by Eliza Knight
No doubt the smug chit had volunteered to do that with malicious intent.
“What do ye want, Lady Mary?” Giselle didn’t bother to hide her animosity.
“To watch the entertainments, of course, and get a prelude to the explosion about to come.” She sauntered up the stairs to where Giselle was and threaded her arm through hers.
“No need, Lady Mary,” Jaime said, rounding a corner from beneath the stairs. “Considering I’ve overheard what ye said, best that ye go to your chamber before I tell your mother I saw ye lip-locked with a footman.”
“What?” Lady Mary gasped, her eyes bulging at the obvious lie.
“She would,” Giselle said with a nod, and for once, given Lady Mary’s continued shock, she seemed to be able to hide the truth from her features. “And everyone will believe her because she’s a duchess, but also because I will agree and say how shocked I was.” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “Oh, my, it was all so verra distressing.”
“Ye are both horrible. I hope ye rot.” Lady Mary shoved away from Giselle, making her teeter a little on her feet, and then stomped away.
Giselle righted herself with an irritated sigh. “I do hope that is the last time I see her,” she murmured.
Jaime laughed and said sarcastically, “She’s so darling though, I can no’ understand why ye would no’ want to spend more time with her.”
Giselle grinned. “Ye’re mad.”
“Aye, but no’ as mad as those in the parlor.” Jaime sucked in a breath through her teeth.
The sense of the word went both ways—mad as in angry, and mad as in lunatic. “I do no’ want to go in there.”
“I do no’ blame ye.” Jaime gave her arm a little squeeze. “Steel yourself.”
Giselle inhaled deeply and then nodded. “Let’s go.”
Together they descended the stairs, with Giselle feeling very much as if she were approaching her execution. Through the doors into the parlor they went, and the shouting abruptly stopped as Lord and Lady Bothwell swiveled to face them, and Sir Joshua Keith, who’d been facing the door, didn’t move an inch.
Her mother gaped at her, taking in the fine gown she wore, the simple style of her hair. Giselle wasn’t certain if her mother looked more surprised to see that she was indeed alive or that she’d gone against her mother’s express wishes on how to style herself.
“My lord, my lady.” Giselle gave a slight curtsy to her parents, not bothering to spare a glance at Joshua who looked murderous, even if he was dressed to be dashing and fashionable.
“What is this we’ve heard that ye agreed to marry Lord Errol when ye were already betrothed to wed Sir Joshua Keith?” Her father wasted no time in setting loose his storm of disappointment.
Giselle reached for some form of calm within herself. Alec detached himself from the group of angry newcomers and edged closer as her mother shot forward, hovering so close that Giselle started to sweat.
“Do no’ go near her,” Keith hissed to Alec who was closing the distance between them.
Giselle snapped her head toward the man. “Ye forget yourself, Sir Joshua, and in whose home ye stand.”
There was a brief flash of surprise in Sir Joshua’s gaze that she would have spoken to him with such authority, but he quickly veiled it with a sneer in her direction. “And ye forget yourself, my lady, for it is no’ your place to speak to me that way.”
“Tell Lord Errol that ye were mistaken in agreeing to marry him,” her father demanded. “We can be done with this whole mess and return to Boddam Castle for your actual wedding.”
Giselle glanced around the room, glad to see that they were the only ones here.
“I can no’ do that, Father,” Giselle said. Her voice was soft but firm. “I am no’ going to marry Sir Joshua. I told ye that on our journey from Edinburgh, as well as before we left. I’ve had another offer and accepted. I need no’ point out that I am of an age to do so.”
Her father bristled, no doubt wanting to throttle her. “If ye wed him, there will be no dowry. I will cut ye out.”
Her mother gasped at the promise and fidgeted on her feet as if she didn’t know where to stand—with her husband and his ugly words or her daughter who deserved protection.
The sense of betrayal at her father’s proclamation, at his conviction and forcefulness, tore at Giselle’s insides. Rather than see her happily wed, her father wished to pay another man, whom she despised, to take her off his hands. It made no sense.
