Ian charged his own clan with the same oath, and they in turn stood and agreed. Tears filled Meredith's eyes. Could this be happening? Could they be making peace at last? She had every reason to believe so, for Ian had told her if they could get the clansmen to commit in public, their honor would hold them to their vows. She felt Ian's hand slip into hers.

"Very well, then. The feud is ended, by our word of honor." He turned to her, and in front of the entire congregation said, "Will ye marry me now, lass?"

Meredith's cheeks burned, and she heard the murmur of amazement rustle through the crowd, an astonishment that matched her own, but she looked into his eyes and saw the love of her life who had just moved heaven and earth for her. "Yes. I will marry you."

Ian turned to those gathered in the little church. "If there ever was a curse, it will be broken now forever, for tonight a true-blooded heir of Macrae will be returned to the palace."

Meredith jerked her head. "Tonight?" He grinned at her. "Ye said ye would marry me. Now." He turned and motioned toward the side door. "I've brought Reverend Fraser from Craigmont to join us in holy matrimony. 'Tis living proof the Macraes and the Sinclairs can dwell together in peace. Will ye?"

Meredith's heart pounded, but her fear dissolved. Only she and Ian, and perhaps Robert Macrae, knew that ending the feud was not her reason for marrying him, but she didn't care what the rest thought. Feud or no feud, the love that had sprung so suddenly between (lum could not be denied. It was a love that she felt deep m her heart, a love that transcended time and place, that demanded fulfillment in their marriage. "Yes," she whispered.

"This is an outrage!" Angus Stewart jumped to his feet. "I object. This is not a sacred marriage. It's a farce and a blasphemy, a last-ditch effort by the Sinclair to manipulate the Macraes." He turned to that faction. "Don't you see he's just marrying her to gain your sympathy? She's not even one of you."

Robert Macrae charged at Stewart and grabbed him by the lapels on his jacket. " 'Tis too late, Stewart," he snarled. "Your little scheme didn't work. Meredith Macrae is one of us, and this wedding will bring us together once and for all. You're the outsider here, and you're not wanted."

"Hang him!"

Stunned, Meredith looked toward the man who'd called out. It was the old storyteller from whom she'd first heard the tale of the cattle thief and the ugly bride. He pushed through the crowd until he reached Robert Macrae, who relinquished his hold on Stewart and stepped aside.

"We still hang thieves in these parts," the storyteller hissed into Stewart's alarmed face. "And ye're nothin' but a thief, tryin't' pit us against one another again so ye can steal our land. Give up your objection, Mr. Stewart, and let this weddin' commence."

Meredith's pulse thrummed in her ears, and the rest of the church stared at the two men in uneasy antici-

pation. Angus Stewart, wide-eyed and pale, was too tongue-tied to answer. The old man moved his face even closer.

"A weddin' or a hangin', Mr. Stewart, what'll it be?"

Angus Stewart's beady eyes darted from one face to another, and Meredith saw a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He picked up his hat, and, with an anxious glance over his shoulder, hurried down the aisle and out the door of the church.

She turned to Ian and saw amusement rather than triumph in his eyes, and her heart swelled once again. Even though he had defeated the solicitor, Ian Sinclair showed no sign of malice toward his enemy. He was the kind of man who would always play fair with his opponents, and she knew without a doubt she could trust him with her heart. Taking a deep breath, Meredith let go of her earlier apprehensions about marrying so hastily. She didn't know if the wedding Ian had arranged on the spot would even be legal-didn't they have to have a license or something?-but it didn't matter. A true-blooded heir of Macrae would indeed return to the palace tonight. They could take care of the details later. She smiled up into the handsome face of her very own Scotsman, and in the strongest imitation of his accent she could muster, she said, "I think 'tis th' weddin' he's chosen."

THE LOVE MATCH by Rexanne Becnel

Chapter One

BENCHLEY HOUSE, HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND MAY 1824

Jinx Benchley spoke before her housekeeper could. "Whoever it is, say that I am indisposed." "But Miss Jinx, he said-"

"I don't care what he said. I cannot possibly see him, or anyone else, this morning."

Although Jinx's voice was firm, her hand shook-as did the single sheet of parchment she grasped. She didn't look at Mrs. Honeywell when she spoke to her, a behavior considered perfectly acceptable among the gentry when dealing with the help. But Jinx had always considered it inexcusably rude to treat anyone so carelessly, be they royalty or humble farmer. Today, however, she could hardly think straight, let alone behave as normal. Disaster had struck, and she did not know how to undo it.

She stared at the letter her younger brother had left on her desk. What had he been thinking?

She pushed away from her desk and the myriad papers so haphazardly stacked upon it, and stared up at the portrait of her parents. How would they handle this situation, if they were still living? It was clear she must do something, but what? Perhaps she should send for the

solicitor in Fiddle Crossing. "Send one of the stable lads to me," she told Mrs. Honeywell. "I need someone to deliver a message right away."

"Yes, miss. But about the gentleman in the parlor. I don't think you can ignore him, you see-"

"A gentleman should know better than to call this early in the morning."

"But we've always been early risers here-"

"He can leave his card. Just… just tell him whatever you must!" she exclaimed with an agitated wave of her hand.

"Is everything all right, Miss Jinx?" the housekeeper asked, a frown increasing the lines on her brow. "You're not acting at all yourself."

Jinx heaved a great sigh, then slowly turned to face Mrs. Honeywell. The stout little housekeeper had been with the Benchleys for over twenty years. She'd proven her loyalty through the fat years and lean, through good times and bad. In truth, there was no reason not to tell her what Colin had done. Perhaps she might have some idea where to begin.

Jinx held the crumpled letter out to her. "Colin has done something so stupid, so outrageous, that it defies the extremes of every Benchley eccentricity to date. And as you well know, that's saying quite a lot."

Mrs. Honeywell took the letter and, squinting to see, pored over the words. "He's in love. What's so terrible about that for a lad of three and twenty? Oh." She grimaced. "He's run off to Gretna Green. Still and all, though you mayn't have wanted that for him, Jinx girl, I wouldn't call that the most outrageous thing a Bench-ley's ever done. Have you forgotten that your grandfather married his second wife on board a ship bound for India? And your father-"

"No, I haven't forgotten," Jinx interrupted. "But finish the letter. Finish it. See whom he's run off with? This Lady Alice. Oh!" She grasped her head with both hands. "How could he?"

Mrs. Honeywell frowned. "I don't believe I know a Lady Alice."

Jinx began to pace. "Of course you don't know her. I don't know her either and it's because her family is not the sort to stoop so low as to hobnob with families such as ours."

"The Benchleys are a fine family, gentlemen and ladies all, and as good as anybody," the housekeeper stated. "Besides, your uncle's a viscount and your father was a great scholar."