I had my characters, Yvette Stapleton and Ewan McTavish, marry without a ceremony. How?
Read on. . .
I needed something recognized by the Scot’s Church. I starting digging into Scot’s marriage laws of the 1800s and was pleased-as-punch to come across Scot’s Canon Code and irregular marriages.
Irregular
and clandestine marriages—those not performed by a cleric of the church—included
simply agreeing to take one another as husband and wife before two witnesses
(Gretna Green), cohabitating in Scotland under the ruse of being wed, and
finally, by merely declaring you were married—even if no ceremony had taken
place. You could also agree to marriage in writing with express consent.
I
arranged for Yvette and Ewan to claim they were married in the midst of a very
dangerous situation in order to prevent Yvette from being ravished. I
reinforced it by having Ewan declare to several kin and clans members that he
and Yvette were married, and then I had them cohabitate at Craiglocky Keep
under the guise of marriage.
To say Yvette was not altogether pleased with Ewan taking advantage of the law to marry her is an understatement.
Here's a snippet of her reaction.
Yvette stood on unsteady legs, grasping the table’s
edge for balance. She strove for poised composure, despite feeling like a
powerless pawn in a despicable game of human chess, played for the amusement of
those who enjoyed tragic endings at the expense of someone else’s
happiness. No-their very existence.
The Great Hall radiated silent tension. All eyes
were on her. She looked at the strangers staring at her, their eyes reflecting
a myriad of emotions. Embarrassment, horror, dismay, pity, outrage, compassion,
and yes—even a few smugly satisfied.
“You knew?” She looked to Hugh and Duncan, before
swinging her gaze to Alasdair and Gregor. They bowed their heads in chagrin.
Her turbid gaze swept the rest of Ewan’s family.
“You all knew?” Yvette searched Giselle’s sorrowful
eyes, then Adaira’s tear-filled ones. “You must think me such a fool.” Her
agonized whisper exposed her vulnerability. Her shame. Her absolute
humiliation.
Ewan touched her arm. “Evvy—”
She whirled around. “Don’t you touch me,” she hissed
between stiff lips.
Yvette knew her gaze was a mirror of desolation when
she finally met his eyes. “How could you?” she whispered. “I trusted you.”
She’d never make that mistake again.
He reached for her again. “Please . . .
She slapped away his hand. “Don’t.”
She clenched her teeth to still her quivering mouth
and chin. Closing her eyes against the torrent of tears cascading down her face, she drew
in a bracing breath.
Lord, give me the strength to walk from this room
with my head held high.
On wooden legs, she stepped away from her chair.
Ewan grasped her elbow, restraining her. “Evvy, I
don’t know what she told you, but . . .”
2 comments:
Trickery and deceit makes for great reading.
debby236 at gmail dot com
Yes, it does Debby!
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