“Lord Errol is a good man,” Giselle said, lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders. No matter what they said, she was not going to back down. “Why would ye wish ill on me?”
“Oh, dear,” her mother started. “Your father does no’ wish ye ill—”
“A dowry is no’ necessary,” Alec interrupted. “I wish to marry your daughter and do no’ need your money to do it.”
Sir Joshua bristled. “I will file in the court for breach of contract.”
“There can be no contract if Lady Giselle did no’ agree,” Lady Errol said, entering the parlor and drawing the attention of everyone there. “I see we have new guests.” Her voice took on a cheerful note. “Do forgive me for no’ greeting ye when ye arrived—I only just found out ye were here.” A subtle dig at their unannounced and unwelcome onslaught.
“My lady,” they murmured, with Sir Joshua bending his knee.
Giselle’s mother had the good sense to look embarrassed. Even though Alec had invited them, their coming and Sir Joshua Keith was not a joyful pretense.
“It seems I have come upon ye during a disagreement,” Lady Errol continued. “I had so wished to greet ye in more pleasant circumstances, seeing as how we’re to be a family.” She turned her gaze on Giselle’s father. “I do wish my late husband could have been here. He was honored to support your bill in parliament regarding the land tax distribution.”
Giselle watched as her father’s animosity started to melt, not entirely but a little, at the dowager’s reminder that her husband, his peer, had supported him. Asking without the use of specific words for Lord Bothwell to support her now.
“He was a verra good man,” her father said.
Lady Errol smiled graciously. “Indeed he was.”
“None of that changes the fact that there has been a breach of contract,” Sir Joshua said in a high-pitched tone, exasperation making spittle fly from his lips. “I demand satisfaction.”
These words were said directly to Alec, who stiffened at Giselle’s side.
“Sir,” her father said sternly to Keith. “I’m certain we can discuss this elsewhere.”
“Nay, we can no’.” Sir Joshua Keith doubled down, fists at his side. “We will settle this the way men do. A duel. Pistols. Tomorrow after dawn.”
Alec stepped forward, and Giselle wanted to grab him back, to leap between them, but then he said, “I accept. But I canna do it until luncheon.”
Sir Joshua sputtered, “Ye do no’ get to negotiate the time.”
Alec shrugged. “Then ye’ll find yourself quite alone, and I’ve witnesses enough here to say I offered another time. I am unavailable at dawn.”
Sir Joshua bared his teeth. “Ye would sully your reputation.”
Alec laughed bitterly and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ironic, coming from ye.”
Sir Joshua bristled, the tension in the lines of his body. Giselle worried their planned duel would come to blows right here and now. Lady Errol had paled but said nothing, understanding that this was one aspect of her son’s life she couldn’t intervene on. And Giselle understood now why she’d been asked to leave the castle—to get away from Alec because Lady Errol had worried he’d lose his life.
“Fine. Noon,” Sir Joshua finally relented.
“Noon at the abbey,” Alec clarified.
Her heart thundered in her chest. They would shoot at each other in the place where their rivalry had begun? This was a nightmare, a bloody nightmare.
“No’ a minute later,” Sir Joshu
a spat. “Ye’ll wish ye’d agreed to give her up.”
“I doubt it.” Alec sounded so confident, almost on the verge of mockery.
Joshua shouldered his way out of the parlor, the castle's front door slamming shut behind him.
This was a disaster. As if Joshua had not already done enough to attempt to destroy Alec’s life—now he would end it too. She knew how well he could handle a pistol, and from the story Alec had told her, how ruthless he could be with any weapon.
“Do ye see what ye’ve done?” Giselle said accusingly at her father. “Rather than negotiate the termination details of the betrothal contract that ye created without my permission, ye’ve sent two men to shoot at each other.”
“How dare ye speak to me that way,” her father said, his face growing red with anger.
“I say it’s high time I did. Ye’ve never listened to me. They could kill each other.”
