by Meara Platt
She was dressed in a drab, brown woolen gown. Her long hair was braided and tied back with a ribbon. Her eyes drooped slightly from fatigue, and her cheeks and nose were pink from the chill in the mountain air.
Sunlight filtered over her. To John, she glowed like a creature of magic, a wood sprite or exquisite faerie.
He tore his gaze away from Nicola and turned to Sammy and his boys, grinning as he noted their gaping mouths and wide eyes. Indeed, Nicola was casting her magic over Sammy and his lads. They were struck mute by her beauty and could not form the words to respond to her greeting. Angus was the first to recover his wits. “Good day to ye, Lady Bainbridge.”
Sammy chuckled. “I can see why ye married her, laddie. Got yerself a prime stallion,” he said with a longing glance at Valor, “and a prize filly.” He grinned in approval at Nicola. “Didn’t think Bainbridge would ever marry, but ye must have struck him like a bolt of lightning. What man could ever resist a pretty thing like ye?”
“Thank you, Mr. Fraser,” Nicola said sweetly, but she nudged a little closer to John’s side, for Sammy was doing little to hide his admiration of her. Neither were his boys.
John gave her hand a gentle squeeze to assure her that he would keep her close. “Sammy, my wife is tired and hasn’t had much to eat. Do you—”
“Say no more, laddie. Ye’ll be our guests this evening in our home. We ought to reach it by nightfall if we don’t dawdle.” He turned to his sons. “Mount up, lads. We’re having company this evening.”
John lifted Nicola onto Valor and climbed on behind her, settling her against his chest and wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her securely to him. They’d been riding like this for two days now. He ought to have been used to her nearness. But he wasn’t.
He couldn’t get enough of Nicola.
His physical ache was nothing to the ache in his heart.
Young Angus had not taken his eyes off Nicola since she’d stepped out from the copse of trees. Sammy noticed his son’s look of adoration as well. He rode up beside John. “Seems odd that yer wife is wearing no jewels and her gown is rather plain.”
Nicola stiffened in indignation. “We’re on the run for our lives, Mr. Fraser. My fine gowns and jewels were left behind in Invergarry.” She drew a breath to say more, but John gave her another subtle squeeze in warning. While Sammy looked like an oafish dissolute, he was one of the smartest men John had ever met and his instincts were as good as his own.
The way Sammy and his boys were eyeing Nicola gave him more than a little cause for concern. There was only one way he was going to keep these damn Frasers from claiming her for one of them.
He had to leave no doubt in their minds that she was his.
He had to claim her for himself.
The Scottish way.
CHAPTER 8
NICOLA DID NOT understand why John was scowling at her. Not that she could see him scowling, but she sensed that he was. What had she done now? She’d been on her best behavior since going on the run, and had hardly spoken a word in all the hours since they’d met Sammy Fraser and his sons. Perhaps he wasn’t scowling at her, but was worried that they were being led into a trap. “John,” she started in a whisper, but he gave her a little squeeze that she understood to be a warning to be quiet.
So she said nothing more, merely remained squirming tensely in his arms.
His body felt tense, too.
“We’re not far from Sammy’s village now,” John said as the sun dipped low on the horizon. The hour was late and the path had grown dark, for they were once more in the mountains and the tall pines obscured any sunlight that might have reached them. Certainly no moonlight or starlight would ever penetrate here.
There was an eerie quiet to the night. The only sounds Nicola heard were the occasional snorts and whickers from their horses. Not even the clip-clop of their hooves could be heard upon the soft carpet of fallen pine leaves.
They’d had to wait until nightfall to cross another open meadow, and then make their way over two small mountains before coming upon a village of no more than a dozen homes. From what Nicola could see, they were mostly rough-hewn cottages and none of them were stately. But the scent of roasted meat from an earlier supper lingered in the air along with acrid peat smoke from hearth fires.
Nicola’s stomach growled.
She was hungry enough to devour anything that moved in front of her and did not succeed in devouring her first.
John sighed. “There’s one thing we must do before we eat.”
She frowned. “What’s that?”
