The MacLeans: Sleepless in Scotland

by Karen Hawkins

  “I know,” Caitlyn said quietly. “But when I came to London and met Alexander, I couldn’t help myself. Grandmama has been telling us about the MacLean curse all our lives, and I wanted to see it in action. Not a scary amount, just enough to know that it was true. Like last night—I could feel Hugh’s anger.” She shivered.

  Triona remembered how the wind had made the building shudder, threatened the windows, and made the shutters bang furiously. This is the man I’m supposed to marry? She shivered, too.

  Caitlyn’s gaze locked on Triona. “Now you know why I have been teasing Alexander, although he thinks I’m merely flirting with him. I’d been trying for weeks to engage him in a wager he would lose, so that he’d be vexed enough to lose his temper. But he kept winning, which made him gloat horridly instead.”

  Triona frowned. “Caitlyn, when you were wagering Lord MacLean, what were the stakes? You have no funds.”

  She shrugged. “It was perfectly innocent.”

  “Thank goodness,” Aunt Lavinia said.

  “All we wagered were a few kisses.”

  “Kisses!” Aunt Lavinia shrieked.

  “Well, there was a little more than kisses, but only once—” At Aunt Lavinia’s moan, Caitlyn hurried to add, “After that, we went directly to the wager you know about: whether or not I could force him to propose.” She scowled. “I had everything perfectly laid out, too. I was to hide in the seat box and then come out when he changed the horses at the first stage. He’d have to admit that I’d won the wager, then.”

  Aunt Lavinia blinked. “And…would you have married him?”

  “As if I’d have a braggart like that for a husband!” Caitlyn scoffed.

  “What if you were genuinely ruined?” Triona asked.

  Caitlyn grew serious. “I didn’t think that could happen until last night, when I saw Uncle Bedford with Hugh MacLean. I wish you hadn’t come to London to save me.”

  “It’s too late now.” Aunt Lavinia fanned herself with her handkerchief. “Leave things to your uncle Bedford. Hugh MacLean should arrive—” She glanced at the clock and frowned. “He should have been here ten minutes ago. Your uncle will not be pleased he’s late.”

  Triona came to her feet once more, resuming her pacing. “This is outrageous! I barely know the man!”

  “Oh, child, I’m sure that once you and Lord Hugh marry, you’ll find some commonalities and be quite satisfied. I barely knew your uncle Bedford before he proposed, and I have grown quite fond of him over the years.” Aunt Lavinia smiled. “I couldn’t have asked for a more gentle and kind husband. I was quite fortunate and you may be as well.”

  “What if we discover instead that we hate one another? That he hates the way I use my fork, or the fact that I’m a little grumpy in the mornings—”

  “A little?” Caitlyn murmured, rolling her eyes.

  Triona glared at her sister before turning back to Aunt Lavinia. “Worse, what if there is something seriously wrong with his character? Perhaps he’s a-a thief! Or kicks dogs, or hates living in the country? What if”—cold clutched at her heart—“what if he’s in love with another woman?”

  “He’s not in love with anyone,” Aunt Lavinia said with assurance. “If he were, I would know. Every time he and his brother so much as look at a woman, people talk. Hugh MacLean tends to avoid eligible females, and has made it plain he has no plans of ever marrying.”

  “Lovely. He’s averse to marriage in general.”

  “As are you,” Caitlyn pointed out fairly.

  “I am not! I am in favor of marriage, just not this one and not under these circumstances!”

  In the past, when she’d thought of marriage, it had been to wish for a relationship like her parents’. Mother and Father were supremely happy; it showed in the way they looked at each other, as well as the pride they took in sharing their lives with each other.

  Aunt Lavinia said in a buoyant voice, “Yes, well, I’m sure Hugh MacLean will welcome marriage now.”

  “Oh, yes. Being forced to do something is such a pleasant way to change one’s mind about it.” Triona rubbed her forehead. “And what little I know of him—that he eschews eligible women and possesses a temper that could blow away an inn—indicates that he’d be a horrid husband.”