“I’m no’ going to die,” Alec said.
“Sir Joshua Keith is a good shot,” Giselle said, her mind whirling with visions of Alec bleeding from a bullet wound. She couldn’t imagine a world in which he didn’t live, and if he were to die on that field, she would be forced to live her days out with the man who’d murdered him.
“So am I.”
“Nay, ye do no’ understand. He is verra good.” She’d watched him on the hunt earlier in the season, taking shots at anything and everything. In it to brag about his accuracy rather than catch the stag. “Please, do no’ do this, I beg ye.”
His mother looked ready to faint, and her father took the dowager countess’s arm, leading her to a chaise to sit down.
Alec narrowed his eyes at Giselle, the look of betrayal vivid in his eyes. “I assure ye, despite the way I look, I can handle myself. Especially when it comes to that bastard.”
And then he too was stomping from the room. Giselle stared after his retreating form, feeling a sense of dread. How could she trust him if he were so willing to throw himself into the line of a bullet meant to kill?
There was no mistaking the fear Alec saw in Giselle’s eyes when he’d agreed to the duel. She didn’t believe that he could take care of himself, and she knew what his death would mean to her—a life with Keith.
Seeing all of those thoughts play out on the open book pages of her face was a punch to the gut. And a reminder that she’d only agreed to marry him to get away from Keith, to begin with.
In the foyer, he was met with a line of his friends, blocking him from movement. Lorne, Euan and Malcolm all looked at him, determination etched in the lines of their faces.
“What the hell are ye doing?” Euan asked.
“Putting an end to this bloody feud for good.”
“Ye could be arrested,” Malcolm said. “Duels did no’ become legal while ye were hiding away up here, and I would no’ put it past that bastard to bring a magistrate as his second.”
“Neither would I,” Alec said with a bitter smirk. “That blackguard needs to be put in his place.”
“Ye already took his woman. Why do ye need to shoot him, too?” Lorne asked.
Alec resisted telling them why it would feel so good to put a bullet in the man who’d been the source of his lifelong torment.
Instead, he said, “Which one of ye will be my second?”
Euan sighed. “I will. I’ve got less to lose than either of these two blokes.”
Alec squeezed Euan’s shoulder. “Thank ye.”
“It does no’ mean I agree, so we’re clear.” Euan gave him a disgruntled look.
“I know. But I thank ye all the same.”
“Well, ye might as well show us where this is going to take place, so we know the lay of the land and can get a head start picking the right place to stand that has ye at an advantage,” Lorne said with a heavy exhale. “And pray my wife does no’ kill me for supporting ye.”
Alec took one last glance at the door behind him, wishing he could wrench it open and yank Giselle into his arms. But then her face flashed before his. The fear she’d displayed, the lack of confidence in his skills.
Didn’t she realize that this duel was about so much more than an accepted marriage proposal?
This was about what happened on the battlefield. This was about what Keith had done, what he’d taken. Alec needed to settle this score, or he’d never be able to move on with his life.
14
With Jamie and Lady Errol’s help—and the reluctant agreement of her parents—Giselle stood in the field by the abbey, looking at her handiwork with satisfaction.
This was certainly going to put a damper on the arrangement the two dueling idiots had. There was no way she was going to let them shoot each other. It was reckless, irresponsible and idiotic.
Tables covered in white cloth with vases of wildflowers on top were set for a luncheon outdoors. She was so glad the weather had cooperated because when she’d conceived of the plot to host the luncheon in the very same place the men schemed to shoot each other, she’d worried a storm would ruin everything.
But just as the weather had driven her and Alec together originally, it seemed to be cooperating today in bringing them back to the same parallel once more. The guests were due to arrive any minute, which was thirty minutes before the start of the duel. She intended to be well into the serving of their luncheon before the men arrived, and her little garden party spoiled their plans.
