The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride

by Raven McAllan

  Morven studied his face intently and sighed. ‘The idyll is over?’

  ‘Temporarily halted,’ Fraser said. ‘For now until we discover who has done what and why.’

  ‘Then whilst we are in a hiatus, I’ll dress and see what we can have for breakfast,’ Morven said, and turned to the wardrobe. ‘Day dress I think. Good grief what were they thinking about? I’ve found this behind everything else.’ She held up the most diaphanous night-rail he’d ever seen. ‘To wear in Scotland. I’d be a block of ice.’

  Fraser leered and stroked his chin. ‘Not for long. I’d thaw you.’

  ‘Yes well, I think we managed very well without it.’ Morven giggled, dropped it back in the wardrobe and pulled on a pretty day dress of yellow sprigged lawn and covered her arms with a fringed shawl in green.

  He looked her up and down. ‘You look like a daffodil.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s a bit mundane.’

  ‘Not at all, I love them. Cheerful, hopeful and battle the odds.’

  ****

  Morven clattered down the stairs, her riding boots echoing on the bare wooden boards. House shoes had been forgotten, and she decided bare feet would put her at a disadvantage if she needed to look collected and in control.

  The bottom step had a jagged edge and she frowned. Splinters. If this house were to be home to goodness knows how many people, would they need to carpet it. What sort of covering would work best for heavy-footed males? Something hardwearing and nothing to make the occupants wary of soiling it.

  I am thinking like a wife. Like the lady of the estate. Morven made a mental note to bring the lack of carpeting, and the need for someone to smooth the ragged wood, to Fraser’s attention. She decided that on reflection the position as Fraser’s wife and his chatelaine was one she enjoyed.

  A swift perusal of the contents of the pantry refreshed her mind with regards to what food she had to conjure up breakfast. The coffee pot was on the stove and she was breaking eggs into a bowl so she could scramble them, when Fraser rejoined her. He looked over her shoulder, dropped a kiss on her neck and sniffed. ‘Coffee and scrambled eggs?’

  Morven nodded as she poured most of the eggs into a saucepan, and put a saucer full on the floor for Lucky who had emerged with a triumphant mew from the direction of his dirt box. She patted the kitten absently and turned her attention back to Fraser. ‘Will that do? My breakfast skills are limited to this or bread in egg.’

  Fraser grimaced. ‘I prefer this to eggy bread. That reminds me of school. Er, scrambled with salmon?’

  She laughed. ‘Yes with salmon—I remember your preferences. Look to your left.’ The plate with shredded salmon was waiting to be mixed into the eggs. ‘Ten minutes. Can you set the table?’ It would get him out of her way. It was one thing cooking for him, another to have him hovering whilst she did so. Morven wasn’t that sure of her skills.

  ‘As soon as I’ve checked that indeed we do have mounts and they are safe and secure. I’d hate to find they’ve been left without food or water.’

  Even better. She went back to her scrambling.

  Half an hour later, Fraser had confirmed that their horses were back in the stables with fresh water, oats and bedding; eaten two plates of food and declared himself replete. He shoved back his chair. ‘That, love, was perfect.’ He looked at the large clock on the wall. ‘Hmmm service will be over by now. I think perhaps we night just prepare ourselves for a visitor or two. To whit, my mama and perhaps yours. Where is the best place to receive them?’

  Morven thought for a moment. ‘I’d love to say in the bedroom, or failing that mucking out the stables, but I suppose in the small sitting room?’ She sighed. ‘Is our private time over?’

  ‘I’d wager it is almost, for now. Don’t worry, there will be other times later. Lots of them. The dower house is ready and waiting for mama and my siblings.’

  ‘You can’t send them away just like that; that’s cruel.’ Even if it did mean they would be left in relative peace.

  ‘I’ve mentioned it to mama on several occasions,’ Fraser replied firmly. ‘She knows and allegedly accepts it. If she does not that is too bad. She’s always understood the time would come, and now she has the dower house or the spare house to pick.’

  Morven hoped she’d choose the dower house and leave the spare house for her and Fraser to use as their private bolthole.

