‘But we haven’t got fifteen days… This is embarkation leave, I’ve ten days at most.’ Rae turned to his bride. Netta was in tears of disappointment. Cold water was being splashed all over her dreams.

‘Can’t you just give us a blessing, the old way, please? We can’t come all this way for nothing! Then, if we give notice to marry, we can come back another day and do it officially.’

Netta was thinking fast, the possibility of not being married by the blacksmith had never entered her head. Girl’s romances were full of escaping heiresses crossing the border at dead of night with fathers in hot pursuit. She had heard of the blacksmith’s certificate being legal tender in Scotland, irregular marriage though it was considered. A blessing would have to do for now.’

‘I don’t like to turn true lovers away. Sure enough I can say the words over you but what we do here is no a legal wedding, mind. It’s a wedding of the heart only.’ He smiled and led them through into the little room where the anvil stood, calling in his assistant as a witness.

‘Can I get changed, please?’ said Netta, clutching her suitcase. She was shown quickly into a little parlour where she rummaged through her case and flung on the dress and the necklace. She pinned a little piece of old lace to an artificial silk rose and stabbed it with a hatpin into her hair. Emerging, she smiled shyly at Rae and he grasped her hand. ‘You look lovely.’

They stood over the anvil and the blacksmith asked them their ages and if they were here of their own free will. They clasped hands and repeated their vows.

‘I, Raeburn, take thee, Jeanette…’

‘I, Jeanette, take thee, Raeburn…’

He then placed his mother’s engagement ring, a cluster of opals and diamond chips in a half hoop of gold, on Netta’s finger. The blacksmith priest clanged the hammer down on the anvil.

‘For as much as this man and this woman have consented together before God, handfasted together before witnesses, I declare in His sight only are they now man and wife. You may now kiss your bride… but for God’s sake get yourself down to Gretna and do the job properly and don’t say anything about this ceremony! I cannae gie you a certificate or register you, but we know what we know… Good luck to you both!’

The couple stood looking stunned in the little room with its smell of smoke and iron, dust and horse manure; a soldier in his mud-splattered uniform and Netta with most of her bridal outfit still in its case. It would have to wait for the official ceremony, for the bouquet and photographs and the brass ring they would acquire if necessary.