And with that, he was gone. A moment later, the sound of horse’s hooves dashing through the courtyard once again filled the crisp spring air.
William helped the groom into a chair. “You should never have let your guard down. I warned you when I left you here.”
“I know,” the groom said miserably. “She was just so bewitching, Cap’n. Such a loverly woman.”
There was a flurry of noise in the entryway and then Emma and Jane stuck their heads in the door, followed shortly by an angry Mrs. MacClannahan who, upon seeing one of her good windows broken to bits, promptly threw herself upon the floor and had a fit.
It took all of Marcail’s skill to smooth things over.
An hour later, after enough money had been placed in Mr. MacClannahan’s hand to make him all smiles, William gathered up Marcail, said goodbye to the kind old ladies who were still patting Mrs. MacClannahan’s hand, installed the bandaged Poston on the coach, and took his entire retinue back on the road to the relative sanity of London.
A letter from Mary Hurst to her brother Michael, on a cold spring evening.
Between William’s moping about as if his heart is broken and Robert’s secretive behavior, I worry about the Hurst men. They seem to fall in love with the most inappropriate women, and never with the joy one would wish. It would quite put me off the thought of falling in love if I weren’t firmly of the opinion that they were both doing it very badly. I trust that you will do better when—and if—you fall in love.
CHAPTER 18
William barely waited for the coach door to close before he reached for Marcail. With a huge sigh, he pulled her onto his lap, wrapped his arms about her, and rested his forehead against hers.
Marcail snuggled close. “It’s been a difficult morning.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling against her shoulder. “You, my love, have the gift of understatement.”
She flattened her hand on his chest. She could feel every breath he drew. Deep and strong, his chest’s movement was comforting and steady.
As a young girl, she’d been so driven to succeed in her career and to protect her family, she hadn’t appreciated William’s steadfastness, his commitment to his family, his trustworthiness.
She wished she could take back the past and start anew, but who didn’t wish that for a lost love? The real question was, would it really change anything?
He rubbed his bruised cheek.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“A little.”
She softly kissed the spot.
He glinted her a smile. “You are very good at taking care of people—your family and even Colchester.”
“I did what I had to. I’m certain my sisters would have done the same for me had they been older.”
“Your parents are fools.”
“They are proud. I’ve been told it’s a family trait.”
“There’s pride, and then there’s prideful. I would never call you prideful.”
“We were both too proud for our own good.” She toyed with his collar, and he could see she was mulling something over. Finally, she said, “My father says I’m not respectable enough for my sisters’ company and he has demanded that I not see them.” She grinned unrepentantly. “I do anyway, of course. My father lost the right to tell me what to do when he stopped making responsible decisions for our family.”
She spoke as if it hadn’t caused her pain, but William knew better. He couldn’t imagine life without his family. His sisters wrote regularly, visited when they could, and spared no energy in trying to organize his life. His brothers shared their dreams and hopes, and expected the same of him. Despite the different directions life had taken them in, they all maintained contact.
Marcail had been left alone.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’ve saved the family house, their lands, their fortune, and your father says you’re ‘not fit’ to visit?”
“I have my grandmother, of course.”
One person. The thought nearly broke his heart. She’d sent him away years ago and he’d gone, smoldering and nursing his own wounds without giving any thought to hers.
She smoothed his collar back into place. “Our parents serve one of two purposes in our lives: either they are examples for us to strive toward, or warnings of what we should strive against.”
“Well said.”
“I’ve done a lot of thinking about it.” She brushed her hair from her forehead, her movements graceful and calm. It was odd. As much as she inflamed him—and he was as randy as a youngster with his first barmaid even now—she also made him feel more … peaceful. As if all was right with the world when she was close by.
The thought was ridiculous, but it made him realize her special qualities—something her own parents didn’t value as they should, damn them both. “It’s amazing you’re not bitter about your parents.”
“I was angry when I realized Father wasn’t going to relent, but I’ve come to realize that it’s for the best. I want my sisters to take their place in society, and that means that they must renounce me publicly. In a way, it was part of the plan.”
“I can’t believe your mother allowed your father to become such a despot.”
“She is cowed by him. I don’t know why, for he’s not a violent man.” A flicker of darkness crossed her eyes. “I believe she fears he’ll leave her, which doesn’t sound like a horrible fate to me, but perhaps it seems a horrible fate to her. Sometimes relationships can fall into habits and hers is to stay with him no matter what.”
“I suppose change can be difficult for some people.” He rested his chin on her forehead. “What about you, Marcail? Do you fear change?”
She lifted her head to look up at him. “What sort of change?”
William found that he couldn’t speak. Until that moment, he hadn’t really thought of what he was going to say, but now, looking into her violet eyes, the words lined up on his tongue, ready to be said for the first time ever. He knew what he wanted. “I’m talking about significant change. About opening your life and allowing someone—me—to enter.”