  ‘Come on. Grab that shawl.’ Fraser pulled Morven to her feet. ‘You’ve chosen the perfect place.’

  ‘I have? Where?’ He was dragging her to the door to the kitchen garden, not the one that would bring them to the sitting room.

  ‘Outside. We, my love, are going to be mucking out the stables. Bucolic bliss. Be ready to look puzzled at their entrance and follow my lead.’

  ‘Harrumph. When have I ever not?’

  Fraser turned and looked at her quizzically. ‘You really expect me to answer that?’

  Morven blushed. He had a point. ‘I reserve the right not to when I think you are in danger, but otherwise.’

  He grinned. ‘Do I recite chapter and verse?’

  ‘Oh very well, I do take your point. Nevertheless, I can do that and I will do it. All of it.’

  He paused and raised one eyebrow in query. ‘All?’

  ‘Every last iota, even down to the mucking out. My papa made sure if we had a horse we could do everything needed to look after it. Although I best confess I have accidentally spilled horse muck all over Brody’s new hessians when he teased me once too often.’

  ‘I promise not to tease you.’

  ****

  The wheelbarrow was almost full when Fraser heard the sound he’d been waiting for. Hoof beats. Morven’s head popped over the dividing wall.

  ‘Show time?’ she asked with a grin. ‘Better than Drury Lane.’

  He nodded and put down the comb he was using on Misneachail’s tail. ‘So it seems. Will you wait inside until I call you? Please?’

  ‘Very well, but why?’ she asked him in a puzzled voice. ‘What will it do?’

  ‘Help us be on top. Because we are going to run this show, no one else.’

  Morven grinned. ‘I like it. Go and run.’

  He patted the horse. And waited until the clatter of horses across the cobbles stopped, and went outside.

  As he thought, it was both their mamas but they were accompanied by the elderly minster who worked as a relief preacher in the area. Damn it. Reverend Gruer was a prosy old bore. Originally an incomer from Aberdeenshire, he frowned upon anything that didn’t suit his upbringing. It was a certainty he would be shocked to his clerical toes when he saw Morven.

  Fraser crossed his arms and didn’t offer to help anyone dismount. He stared hard at his mother. ‘Hello, Mama, to what do I owe this pleasure?’

  Lady Napier frowned, reddened and cleared her throat as she shuffled in her saddle and her horse shifted uneasily.

  ‘You didn’t return home last night. We were worried.’

  ‘Were you?’ he asked evenly, and got some sense of satisfaction when her cheeks coloured even more. Beside her the cleric looked bewildered and the duchess uncomfortable. ‘I wonder why?’ he asked conversationally. ‘You knew my direction when I left the castle; you gave me a picnic amongst other things.’

  ‘That was yesterday.’

  ‘And my daughter was with you,’ the duchess snapped and then shook her head and hissed. ‘Neither of you returned home.’

  Fraser nodded. ‘True. Would you have preferred us to risk our lives and that of the horses to struggle back to the castle in that weather? Or as it happened without any horses and on foot?’

  ‘On foot?’ Evidently the minister thought it time he added his mite. ‘What happened?’

  Fraser shrugged. ‘Our horses were removed.’

  ‘But you were in the stable,’ the minister pointed out. ‘Do you mean to say they have reappeared?’

  ‘Oh yes they are back now.’

  The minister blinked and subsided into
what Fraser assumed was a bewildered silence. It was no wonder. He himself was somewhat in the same state and he knew more of what had gone on than the other man.

  ‘Really, this is not answering anything we need to know,’ Lady Napier said shortly. ‘A much more pressing question is this. Where is Lady Morven?’

  He indicated the stables. ‘In there, currying her horse.’

  ‘In… Well get her out here at once,’ the duchess said. ‘You mean to say you and she… She and you…’

  ‘We what?’ Fraser asked with a note of warning in his voice. ‘Be careful what you accuse us of.’

  ‘Oh enough of this. Where is my daughter?’ the duchess asked.

  ‘Morven?’ Fraser raised his voice. ‘It seems now our mothers are worried about you. Will you come and show them I’ve not killed you and buried you in a ditch.’

  ‘Fraser,’ his mother gasped. ‘We thought no such thing.’

