If he thought Eva would be ill at ease handling her, she proved him wrong in seconds. She brought the babe up and kissed her cheeks, whispering something to her, as she soothed her daughter for the first time since the day of her birth. Rubbing the bairn’s head, she rocked to and fro as she spoke little nothings to the babe.
In that moment, Rob regretted leaving Ramsay MacKay alive, but his death truly would have caused more problems. Although he was not unscathed by Rob’s fury, he’d learned quickly that brutality was not as pleasurable when one was on the receiving end of it.
When Eva began to sob as she rocked the babe back and forth, Rob knelt closer to her and motioned for the others to back away. There would be time for speaking about all this later. Except for one introduction that must be made now, if he read the signs correctly.
‘Eva, this,’ he said, waving the young woman forward, ‘is Gunna, Mairead’s nurse. She agreed to move here and see to the bairn’s needs.’ He motioned Gunna closer. ‘Gunna, this is my wife, Mairead’s mother, Eva MacKay.’
Now, Rob moved away to give the woman a few minutes to speak about the bairn. Brodie moved to his side.
‘How long did it take you?’ Brodie asked.
‘How long did what take?’
‘To realise you were wrong about everything.’ Rob laughed then, not willing to admit it even to his friend. ‘And the MacKay?’
‘He will be pissing blood and drinking his meals for some time,’ Rob swore.
‘Not dead?’ Though his first impulse was to kill the man, the calm part of him that guided him during battle had prevailed.
‘I thought it might interfere with your agreements if the man was dead.’ His words echoed his previous explanation, but Rob knew that the man had hovered near death for several days after Rob had beaten the truth from him. And that pleased him greatly.
The bairn’s renewed crying interrupted any other conversations, and Arabella ordered the women to her chamber to see to Mairead’s care. When Eva would have stood, he instead lifted her into his arms and carried her up the steps. They would have time enough later to speak more fully on matters between them. For now, it was more important that she become reacquainted with the child torn from her so viciously.
He placed her in one of the chairs there and turned to leave as the women gathered around Eva and the babe, but her voice stopped him.
‘Rob,’ she said. He met her gaze and saw the love there. ‘I cannot thank you enough for this, for her.’ She stroked his face and smiled.
‘There will be time enough later,’ he said. He lifted her hand and kissed her palm before leaving the chamber.
As he walked down to the hall to speak with Brodie, Rob knew it was true—there would be time enough for them now that he accepted that Eva was his and would be his forever.
He might not have been the first man she loved, but he would make certain that he would be the last.
Epilogue
Five months later...
He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. They’d not danced or celebrated really at their own wedding, so they would at his sister’s wedding to Magnus.
Mairead was safely in Gunna’s care and the young woman had turned out to be a godsend in more ways than the one. For while Arabella glowed and seemed enhanced by carrying a child, Eva suffered through most moments each day.
So, when she looked well, he took advantage of the short time...as he did now.
‘Just do not spin me too much,’ she said with a laugh as they took their places with the others. ‘You will not like the results.’ He nodded and held on to her hand as they began the pattern in step with the music.
He watched her face and loved the expression of joy that sat there now. No longer in fear of her father. No longer hopeless without her daughter. Her life was now filled with love and laughter and joy and family as she’d not known before he’d been forced to marry her.
Deciding there was a better use of any time when she did not feel ill, he wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her out of the area they were using for the dance and into a nearby alcove. Pulling her into his arms, he held her close and kissed her until she melted against him and was breathless.
‘I hope this sickness passes soon,’ he said as he turned her around and slid his hands over her growing belly. ‘I love feeling the way your body is changing.’ When she arched back against him, Rob knew she wanted it, too.
‘I love to feel your hands on me,’ she whispered back. ‘But ’tis been so long that I do not remember why I should be glad to have you in my bed.’
‘You will pay for that challenge, wife,’ he threatened.
Her laughter and her acceptance of his touches and his kisses told him she did not fear such a challenge. And he was glad of it. He took her mouth then and tasted her. She leaned back and smiled.
‘Margaret said to fear not, the sickness should pass long before we should stop...your attentions.’
‘She would know,’ he said. One more kiss and he led her out of the alcove and back to the table.
Margaret had been so busy caring for everyone else that she’d missed the fact of her own condition until the day she passed out at Magnus’s feet. A miracle, she and the midwife claimed, for Margaret had never become pregnant in her first marriage. Magnus walked about quite ‘insufferably proud,’ as Eva called him. Rob was simply happy for them both—for they’d found joy when and where neither of them expected to.