  Caitlyn frowned. “I’ve never heard anyone speak ill of him.”

  “Nor I,” Aunt Lavinia agreed. “Indeed, the only negative talk I’ve ever heard toward Hugh MacLean is about his illegitimate children. They say there are scores.”

  “Scores?” Triona asked weakly, sinking back onto the settee.

  “Not scores.” Caitlyn shot a dark look at her aunt.

  Aunt Lavinia shrugged. “I’m sure people are merely exaggerating. There cannot be as many as people say, for the man can’t be old enough to have more than five or six. Unless there were twins, or if he was seeing more than one woman at a time, which I suppose is possible.”

  She finally caught Triona’s panicked gaze. “Oh my dear, look on the bright side!” Aunt Lavinia said in a cheery voice. “They say he quite lavishes his children with affection, and spends scads on their well-being.”

  “So?”

  “So, he must have excellent funding! Your uncle will of course discover more, but it is a very good indication that you will not want for pin money, or have a cold house because there isn’t enough coal.”

  “So all we know about Hugh MacLean is that his financial situation is unclear, he has an unknown number of illegitimate children, and the family curse is true. I’ve caught quite a prize!”

  Aunt Lavinia wrinkled her nose. “Do not look at it that way. Surely—”

  “Pardon me, my lady,” intoned the butler. “Lord Hugh MacLean to see Miss Caitriona Hurst.”

  Chapter 7

  “Och, me dearies! Most men are worth the trouble when all’s said and done, fer we all need challenges to keep us sharp.”

  OLD WOMAN NORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER’S NIGHT

  Triona sprang to her feet, hands fisted at her sides, her face hot.

  He came to see me, not my uncle. Triona found that reassuring. Her thundering heart slowed a mite, and she managed to catch her breath.

  Aunt Lavinia looked perplexed. “Bedford is waiting for Lord Hugh. Why is he coming here, I wond—”

  Hugh’s large form filled the doorway. Impeccably dressed in formal morning wear, his dark blue coat perfectly molded across his broad shoulders, his cravat a masterpiece of complication, he entered the sitting room and bowed.

  Regarding him from beneath her lashes, Triona suddenly found herself unable to breathe. In the carriage and the inn, the dim light had hidden many things about Hugh MacLean.

  The bright light from the windows played over his dark hair and caressed his strong jaw. Worse, it turned his green eyes to a deeper, mossier color that held her in place, unable to utter a single word.

  The white lock that ran back from one temple shimmered silver, as if pulsing with power. His mouth, which he’d pressed on hers so indecently the night before, was thinned with displeasure, but it was the look in his eyes that gave her the greatest pause. He appeared stern and darkly angry, his emotions held in thin check.

  Memories of the wind from last night made her shiver.

  Aunt Lavinia began to push herself from her chair.

  “Please,” he said, his voice as rich and warm as melted butter. “Do not rise. I merely came to speak to Miss Hurst.”

  She lifted her chin. “I don’t believe we have anything to say to one another.”

  His dark gaze flickered over her, reminding her suddenly of the way her bones had melted in his embrace, before he glanced indifferently at her aunt. “Madam, I would like to ask for a few moments alone with your niece.”

  Aunt Lavinia shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure I sh—”

  Caitlyn grasped her aunt’s arm and tugged the older woman to her feet. “Of course we’ll leave Lord Hugh to speak with Triona.” Caitlyn herded her aunt to the door.


  “I cannot leave them alone; it would be improper!”

  “Nonsense—Triona is already ruined.” Caitlyn tugged her aunt out into the hall. “She can’t get more ruined by a few moments alone with the man now.”

  “Yes, but your uncle Bedford—”

  “Can attend them very soon.” Caitlyn turned back and said in a breathless voice, “I can only promise you a few minutes. Once Uncle Bedford is informed that you’re here…”

  MacLean’s gaze never left Triona. “Thank you.”

  Caitlyn nodded. “I’ll do what I can to keep them away.” She closed the door behind her, her voice raised as she assured Aunt Lavinia that it was perfectly proper to allow Lord Hugh some time alone with “his intended.”