He said nothing for a long moment. “Just follow my lead. Do as I do. Repeat what I say. It is important.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but nodded. “Very well. Care to give me a clue what’s going on?”
“No. Just do as I tell you.”
They drew their mounts up before the largest home among this circle of otherwise small, rundown houses. Someone was awake, for there was movement inside and suddenly a light emanated from the window. Whoever was watching them had lit a lantern and was now hurrying to open the front door. “Och, ye old scoundrel,” a sturdy-looking woman of about five and thirty years chided Sammy as the door flew open with a loud groan, sounding as though it was about to come off its hinges.
Sammy dismounted and gave the woman a hearty kiss on the lips. “Maeve, m’love.”
The woman tugged on his ear and then put her hands on her hips to mark her irritation. “Don’t ye dare sweet talk me, ye rascal. I thought the soldiers had finally captured ye. What kept ye away for so long this time?” Then her gaze traveled to Nicola and John. “What have we here?”
“Friends of mine, Maeve.” Sammy hastily made introductions before striding inside and bidding them all to follow. The woman was not his wife, for Sammy’s sons did not call her their mother, and Angus muttered something about her being Black Sammy’s widow, and Black Sammy was an arse who did not treat his women right, so Maeve was much better off warming Red Sammy’s bed as she had these past ten years… even though Black Sammy had only been dead nine years.
Nicola’s jaw dropped open.
Fortunately, she had no need to say anything. Sammy was now explaining their plight to Maeve. “Lord Bainbridge is a good friend of mine. He and his… wife… are in need of our assistance. But first, they’re in need of food and a fire to warm them. They’ve been on the road for a spell.”
Oh, dear. He’d stressed the word “wife” as though he did not believe she and John were married, which they weren’t and never would be if the matter were left to John.
Yet, Nicola felt the comforting warmth of John’s arm around her shoulders. In the next moment, John put both hands on her shoulders and gently turned her toward him. Then his hands slipped from her shoulders to claim her hands. They now stood facing each other, although she had to tip her gaze upward to meet his, for he stood a head taller than her, perhaps a bit more. John was a big man.
And his jaw was twitching, not quite in spasms, but noticeably to her familiar eye. He did not look at all pleased.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a whisper.
His gaze upon her turned surprisingly tender. “Sammy’s looking for proof.”
She frowned. “Of what?”
“Our marriage. He doesn’t believe we are husband and wife.”
She tried to feign outrage, but it was hard to do when their so-called state of marital bliss was a lie. “How do we prove it?”
“Like this.” He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her face up. At the same time, he closed his eyes and lowered his lips to press them lightly against hers. She responded as any woman kissed by John would, melting into a limpid pool at his touch. She was acutely aware that Sammy, Maeve, and Sammy’s sons were watching.
Although his kiss was purposefully gentle, she would not call it tame. He was tense and straining like a stallion, eager to set his rampant desire free. She felt the same, now certain she’d been born a hussy, for she felt no sham
e in responding to him in front of spectators. After an appropriately long moment, he drew away and smiling, caressed her cheek with his thumb. “I declare before these witnesses that I have taken Lady Nicola Jennifer Emory as my wife before man and God. She is my Lady Bainbridge for now and ever more.”
Ah, she understood what he was doing and cast him a return smile. He was maintaining the pretense to keep her out of the clutches of Sammy’s boys, who had not stopped ogling her since they’d first set eyes upon her. “And I declare before these witnesses that I have taken John Randall, Earl of Bainbridge, as my husband before man and… God. He is my Lord Bainbridge for now and ever more.”
She prayed silently for forgiveness, for it was one thing to mislead these men. She did not trust them as far as she could spit. And yes, she could spit as well as any man. But to lie to the Good Lord did not sit well with her. Hopefully, He would understand her desperation and know she’d never lie without compunction unless her life and John’s were in danger.
Sammy grumbled as he slapped John on the back. “I was sure ye were lyin’ to me, lad. Guess I was wrong. Ye’re a lucky man. I hope ye appreciate her and treat her as finely as she deserves.” He turned to Nicola. “Ye must be a saint, lass. Or an angel to put up with the likes of him.”
