantin’ with McCloskey?” the disfigured man asked.
Greg cleared his throat. “I was told he’d be here. We have a friend in common.” Friend was more than a stretch, but Greg wasn’t sure how else to explain the situation.
“Aye?” the barkeep asked and started toward Greg. “And who’s this friend of yers?”
“Haver—”
“Kirkburn,” Bella said. “He said to say Kirkburn sent us.”
The man narrowed his eyes on Bella, and Greg wished she hadn’t spoken, even if he had forgotten that part. The fellow’s appearance however was more than jarring.
“Ye’re a friend of Kirkburn’s?” the barkeep asked, sounding more than skeptical.
“He said McCloskley could help us find a vicar, his brother. We are here to be married,” Greg explained.
The barkeep snorted at that. “Hardly sounds like something Kirkburn would worry himself about.”
“You know him?” Greg asked. “You know Kirkburn?”
“Aye.” The barkeep said with a nod. “And like I said, helpin’ a Sassenach couple marry doesna sound like the man I kent.”
It didn’t sound like the man Greg knew Haversham to be either, but that was what had happened. “If you could just point us toward McCloskey,” Greg began.
“Who do ye think ye’ve been talkin’ to, Sassenach?”
“You’re McCloskey?” Greg asked, making certain he understood the man.
“Aye.”
And he meant to say nothing else? Greg shook his head. “Yes, well, Kirkburn said to remind you that you owe him a favor.”
McCloskey pointed to his disfigured face. “’Tis not somethin’ I’m likely to forget.”
What did that mean? Had Haversham melted the man’s face? Greg thought he was going to be sick.
“I’d look like this all over if he hadna saved me.” McCloskey heaved a sigh.
Good God. Haversham hadsavedthe man from that?
“Is there some reason ye canna marry in England?” the barkeep asked before Greg could right his thoughts.
A reason they couldn’t marry in England? There were a number of reasons, not that Greg wanted to get into any of that with the Scot. “Yes, but they’re my own.”
“Fair enough.” McCloskey frowned. Then he turned his attention to a young fellow on a bench at the far end of the pub. “Hamish!” he called. “Take these two Sassenachs to see yer father.”
* * *
Vicar McCloskey’schurch was rather quaint, especially in comparison to St. George’s. But Bella wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. The chapel was only large enough for about fifty people for regular services. Behind the pulpit was a stained glass window with a cross, adorned in the prettiest blue flowers. It was, quite honestly, perfect.
Oh, Bella wished that Prissa and Elliott could be there with her. She wished Cordie and Greg’s brothers could be with them too. And, of course, Papa. She’d fled Chatham House so quickly she hadn’t had a chance to mourn him as she should, but she missed him too. She always would. He might not have sired her, but he’d given her his name, he’d raised her, and he’d loved her and she had loved him despite his flaws.
“Father,” young Hamish McCloskey called and he left Greg and Bella in the main chapel as he started for a back room. Probably the vicar’s office.
Greg took Bella’s hands in his and lifted them to his lips. “You’re not nervous are you?”
Most girls were nervous about their wedding night, but Bella had already enjoyed hers and every night since. So what was there to fear? She shook her head. “Only eager to call myself Lady Avery. I think it has a rather nice ring to it.”