  Triona’s mind was occupied with a startling realization. In all the years since Caitlyn had come into her beauty, few people—especially men—ever paid Triona the slightest heed whenever her twin was about. Yet for some reason, Caitlyn’s beauty had little effect on Hugh MacLean. He seemed far more disposed to look at her than Caitlyn, even when they were in the same room.

  Triona rather liked that, and the realization calmed her nerves as nothing else this morning had. He might be supporting a houseful of illegitimate children and cursed with a storm temper to boot, but at least he saw her—and that was something.

  Hugh crossed his arms over his chest. “I would rather we talk alone before this progresses any further.”

  “I would rather never talk about it at all, but it appears I must.”

  His lips quirked. “I feel the same, but your uncle will not rest until we’ve had many conversations—preferably over a breakfast table as man and wife.”

  “I’m certain that once some time has passed, no one will even remember this silly incident occurred and—”

  Hugh reached into his pocket and handed a folded page to Triona. “This morning’s Post.”

  Her heart sinking, Triona opened the paper.

  An elopement scotched, or foul play? Last night, Miss H—, niece to Lord and Lady G—and sister of Miss C. H—, left London in the company of Lord H. McL—. Rumors of an abduction have been flying, especially since Lord and Lady G—raced off to rescue their wayward niece—

  “Good heavens,” she said weakly, sinking back onto the settee. “It’s already all over town.”

  Hugh nodded tightly. “There is also a wager listed in the books at White’s.”

  Triona pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. She became aware of MacLean’s dark green gaze locked upon her face and she managed a faint smile. “I hope it is a positive wager, at least.”

  “Ten to one that I will offer to marry you.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I suppose I should be glad I’m thought so responsible.”

  Her heart thudding sickly, Triona forced her numb lips to move. “There is no question of saving my reputation. I-I made the mistake. I will not have you pay for it.”

  “Miss Hurst, we both made mistakes. You were in that coach out of pure, though naive, motives. I was there not just to protect my brother, but also to exact revenge on your sister for making him the talk of the town. Of the two of us, I am far more at fault.”

  Triona pressed her hands to her cheeks. “My lord, there must be another solution. Marriage is so…permanent.”

  His deep laugh washed over her, and she looked at him, surprised.

  His green eyes crinkled with genuine amusement, his face completely relaxed for the first time since she’d met him. What an astonishingly handsome man! The thought surprised her, and with difficulty she looked away. Careful! I can’t become muddled in my thinking. Handsome or no, I know nothing of this man but ill.

  For a brief moment she wondered what it would be like to be married to such a gorgeous man, to see him every morning over the breakfast table, to spend the day strolling on his arm, perhaps taking in an exhibit at the British Museum, and then going home to dinner and—

  “Miss Hurst, I must ask you a question.”

  His face was still relaxed from laughter, his gaze amused and warm. Just one look made her tingle in the most unexpected places. “What’s that?” she asked in a breathless voice.

  MacLean walked toward her and stopped, his knees not quite brushing her skirts as he stood looking down at her. “Are you in love with anyone?”

  Triona’s thundering heart moved into her throat as she tilted back her head to look at him. “No. Are you?”

  His lips twitched into a half smile that was as sensual as it was fascinating. “No. I’m not.”

  She hadn’t realized how important those words would be, but a sliver of pure, unadulterated relief splintered through her. At least we won’t have to deal with that issue.

  “That was my one hesitation.” He sat in the chair nearest her, his movements as fluid as a lion’s, his broad shoulders dwarfing the chair back. “Miss Hurst, let me be plain. I don’t believe in love. I never have.”

  Her cheeks heated when she realized she was staring at his muscular legs outlined by his well-fitted breeches, but she couldn’t seem to help it. In all of her life, she’d never met a man who was so physical. Good God, she had to stop this. What had he said? Oh, yes.

  “You may not believe in love, but I do. My parents love one another very much. Surely yours—” She forced her wandering gaze to lock on his.

  “I haven’t expressed myself well. I believe some people are capable of love, but I am not one of them.”