She shook her head and laughed. “Then you know him well, Mr. Fraser.”
“Call me, Sammy.” He eyed her speculatively. “Ye look soft and gentle, but ye seem to have him well in hand, so I suspect there’s a good dose of strong will and Scottish stubbornness in ye.”
“I am most certainly strong-willed and stubborn, but I’m afraid I’m not Scottish. My family is English. I hope none of my ancestors ever did you harm.”
Sammy shrugged. “Likely they did. Some fierce battles took place up here, ending with Culloden Moor. But I think while yer men were off fightin’, some of our men were off wooing the Englishwomen who’d followed them up here. Lass, that red hair and yer blazin’ green eyes give ye away. There’s a Scot lurking somewhere in yer royal blue bloodlines.”
“My hair is auburn, not red. And my—”
John stepped between them before matters got out of hand, for accusing any of the women in Nicola’s family line of infidelity was typical of Sammy taking matters too far. The old bounder wouldn’t see it as an insult, for declaring her a Scot was, to his way of thinking, a great compliment. “Obviously, that’s why I fell in love with her at first sight,” John said, casting Nicola a wink. “My wife is her own person, whatever her ancestry, and she won’t hesitate to take a fist to your nose if you don’t stop goading her, Sammy.”
Maeve clucked and tsked in agreement. “Behave yerself, Red Sammy. His lordship has proved they’re wed so leave them alone. Yer sons will have to find their wives elsewhere. And it wouldna hurt their prospects if they washed more often. They’re handsome lads, but who’s to notice under all that filth?” She took Nicola and led her to a stool by the fire. “Make yerself comfortable, m’lady. I’ll put on some stew to warm.”
Nicola liked the no-nonsense woman and admired the way she maintained control of four obviously stubborn men. She may not be mother to Sammy’s sons, but they obeyed her and responded to her as though she were. “Thank you, Maeve. Please call me Nicola. It seems ridiculous to maintain formality, especially after the kindness you’ve all shown us.”
As she’d taken her seat beside the fire, John had moved to the fire as well. Was it merely to warm himself? She did not think so. John was still keeping close to her. She did not understand why. They were pretend married now and the Frasers had believed their lie.
She sighed. It was only a small fib, a necessary misstatement given under dire circumstances.
Lord, forgive me.
Truly, it had felt wrong to lie to Maeve, but she did not have quite as much guilt about lying to Sammy and his sons. They were unrepentant rogues, and Angus in particular had not stopped staring at her. Perhaps that was what John had noticed also.
“M’lord,” Sammy said once they’d eaten their stew and washed it down with a surprisingly good homemade ale. They were all seated on sturdy benches around the dining table. Maeve was busying herself serving Sammy and his boys with second helpings, for they had announced they were still hungry and demanded more. “Yer pretty wife looks ready to fall asleep on her feet.”
John nodded and cast him a wry grin. “Unlike us scoundrels, she isn’t used to a harsh life. She’s never been on the run before.”
Nicola muffled her yawn. “I’d hardly call your hospitality harsh, Mr. Fraser. You’ve been most generous with us and I thank you.”
“Och, I wish I’d had a girl and not just pigheaded sons. The pleasure is all mine, I assure ye, Lady Bainbridge.” He slapped his hands on his knees and grunted to his feet. The wooden bench groaned as he eased off it.
Sammy then playfully caught Maeve about the waist and drew her up against his portly frame. “Maeve, m’love, would it be all right to offer yer cottage to these lovebirds for the night? I’d suggest that his lordship sleep here while ye ladies retire to yer cottage, but ye can see his lordship wants her warm body beside him and isn’t about to agree to any arrangement that doesn’t have her in his arms. So, ye can stay with me tonight, and everyone’s happy,” he said with a wicked grin. “Ye look like ye need a little warmin’ up yerself and I’m just the man to oblige.”
