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on either side.
    He winced a little as he straightened out his limbs and spine, and adjusted what needed adjusting. He patted his sporran , which contained his wallet, passport, and the picture of Miss McAuley, then locked the thing up before heading across the paved lot at a fast lope.
    He thought about slipping in through a rear door, but not being familiar with the church, with his luck he’d pop in right at the pulpit, or something equally unfortunate. So, after a glimpse up the path that led into the beautifully sculpted prayer garden, he opted to take a fast jog along the cobblestone walkway that led around to the front entrance of the main chapel. But his plan faltered before he could take off—when he heard the swearing.
    It was coming from…the prayer garden? He took several steps along the hand-laid stone pathway. Weeping he could understand in such a place…but swearing? An argument perhaps? Either with God himself or someone mortal, he didn’t know. Either way, it wasn’t his concern, but he didn’t turn back right away. The voice grew louder. Just one. A woman. A very unhappy woman from the sound of it.
    He’d never been one to turn his back on another person’s troubles. If there was a broken-down car along the lane, he stopped to help get it back up and running. If a visitor to the island got lost out on one of the trails, or…anywhere, really, he guided them back to the familiar. Of course, given the entire loop around the island was just shy of ten kilometers, perhaps that wouldn’t exactly earn him sainthood, but ignoring a plea for help went against his grain. Only…the woman in question wasn’t pleading so much as…ranting. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever hearing a member of the opposite sex use such an…inventive string of invectives such as was being issued forth.
    He definitely had no business intruding, and no real desire to confront a distraught woman, but found himself pausing another second longer when there was a break in the rant. Probably to regain her breath, he thought, somewhat uncharitably, but waited to see if there was another party as equally invested in the…conversation…as she was. How the other party would respond to such an outpouring, he had no idea, but he doubted it would be received all that well—which meant he’d be put in the position of deciding whether or not the woman could use a little…what did the Yanks call it? Backup?
    But there was no second voice. And the woman didn’t start up again. He let out a little sigh of relief. He needed to get inside the church without further delay. But before he could change direction, a vivid swirl of white satin and lace whipped out past the end of one of the tall, manicured hedgerows. Quite an abundance of it, actually. It disappeared swiftly, as if snatched away.
    He was truly torn. If he wasn’t mistaken, the ranting woman was the bride. An exceedingly unhappy bride, from the sound of it, which, again, was not his concern. His job was clear and quite tightly focused. Find Katie McAuley, convince her he wasn’t a madman, but a man with a problem only she could help him solve. On the interminably long flight over, he’d decided his best bet was to follow Shay’s advice and put the entire thing forward to her as a business agreement. In fact, he had the preliminary documents Shay had drawn up, in the car with him.
    He was planning to use them only as talking points, a guideline of what he expected, but if she agreed to help him, pretty much everything was open to negotiation. He’d make sure she was adequately compensated. If there was such compensation for legally wedding a complete stranger to keep him from losing his land and his people.
    Now Graham was the one swearing, albeit under his breath. There had to be some other way to thwart Iain McAuley’s threat. Of course, right that very second, the smarmy horse’s arse