His pale blue eyes held a kindly look. He extended his knobby fingers to her in greeting. But she could not lift her own hand to shake his. A paralysis held her body in place as if she were trapped in a nightmare. She desperately wanted to run, yet her limbs refused to move. Her heart thudded so hard against her rib cage that she felt light-headed. She must have misheard. Reverend Mr. Ferguson … to officiate over your marriage … She glanced up at Damien. His hard-edged face was forbidding, his mouth a thin slash. There was no surprise in his expression. He must have already been told of the minister’s purpose in being here. And his displeasure could not have been clearer. Yet he offered no protest. Her gaze shifted to Lady Milford, who stood beside her, and then back at the minister. He had reached inside his dark coat and brought forth a small black prayer book. To perform the marriage service. A second shock reverberated through Ellie. This was Scotland. There were no banns to be read, no special license to be procured, no waiting period in which to talk sense into Lady Milford.