She was dressed this time in one of her day dresses, light pink with mauve ribbons, and a matching bonnet and slippers. Since they were outside, and she was wearing a bonnet, she’d not been subjected to the usual hairstyles her mother insisted upon. Despite having arranged to bring her back to Boddam, Lady Bothwell had still packed a trunk of her things, including day dresses, evening gowns, slippers, and other accouterments.
“He will be furious,” Giselle mused, mostly to herself.
“Aye,” Jaime agreed. “Men usually are when we get in the way of things that they deem necessary.”
“Even when it’s incredibly stupid?” Giselle winged a brow.
“Even more so then.” Jaime shrugged. “Eventually, he will realize ye did this out of love.”
Love. The word struck her as though she’d been hit by a stray bullet, and she jolted slightly.
She’d not considered before what her feelings were for Alec, beyond relief that he’d rescued her, desire when he kissed her, and a genuine sense of agreeableness and companionship. She liked him very much. Found the idea of spending her life with him to be exciting and was looking forward to it.
But love...something warm filled her chest then, expanding little by little until she felt as if she could barely breathe.
“I think I do love him.”
Jaime nodded. “Aye. It took me a while to figure it out with Lorne, but I can see it on your face when ye look at Alec.”
“Do ye think he loves me too?”
Jaime nodded. “I do no’ think he would go to the lengths he has if he did no’.”
Giselle bit her lip. But if that were true, then why would he risk his life?
“Of course, your marriage of convenience knocks out a few things for both of ye, but beyond it being an agreeable match for those reasons, I can see ye both care a great deal for one another. Or at the verra least that ye would no’ mind so much kissing him.”
Giselle grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do no’ mind kissing him at all.”
Jaime laughed. “Your secret is safe with me. Truth is, Lorne and I shared a few kisses before we were wed. And all of them were marvelous.”
“I think that is a healthy marker of a strong marriage then,” Giselle said because her kiss with Joshua had foretold of doom, quite the opposite of those passionate embraces she’d shared with Alec.
Hopefully, with her plan in place, she’d get to spend many more days and years in his arms.
A short time later, as the assembled house party guests munched on cucumber sandwiches and sipped lemonade, Alec rode up on his horse with his friends, who’d ob
viously agreed to support him in this farce, followed not a minute later by Keith and his second. Both of them glowered at those who sat amiably at the tables laughing, chatting and calling out to join them.
Giselle sat frozen. Alec seemed so furious. She’d never seen him that way, not even when he’d been punching the wall in the garden. There was another expression on his face—betrayal. Didn’t he understand she’d done this for him? It was hard to look him in the eye.
Keith scowled at Alec. “What the bloody hell is the meaning of this?” he accused.
Alec’s regard swept harshly over the party, his eyes settling on hers. For a split second, she felt a twinge of regret, but then she remembered this entire scheme was about saving his life. She stood from the table and approached.
“Surprise,” she hedged, holding out her hands as if to present the tables and guests as a gift. “We missed your birthday celebration, so we thought we’d do so now.”
Alec said nothing, the muscle in his jaw pulsing. The broody man she’d seen beat up a wall in an Edinburgh garden returned in full force. This did not bode well for her plans. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Couldn’t he see that she’d done this for his good?
“Are ye making sport of men’s business?” Keith snarled at her. “We’d no’ be in this situation if ye did what ye were bloody well told.”
Heat filled Giselle’s cheeks. Though they were a slight distance away from those at the tables, words tended to carry on the wind, and she wouldn’t doubt it if everyone could hear what was being said. She pleaded with Alec silently to get off his horse and join the festivities. To put this nonsense behind him.
Alec stared over her head at those at the table. She couldn’t read his thoughts and wondered if he was considering it or if he was trying to figure out a way to participate in the duel with those guests as witnesses.
The local village doctor also arrived at that moment, a stark reminder that if she’d not set up this little party, he would be tending to one or both of them.
Alec glanced at the doctor, a tight smile on his face. “Ah, so good of ye to join us, sir. I had hoped ye’d be willing to take a look at Lady Giselle’s ankle. She seems to have sprained it some days ago.”