  “Why not?”

  “My blood doesn’t burn warmly enough for such emotion.”

  “Well, that is certainly plain speaking. Unfortunately, I always wished to marry for love. It’s yet another reason we can’t allow this situation to progress.”

  He frowned. “I don’t believe you understand the seriousness of your position. That’s not surprising, though, considering you have only your aunt, uncle, and sister to advise you.”

  She stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”

  “However good your aunt’s intentions, I wouldn’t call her understanding strong.”

  Triona couldn’t disagree. Even Mother called her sister “silly.” “My aunt has a good heart for all of her faults. Furthermore, my uncle and sister are hardly empty-headed.”

  “Your uncle is a pompous ass, and I cannot imagine that he’s taken the time to explain anything to you.”

  Triona hadn’t even seen her uncle this morning, for he’d ensconced himself in his library to await Lord Hugh. That he’d done so without bothering to have a single word with her had been irksome, but she wasn’t about to inform MacLean of that. “He said enough,” she returned evenly.

  MacLean flicked a skeptical brow. “And your sister hasn’t displayed the best grasp of propriety, which is the crux of this issue.”

  “Caitlyn is usually not so mannerless, and you have your brother to thank for that. He wagered her that she could not wrest a proposal of marriage from him.”

  MacLean’s brows snapped together. “Did he, indeed?”

  It wasn’t a question, but a wondering comment. “I was surprised, too. I can’t imagine why he’d do such a thing, knowing the possible consequences. Meanwhile, my sister rose to his challenge and threw caution to the wind by publicly announcing—”

  Hugh could see the exact moment it dawned on her that her words would confirm all he’d said about her sister’s lack of decorum. Behind her spectacles, Triona’s eyes darkened, her plump lips folded with disapproval.

  Hugh smiled grimly. He’d take little satisfaction in winning this argument, but win it he must. “For the moment, let’s leave them out of this. If there were another path I could take to defuse this situation, I would take it, but there’s not.”

  Last night, instead of getting some desperately needed rest, he’d been awake most of the night, trying to find a better resolution. With dawn had come the Morning Post, and bitter acceptance.

  He’d slept then for two hours and had awoken with a pounding head, his stomach refusing food, which w
as normal after a bout with the family curse. There was a cost for his ability to control the winds. Only once, years ago, had he attempted to halt the curse after it had grown full-blown, and it had almost killed him. He’d vowed never to do that again.

  Of course, he’d also vowed years ago never to marry. Long ago, he’d paid dearly for allowing a woman into his life and he’d sworn never to repeat that mistake. Yet here he was, on the verge not only of allowing a woman into his life, but of making her his wife. Life had a cruel sense of irony.

  Hugh regarded her from beneath his lashes, her hands clenched into fists, her face pale. She was resolute; every line in her body said so. “Miss Hurst, you have a sister—perhaps more than one?”

  She frowned. “I have two. There’s Caitlyn and my youngest sister, Mary.”

  “If you care for your sisters and their future, you won’t return home until you are safely wed. If you don’t marry, society will condemn you for what it believes has occurred, and them by association. Your sisters will be whispered about, then cut altogether.”

  “But neither of them did anything! Nor did I!”

  God, she was lovely, especially when outraged. Her creamy skin flushed, her eyes sparkled behind her stern spectacles. Hugh had to force himself to look away from her just to recall his argument. “Society is a cruel mistress. She condemns by association just as quickly as for actual acts.” He turned his gaze back to her. “You may not care about the whispers, slights, and cuts, but your sisters will, as will the other members of your family.”

  She didn’t answer, though her lips thinned.

  “And your father’s a vicar,” Hugh continued ruthlessly. “He will not be allowed to keep his living, once all three of his daughters are branded indecent women. Your brothers will be watched, their every move interpreted negatively. Then there is your mother: I can’t imagine she’d deal well with—”

  “Stop! I-I hadn’t—” She shook her head, staring ahead with unseeing eyes. “It’s so unfair.”

  “It’s damnably unfair.”