Her eyes widened. “I—I’m not sure what you mean—”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Marcail Beauchamp, darling of Drury Lane, unappreciated daughter, passionate lover, and the woman who holds my heart in her hand—will you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?”
“You’re … you’re serious?”
“Totally.”
“But … I’m an actress.”
“And I’m a sea captain. Marcail, we’re no longer the children we once were. Neither of us answers to anyone else. It’s time we take life by the horns and make it ours.”
“I don’t want to leave the stage.”
“Then don’t. I promise not to beat up any of your admirers, even the king, should he be so foolish. But I reserve the right to stand outside your dressing room and look fierce. Furthermore I won’t allow my actions to harm you or your career. I’m not that selfish anymore.”
Marcail’s lips quivered, and tears filled her eyes. She was filled with a happiness so great that it defied description. “You’ll still sail?”
“Yes, but I’ll only accept short journeys. I may even buy two or three ships and invest in some ventures.”
“I don’t wish you to stop doing anything you’ll miss—”
“I won’t.”
“And I don’t wish you to feel as if you have to live in London all of the time. I know you enjoy visiting your family at Wythburn and we’ll want to go there frequently, which is fine with me.”
“If I am overcome with the desire to visit my family, I will do so.”
She bit her lip. “Neither one of us owns a house, either. That could be an expense and—”
“For the love of heaven, Marcail, will you stop trying to find reasons to say no?” He captured her face between his warm hands. “Say yes, my love. Say yes to sharing your life, your cares. Say yes to accepting that I love you, and wi
ll do everything I can to make our lives better.” He dropped his forehead to hers, his voice deepening with an almost desperate plea. “Please, Marcail—say yes to me.”
Then she knew in her heart that there was only one answer. Things wouldn’t always be easy with her strong-willed, bossy sea captain, but she knew from their adventure that he wasn’t one to quit. When the storms came they’d both be ready, and with the lessons they’d learned along the way, they’d weather the storms together. Hand in hand.
And that was how it should be.
She twined her arms about his neck. “Yes.”
And they sealed their promise with a kiss.
Letter from the Earl of Erroll to his cousin, Neason Hay.
I received your package yesterday and I must thank you for the excellent facsimiles of those damned onyx boxes that have Mary’s family in such an uproar. The facsimiles are so perfectly made that if they had the maps engraved on the inside like the originals, I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.
Neason, I can’t thank you enough for this assistance, and I once more make my plea that you return to New Slains Castle. During the years you spent here, especially those after the death of my first wife, I came to regard you as a brother.
I know you’ve made some mistakes, but we all have. Living with Mary has shown me how important family is and, come what may, you are my family.
When you receive this letter, pray make haste to New Slains. I should be returning from London within the week and nothing would make me happier than to have you once again residing under our family roof.
EPILOGUE
As the theater curtain fell closed, the crowd flew to their feet as one. They whistled and stamped, yelled and shouted, and rained coins and flowers upon the stage.
The reaction from the boxes was equally enthusiastic, though more muted. In the largest box to stage left, Mary Hurst wiped her tears and then turned to her brother. “William, she is magnificent.”
“Yes, she is.” He knew that his grin was probably so wide as to appear ridiculous, but he didn’t care. Marcail was now his, and nothing else mattered. They’d wed two days prior in a private ceremony in her grandmamma’s garden, attended by Marcail’s four sisters and all of his siblings. Neither of Marcail’s parents had come, but both of William’s had—a surprise that had made Marcail burst into tears of joy.
Nothing could have cemented her relationship with his family more, and William had felt like a giddy schoolboy ever since.
Tonight was Marcail’s final performance for the season, before the theater changed their headline performance to an Italian opera. To William’s delight, his bride had almost two free months ahead.
The Earl of Erroll came to stand beside Mary. “I’ve never seen Lady MacBeth better played. Will Marcail continue to act, now that you’re married?”
“Yes, for as long as she wishes.” He stood to go. “I must leave. We set sail on the morning tide to win Michael’s release.” He shook Erroll’s hand. “Your cousin did well with the substitutions; they are very well made.”
Erroll looked pleased. He and his cousin had had a falling out several months before. William didn’t know all of the details, but had gleaned that Neason had been stealing some of the lesser artifacts and selling them on the black market.
“Neason is a good man,” Erroll said now. “Just weak.”
Mary nodded. “He is to return to New Slains Castle and live with us, as he should.” She shot her fiancé an arch look. “We have very big plans for him, don’t we?”
“Very. Once Robert returns to London, he’s promised to take Neason under his wing and teach him how to successfully—and legitimately—sell the artifacts we don’t wish to keep.”
William nodded his approval. “That’s an excellent idea.”
“Have you heard from Robert?” Mary asked.
“Not a word. He must still be on the trail of his elusive redhead.”
“Do you think he’ll find her?”
“He won’t quit until he does. He believes she holds the final piece to our treasure map.”
“In the meantime, I suppose all we can do is wait,” Mary said in a disgruntled tone. “There are aspects of this affair that have not ended up to my liking.” She scowled. “And George Aniston is one of them.”