Glancing over at Eva and considering the events of the last year, he realised that was their story, too. When she wrapped his hand around hers and then entwined their fingers, Rob knew he should be insufferable, too.
But first he would prove to Eva once again why she was happy she’d accepted him into her bed...and into her heart. Knowing it might take some time, he stole his wife away and they were not seen again that night, or the next day, either.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE SECRETS OF WISCOMBE CHASE by Christine Merrill.
Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Do you want to earn Free Books and More?
Join Harlequin My Rewards points program and earn points every time you shop.
You can redeem your points to get more of what you love:
Free books
Exclusive gifts and contests
Book recommendations tailored to your reading preferences
Earn 2000 points instantly when you join—getting you closer to redeeming your first free book.
Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!
Click here to sign up
Or visit us online to sign up at
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.
You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era. Harlequin Historical has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.
Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
The Secrets of Wiscombe Chase
by Christine Merrill
Chapter One
‘Miss North, would you do me the honour of acceptin
g my hand in holy matrimony?’
Lillian North did her best to smile at the unfortunate boy kneeling before her on the parlour rug and readied herself for the only answer she would be permitted to give.
Once, she had harboured illusions about love and romance. Most young girls did. But they had been left in the nursery, along with the other spectacular fictions about fairy princesses and brave knights riding to their rescue. When she’d made her come-out, Father and Ronald had explained the way the world truly worked.
It was her job to be pretty, pleasant and biddable, and attract what offers she could from gentlemen of the ton. In the end, she would marry and marry well. But it would be to a man of Father’s choosing and she was not to question the choice.
She had been in London for months, both this year and last. She had danced at Almack’s until her slippers were near to worn through. She had smiled until her cheeks ached with it and been so agreeable that people must think her simple in the head. It felt as if she had been introduced to every eligible man in Britain. While she’d her favourites, she had not allowed herself to form an attachment to any of them. She must never forget that the final choice would not be hers.
She had done as she was told and cast the properly baited net as wide as possible. When the time was right, her father and brother would draw it in to evaluate the catch. They would throw back the unworthy and keep no more than two or three of the very best. Then, the serious negotiating would begin. In the end, she would be decked in flowers and sent up the aisle of St George’s to stand at the side of a scion of the nobility. Father had assured her that he would settle for nothing less than a London cathedral and a groom that would leave other girls green at her success.
But now, all the plans and the manoeuvring of a season and a half were for naught. Without warning, she had been hauled out of town and informed that the choice had been made. She was to marry Gerald Wiscombe.
And who was he? It was as if she had cast her net and brought in a dark horse. Her metaphors were as muddled as her thoughts, but she could hardly be blamed for confusion. Mr Wiscombe was a total stranger to her. Although he was not a particularly memorable fellow, she was sure she’d have recalled meeting him, if only because he was unlike any of the men who’d courted her in London.
Lily had prayed each night that her future husband would have admirable qualities beyond wealth and station. Perhaps a love match was unrealistic. But, her future would be happier if it was, at least, founded on mutual respect. When she had taken the time to search for them, she had found good qualities in each of the men who had escorted her. Why, then, could she find nothing to recommend her father’s final choice?
To begin with, Mr Wiscombe was too young to be taken seriously. He was barely into his majority, only a year or so older than her. He was not even out of university and more interested in his impending Tripos in Mathematics than wedding her. In fact, he’d refused to come to London and court her. She had been expected to go to Cambridge to see him, so that the burden of this proposal would not interrupt his studies.
It did Mr Wiscombe no credit that he augmented his youth and uninterest with a lack of fashion and an awkwardness of address. Where was the evidence of his precious education? There was no sign on his soft, round face that he was destined to be a wit or a wag. When he smiled, the gap in his front teeth made him look as simple as she felt.
Looks were not important, she reminded herself. After dancing with men old enough to sire her, she had steeled herself to ignore appearances. Brains were not necessary if one had rank or money.
But that still did not explain Gerald Wiscombe. A few short weeks ago, Father had turned up his nose at an interested baronet as being too low-born to qualify as son-in-law. But now, there was nothing more than a ‘mister’ rocking uneasily on his knees in the parlour of a roadside inn, awaiting the answer.
He must be quite wealthy to make up for the lack of a title. But Mr Wiscombe had not bought so much as a bottle of wine to celebrate this day, nor had he visited a tailor to impress her. The cuffs of his coat were worn and one of the unpolished buttons clung to the garment by its last thread.