Maeve hit him across the head with the wooden spoon in her hand. “Ye big oaf. Is that any way to talk in front of Lady Bainbridge? Look, the poor thing’s blushing. Och, lamb. Ye must ignore Red Sammy. But ye and yer husband are welcome to my cottage. Ye ought to be safe enough from outsiders this evening.”
“Thank you, Maeve. I appreciate the offer. You see, I’ve quickly grown used to having Lord Bainbridge by my side and would not like to spend even one night apart.”
Sammy and his sons guffawed and John looked surprised.
Sammy gave him a hearty wallop on the back. “Seems the lass can’t get enough of ye. Hungry for ye, she is. And by the look of ye, it seems yer even hungrier for her. I thought ye Uppity Ups did not like to share beds.” He shook his white-capped head and sighed. “Archie will show ye the way. It does m’old heart good to see a young couple in love. But ye mustn’t wring him dry, m’lady, or he’ll be useless tomorrow. We have a long ride ahead of us and I plan to have us on the road before the cock’s first crow.”
Nicola breathed a sigh of relief once she and John were brought to Maeve’s cottage and finally left alone. John had brought his weapons along with him, and they’d been given a lantern to see their way around the small place. Nicola could instantly tell that Maeve was a fastidious woman. Although small and sparse, her one-room home was neat and nicely maintained.
There were feminine frills, some pretty dishes on display. Lace runners on a few, small tables. Lace curtains. These little details had been lacking in Sammy’s abode. Although his cottage was much bigger, it had suffered from the lack of tender care by the rowdy men who lived there.
Sammy and his boys were not the delicate sort, certainly would never think to dust shelves or wash floors or not slam doors.
They were not the sort to decorate with lace either. No, they would smuggle lace, for certain. But never keep it for themselves.
“John, what happens next?” She did not know what he had in mind for sleeping arrangements, but whatever he decided was fine with her. She was tired, practically dead on her feet, and wished nothing more than to close her eyes. All the fight had gone out of her when he’d taken her hands in his and declared he was her husband.
Her lips were still tingling from his gentle kiss.
Their marriage was a lie, but John had spoken those words with such gentle affection that the lie had sounded splendid to her ears.
“We’ll have to share Maeve’s bed.” He took her hand in his, sounding more remorseful than pleased. “I’m sorry, Nicola. But they’ll grow suspicious if we don’t sleep together, and then that whelp, Angus, will be claiming you f
or his own.”
She laughed lightly. “All these seasons on the shelf and suddenly I’m the belle of the Highlands ball.”
He frowned at her. “You were always the prettiest girl wherever you went. You’re the one who chased the men away.”
“Until Somersby.” She slipped her hand out of John’s grasp and put it to her lips to stifle a sob. “Oh, John. I don’t want to think about him tonight. How could I have been so stupid? How could I not see the man he was?”
“No one saw it, Nicola.” He placed her hand back in his and led her behind a curtained area of the cottage that served as Maeve’s bedchamber. The bed was small, hardly big enough to hold one person. Perhaps it would fit two people if they snuggled tight. John was big and broad shouldered, but she was fairly slight in build.
Besides, she and John had been pasted to each other for days. Surely, they could manage to spend the night squeezed together.
In truth, it would be heaven for her.
He stayed her hand when she started to remove her shawl. “Don’t undress. Just take off your boots. We may have to make a run for it if Somersby or his men show up.”
She nodded, turning away slightly to hide her disappointment.
She was ready to strip down to nothing for this man, but his mind was on his duty and not on laying claim to her body even though she was his pretend wife. And now he wasn’t even looking at her, but was striding to the window to peer out into the blackness.
“Bollocks,” he muttered, striding to the door to make certain the latch was secure. He then lifted Maeve’s table, which was made of thick, sturdy oak, and set it firmly against the door.
“What are you doing?” That table appeared to weigh as much as a horse. Yet, John had lifted it as though it was nothing.
“Sammy’s boys are curious.”
She gasped. “Were they peeking in?”
He nodded. “Still are.”
“What?” She raced to the window and saw their shameless faces grinning back at her. “How dare they!”
John caught her by the waist as she made to open the window to punch the closest of Sammy’s sons in the nose. “They mean no harm.”