Some of William’s happiness faded. Marcail had been right saying that Colchester would set Aniston aside when his dastardly actions were known. William had been determined to have the bastard locked away, but after talking to his solicitor, he realized there was no way to bring charges against Aniston without dragging Marcail’s name through the mud.
William had decided that he’d administer his own form of punishment, but before he could do so, Aniston had packed his belongings and left town. No one knew where the man had gone.
Mary placed her hand on William’s arm. “Aniston will get his just desserts. Fate always cleans up her messes. Now go and collect Marcail. I have no doubt she’s being mobbed outside her dressing room.”
William turned toward the door.
“And William? Promise you’ll bring Michael home.”
“Of course. Along with the redoubtable Miss Smythe-Haughton. I am most curious about her.”
“She sounds like a veritable dragon,” Mary said.
“Which makes one wonder.” Erroll exchanged an amused look with William.
“Exactly.” William left and quickly made his way to the dressing rooms, where Marcail stood surrounded by admirers, looking elegantly beautiful in a white robe.
He watched from the doorway for a while, noting that her expression, though smiling, was cool and distant.
He moved closer, and her eyes found his. A huge smile bloomed over her face and lit her violet eyes, and William needed no more encouragement. He slipped an arm about her waist and gently closed her dressing room door on the crowd.
Once there, with a chair wedged firmly under the doorknob, William tenderly and with great enthusiasm let Mercail know exactly what he thought of her performance by providing her with one of his very own.
Meet the irresistible Hurst sisters!
Sensible Catriona Hurst from
Sleepless in Scotland in the MacLean Curse series,
where it all began
Her lovely twin sister, Caitlin Hurst, from
The Laird Who Loved Me
also in the MacLean Curse series
Fearless Mary Hurst from
One Night in Scotland,
the first Hurst Amulet novel
And in October 2011, look forward to meeting
dashing Robert Hurst in Seduced in Scotland!
FROM Sleepless in Scotland
“You are no gentleman!” Triona said, her voice trembling furiously.
He chuckled, the sound low and husky in the dark. “I never said I was, and you would be wrong to think I wish to be one.”
She clenched her hands into fists. “I am done with this! There has been a horrible mistake.”
“If there has, it would be your planning to trick a MacLean into marriage.”
She swallowed a flash of temper. The man thought she was Caitlyn, and her sister’s brash words and actions were reprehensible.
“My lord, allow me to introduce myself once and for all. I am Caitlyn Hurst’s sister, Triona Hurst.”
His deep laugh was not pleasant. “Yes, the convenient mystery twin. Really, is that the best story you can come up with?”
“It’s the truth. I realize Caitlyn’s behavior has been terrible. I, too, was shocked when I discovered her plan to trick you into—”
He laughed, the sound rolling over her like a dash of cold water. “Come, Miss Hurst, we both know there is no ‘sister Triona.’”
“It’s the truth,” she replied in a waspish tone, clenching her hands. “If you’d light a blasted lamp, you’d see for yourself!”
Still chuckling, he settled into the corner of the rumbling coach. “There’s no need for such games, my dear. I am maste
r of this trick now.” He yawned. “Because of your silly plan, I had but an hour of sleep last night and was up with the sun. You may entertain me with your faradiddles when I awake.”
Triona ground her teeth. The wretch was going to sleep? “Look, MacLean, I refuse to just sit here while you—”
“You don’t have a choice,” he replied, an edge of impatience to his voice.
“I’m not going to accept this simply because you—”
“Enough.”
His dangerously low, flat voice doused her irritation with cold reason. She was alone in a dark coach with a man she knew very little about, and what she did know wasn’t promising. Her grandmother’s tales about the MacLeans’ storm-inducing temper and Aunt Lavinia’s warning about the man’s pride told her challenging him directly would be a poor decision.
To some extent, she was defenseless—though a woman of intelligence could always find some sort of weapon. She flexed her foot, thinking that her pointed boot could be used to good effect. It wasn’t much, but it replenished her sense of calm.
If she wished to escape this little adventure unscathed, she must use her wits. She’d have to make her move when the carriage was still and there might be other people nearby—decent people, she hoped, who would help a woman in distress. “My lord, I suggest we find the nearest inn and repair there to discuss this unfortunate happening.”
“There is no inn on this stretch of road, but I plan to stop within the hour. Meanwhile, I’ve ridden all day and I’m tired, so I am going to sleep.” His voice deepened as he added, “Unless, of course, you are offering to entertain me with more than senseless babble?”
“Entertain? How could I—” Realization dawned, along with a flood of heated embarrassment. “I’d rather eat mud!”
He chuckled, the sound as rich as it was unexpected. “Then hush and let me sleep.” He shifted deeper into the corner, though his long legs still filled more than his fair half of the space. “Sleep, Caitlyn or Caitriona or whatever you call yourself. Sleep or be silent.”
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