‘I do not have much,’ he said, affirming her worst fears. ‘I have no family to speak of. None at all, actually. I am the last of the Wiscombes. And the family fortune was gone a generation ago.’
‘I am sorry to hear it,’ she said, not so much sorry as totally perplexed.
‘Of course, Wiscombe Chase is lovely.’
A country manor? She smiled encouragingly.
‘Was lovely,’ he corrected with a shrug and a frown, as though he’d meant to lie and could not quite get it to stick. ‘It needs much work and the loving hand of a woman.’
Which probably meant it was a mouldering ruin and he was seeking a rich wife to repair it for him. This man was the polar opposite of the one she had been sent out to catch.
At some point, Father’s agenda had changed and she had not been informed. But when was Father not hatching a plan of some kind? His schemes invariably left him better off than he had been, while those who had dealings with him always seemed surprised to be poorer and less successful. Even so, few of them would have called him swindler. Those who lost to him preferred to think of him as that dashed, lucky Mr North.
She had always been inside the invisible boundary that separated her family from the rest of the world. No matter how precarious things might seem, everything would go well for her in the end. Because she was a North.
Until today, at least.
Did her father not understand that a young lady’s reputation was a fragile thing? Marriage was a permanent and nigh unbreakable contract. He could not barter her out of the family only to pull her back on some tenuous legal string, like the Bolivian emerald mine she’d seen him sell at a profit some three times already.
Worse yet, she was alone in her ignorance. Her brother, Ronald, had baulked when forced to escort her about London on the hunt for a suitable match. But he had been the one to introduce Mr Wiscombe and seemed as eager to see her married as Father did.
‘Miss North?’ Mr Wiscombe prompted, noticing the long and doubtful silence that had followed his offer.
She looked down at what was likely to be her future husband. He was staring up at her, mouth gaping slightly. He reminded her of a barely formed chick, unfledged, inexperienced and waiting to be fed. She feared the young avis Wiscombe was about to be pushed early from the nest and gobbled by waiting predators, genus North.
It made his next statement all the more worrying.
‘I wouldn’t bother you, if that’s what you are afraid of.’ Now he was blushing. ‘We need time to get to know each other, before that. Your father has promised to buy me a commission so I might make my fortune. I will be gone for some years. When I am returned there will be enough money for the two of us to live quite well. And then...’
The mystery deepened. First off, he’d said the word bother with such significance that she assumed he meant something. And he assumed she understood. She supposed she did, after a fashion. He must be talking about what occurred between a husband and wife. She had no mother to explain details to her and was far too afraid and embarrassed to ask Father. If it was bothersome, she was not sure she wished to know the specifics.
But if he meant to join the army at her father’s bequest and be gone for several years? That was simply laughable. She doubted Gerald Wiscombe would last several minutes before the French, much less several years. Did her father mean to send this poor boy to his doom?
She did not want to believe it. While her father was somewhat less than honest, she had never known him to be brutal. But the harder she tried to reject it the more her mind filled with the icy certainty that this was precisely what Phineas North intended. If he was willing to sacrifice his own daughter like a chess piece, what hope did this poor young man have to survive unti
l checkmate?
If that was the game, then she refused to play her part in it. It would be a lie to say that she felt affection for the man in front of her. But neither did she wish him ill. Even if she felt nothing at all, how could she live with herself if the marriage was little more than a death sentence for her husband? She would not be permitted to refuse. But perhaps if she could get Mr Wiscombe to withdraw the offer, the matter would settle itself.
Lily wet her lips. ‘Are you sure that is wise?’
He was blinking at her as if he had no idea what she meant. Perhaps he was not quite right in the head.
‘The army will be very dangerous.’ She spoke slowly, so he could understand. When this did not seem to make an impression, she added, with additional emphasis, ‘There is no guarantee that you will return in a few years with a fortune. In fact, there is no guarantee that you will return at all.’
In response, he blinked the watery grey eyes in his round face and gave her another foolish grin.
‘You might be killed,’ she said. Now her voice sounded testy. She did not wish to be cross with him, but he needn’t be so stupid, either. She shouldn’t have to spell out the trap he was walking into.
Finally, one doughy hand reached out to cover hers. ‘You need not worry about that. It is a possibility, of course. But there are many others equally grim. I might fall off my horse and break my neck before we can even say the vows. Or get struck by lightning while picking flowers in the garden. Or I might survive the battle and live to a ripe old age.’ He blinked again. ‘You are not afraid of that, are you?’
The Highlander's Runaway Bride Page 23