  ‘No?’ Fraser held his hand out to Morven who took it and held on with a grip so hard he swore he got her fingernails imprinted into his skin as well as his own. ‘What did you think, then? Not enough to hunt for her yesterday?’

  ‘My lord,’ the minister said in a voice like thunder. ‘Do I have this correct? You and this poor defenceless young girl spent the night here together. Alone and unchaperoned?’

  ‘Well apart from the poor defenceless bit,’ Fraser murmured to Morven who gurgled and poked him with their joined hands. He winked at her and turned to the minister. ‘In essence I would say you are correct.’

  ‘Well, if that isn’t the outside of enough.’ The man pointed at Fraser. ‘You, my lord, need to marry her, make an honest woman of her before it’s too late.’

  ‘Before?’ It was Morven’s turn to mutter to him, and he bit back a grin as both mothers straightened and exchanged triumphant glances. Fraser looked from one to another in turn, and then at Morven. ‘Do you hear that, my lady? They said we must marry at once. Now tell me? How can we do that, when each of us is already wed?’

  Two crops dropped to the ground with a clatter as both women sat open-mouthed and stared at him. The minister opened his mouth like a fish several times but no words came out.

  Eventually his mother cleared her throat. ‘Pardon?

  ‘You heard me, Mama. We are both wed. Now I suggest you escort Reverend Gruer home, take yourself and the duchess back to the castle and prepare to move to the dower house.’

  She gulped. ‘To the dower…but you said that would not occur now until…’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Fraser Napier, just to whom are you wed?’

  He grinned and bowed deeply to Morven. ‘Shall I tell them, my lady?’

  She laughed. ‘Unless you want to be accused of killing our mothers by apoplexy it might be as well. Then can we stay here and enjoy some time together. At least until the food runs out?’

  ‘Perfect. So now you know, Mama, Duchess, Minister. It is my pleasure and absolute joy to say to you all: meet the new, or not so new Lady Napier.’

  ‘I have a strange letter from Murren,’ Morven said a few days later, as she bearded Fraser in his study. ‘She is staying with Tina for the games weekend and admits Mama has now told her she kept my letter from you because as my brother was abroad she didn’t want to lose me as well. Damn her. At some point I need to have words about interfering and trying to adapt others’ lives to her whim, evidently the few words I did get to say to her sunk in because she now hardly dares speak, apart from to snap at poor unsuspecting people who dare question her. Murren says that’s worse than her diktats. I doubt it will last long though. However, until then, Murren has decided to stay well clear of any wrath, it seems.’

  Fraser put down his pen and closed the ledger he’d been making notes in. ‘Why is that strange? Brogan will bring them both down. The games are the highlight of the month for all the estates around here and you can see her there. Or even here because Brogan and his family will take lunch with us. And even though your mama also meddled we are together now. At—’ he winked ‘—an age we are more able to cope with anything life throws at us.’

  ‘Oh it’s not the fact she wants to stop with Tina’s family. Or,’ Morven said pensively, ‘I don’t think so. I think the smaller house and less frenzied pace of life suits her. Plus she hasn’t got Mama alternately glowering and beaming all over the place.’ She giggled. ‘Poor Mama is not sure even now whether to be pleased at our situation, or annoyed. No it’s this bit. Listen.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I do hope you will both forgive me for my deception. Lady Senga and Mama sorted out provisions, and I asked Brogan to arrange to remove your horses and return them later. It was done with the best intentions. Lady Senga and I were sure you two had more of a history than you let on, and that neither of you were indifferent to the other.’ She paused and grinned. ‘I wonder why she thought that?’

  ‘The fact we had to fight to keep our hands to ourselves maybe?’ Fraser said dryly. ‘The way the air crackled with tension when we were together?’

  ‘More than likely. Now hush and let me tell you the rest. She goes on, that she appealed to your mama to persuade our mama you and she would not suit, and so they decided to do something to push us together and declare ourselves. Little did they know that wasn’t needed. The last day was almost upset by the minister. It was supposed to be our parents only but he insisted in escorting them back to the castle and of course Lady Senga had every intention of diverting to Ardfoot. So they did and we know the rest.’

  Fraser pushed his chair back and vaulted the desk to spin Morven around in a circle.

  She shrieked as her feet left the ground and her skirts billowed around her. ‘You idiot, put me down. We’ll get giddy.’

  ‘I am giddy,’ he said as he stopped mid-twirl and kissed her soundly. ‘Giddy with my love for you. Which was there without any help from anyone.’

  There was a loud indignant squawk and Lucky emerged from under the desk, stretched and wound his way between their legs.

  Fraser laughed. ‘Oh very well, no one else except you.’

  If you loved The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride, turn the page for an exclusive extract from The Rake’s Unveiling of Lady Belle, another deliciously irresistible Regency romance from Raven McAllan!

  Chapter One

  Northumberland

  Regency England

  Really, how pathetic to have been reduced to this sort of behaviour. Skulking around like a thief.

  Or a peeping Tom.

  At the advanced age of fifteen she shouldn’t still be able to climb trees like a hoyden or indeed if she could, she ought to reject the notion out of hand. Nevertheless, needs must. After all how else would she be able to stay out of sight and drool at the way Phillip, Lord Macpherson—the recipient of all her childhood hero worship and dreams—touched the young damsel he’d taken into the barn, and then into the hayloft of his ancestral estate? Thank goodness they hadn’t thought to close the doors where the hay would be tossed down from inside the loft to the ground. That open aperture gave her the perfect view.

  Belinda shivered and went hot and cold, as she clung on to the swaying branch of the old oak tree at the edge of the meadow as if it was about to break. She stared at it dubiously, but any lower and she could well be seen. That really would be beyond the pale.

  It wasn’t solely the thought of being discovered that had her legs wrapped around the trunk and her arms the branch, but also the scenario that unfolded in front of her that had her transfixed.

  Luckily the man and woman whom she spied upon were oblivious to her presence. Indeed they were so wrapped up in each other, Belinda doubted they would notice her if she ran in front of them naked, waved madly, and shouted beware of the bull, or the hayloft is on fire.

  Not that she intended to. She needed to observe and learn.

  She let her body sag, just a little, to enable her to watch as the couple sank into the soft bed of hay.

  I hope a stalk goes where no stalk ever should.

  The long stran
ds of hay embraced them and Belinda tilted her head and squinted to peruse better. Lord Phillip muttered something to his companion that Belinda couldn’t hear, as he proceeded to nibble the neck of the lady, who wriggled and squirmed.

  She’ll get marks on her gown if she’s not careful and how is she going to explain that away?

  Phillip made his nibbling way lower, downward from his companion’s neck and… Belinda blinked and opened her eyes in a hurry so as not to miss anything.

  Would he ever caress her, Belinda, like that? Bare her breasts and put his lips to her skin? Lift her skirts and move his hand upwards? Upwards to where? Her imagination ran riot. Surely not to those places she touched herself? Did a gentleman do such things? If he tried, would she let him succeed? The hay hid exactly what he did, and even if she hung down like a monkey in the Royal Menagerie she just couldn’t quite see what was going on. However… The lady’s skirts went high into the air and they covered his lordship’s head.

  Oh, my.

  For a brief moment Belinda allowed herself to imagine it was herself, not that beastly Lady Rosemary Minchin with Lord Phillip and she, not Rosemary, was letting him do all those things.

  What did he see in Rosemary? She had a shrill and grating laugh, and treated those younger than herself with disdain, or even malice. Plus, it was generally agreed her eyes were unkind. Belinda didn’t know one lady who had a good word for Lady Rosemary, and it wasn’t generally down to sour grapes. According to Clarissa, Phillip’s sister, not a lot of gentlemen thought much of the woman after even a short association.

  Even so, Rosemary’s body seemed to be of taste to Phillip, who emerged from his covering of silk and lace and turned his attention to her breasts, feasting on them as if they were all he desired.

  Oh yes.

  ‘Mine I believe.’ His soft and arousing laugh drifted back to Belinda. ‘Such beautiful breasts, begging for my attention.’

  The lady who had his attention sighed. ‘Oh, Lord Phillip.’