by Tarah Scott
“It’s a him.”
“What?” he said, before realizing what she meant. Patrick stretched his arms higher, wriggled his fingers. “Does it matter?”
She looked past him and frowned. “Of course it matters. Ask your wife.”
He blinked. “What? I have no wife.” Not yet, anyway.
“What do you mean, you have no wife?”
Was the girl addled? “Come down and we will discuss the matter further,” he said.
In answer, her eyes flew wide and she screamed. A loud crack resounded. She flailed, then she and the kitten fell. Patrick leapt forward, narrowly missing the branch as he caught her. He stumbled and twisted so that she landed on top of him. They hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind from him. The cat yowled and dug his claws into Patrick’s neck, then leapt from her grasp. Patrick sucked in a sharp breath and blinked. The beauty’s face hovered inches from his. She stared, eyes wide. Fear flashed across her face and he realized he still held her tight. He released her and she scrambled off—her hip bumping his cock, which took the contact as an invitation and began to harden.
Patrick jumped to his feet and took an unsteady step backwards, his hip aching. “I am—”
“You are haunted!” she cried, then whirled and raced toward the kitten, which darted deeper into the trees.
Patrick started after her, then halted. What the devil was wrong with her? What the devil was wrong with him? With his luck, she’d think he meant to set upon her. He released a slow breath. He hadn’t come to Gledstone to catch milkmaids falling from trees. Today was his wedding day.
The crunch of leaves faded, heralding the girl’s departure from his life. Patrick placed a hand over his face, shook his head, then returned to his horse and urged the animal into a canter. He still had time to reach the house, refresh himself, meet the duke, then attend his duties as groom.
Groom.
The very word tightened his gut. But he owed it to Baldain to do whatever he could to save his ancestral home. He’d even come to good terms with the matter over the past sennight. Seven full days and nights in which he’d persuaded himself that a decorous, well-mannered, and soft-spoken wife would prove a tremendous asset to his admittedly quiet life.
How odd, now that he neared Gledstone Hall’s imposing façade —and the willing bride waiting within—he recalled the pretty, bruise-stained face of a serving wench with remarkably appealing legs.
Was he mad? He suspected so. But there was nothing to be done about it now. At least, the lass had struck him as equally daft, calling him haunted. Patrick thought of the green lady appearing to him at Baldain Hall and wondered if her appearance had anything to do with the lass.
He reached the mansion and brought his horse to a halt. Patrick pushed the serving lass and her mysteries from his mind as the groom waiting at the entrance hurried forth to take the reins. With a fortifying breath, Patrick climbed the steps to Gledstone’s massive double doors and the deed that would seal his fate.
Haunted or not, he was about to become a married man.
***
“Papa will skin you alive if he finds out you chased a kitten into the woods.” Chastity frowned down at Jessica as she brushed her hair, doing her best to remove the tangles and yew needles. “You even have resin clumped in the strands. And we do not have time to bathe you again, much less rewash your hair.”
“I don’t care,” Jessica said. “My groom can see me all dirty and my dress torn for all I care.” Chastity tugged hard at a tangle. “Owww.” Jessica jerked a glance at her in the vanity’s looking glass. “Be careful.”
“Whatever were you thinking?” Lucy asked.
Jessica looked at Lucy and Olivia, who sat in chairs near the divan, where lay the satin, ivory-and-gold gown she was to wear today. “What would Patches think if I’d let one of her kittens escape?” she said. “He made it all the way to the yew grove—”
“The yews are at the very back of our property,” Olivia interrupted. “If he made it that far, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”
Jessica huffed. “You are heartless.”
Chastity set aside the brush and began braiding a length of seed pearls into Jessica’s hair. “You should not be going into the woods alone.”
“That’s right,” Olivia said. “We love you, and couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. Come now, think how happy you will be with a wonderful new husband.” She dabbed at her eyes.
Jessica clamped her jaw. “A week ago, you begged Papa not to marry me to the lieutenant.” She watched her sisters in the mirror and caught the glance that passed between Olivia and Lucy.
“You must admit that Sir Stirling knew what he was about when he married Lucy and I,” Olivia said. “He is right. We must have faith in him.”
“Everything is arranged,” Lucy said. “Even now, he and Sir Stirling are sequestered with Papa in his study.”
“Did you see him?” Her heart beat faster. “Is he an ogre?”
Chastity began pinning the pearled braid in place.
“Sir Stirling would not insult you by choosing a man you cannot admire,” Olivia said.
Jessica picked at the fabric of her petticoat. “What if I cannot desire him?”
“Never fear,” Lucy soothed. “He will make you swoon straightaway, just as Quinn did me.”
Jessica looked at her in the mirror. “You said Quinn piqued your anger when you first met.”
A faraway look entered Lucy’s eyes. “He did. But that is the way with love. If I hadn’t been moved by him, his words would have had little effect on me. It will be the same for you, I promise.”
Jessica shifted her attention to her eldest sister. “What do you think, Chastity?”
Chastity’s gaze remained on Jessica’s hair. “No one can deny the magic Sir Stirling has wrought with Lucy and Olivia.”
“He can’t be right all the time,” Jessica said.
“No one can be right all the time, kitten.”
“You are.”
Chastity smiled gently. “Nae, not even me. There is little to say. You are to wed the man today.”
“That is what is so unfair.” Jessica pouted. “I told Papa and Sir Stirling that I would make my prospective groom hate me, so they didn’t give him a chance to dislike me. They just married me off.”
Chastity released a breath. “That does seem to be the case. My advice is that when you walk down the aisle, if you find you really cannot abide him, do not marry him.”
“Chastity,” Lucy cried in unison with Olivia’s, “Oh dear.”
“You two had the opportunity to reject your suitors. It is only right that Jessica should be given that same choice,” Chastity said.
“Of course,” Lucy began. “It’s just—” She looked at Olivia, who said, “It’s just that Jessica is more likely to reject him out of rebellion rather than any true feelings for the man.”
Chastity stood back, angling her head to examine Jessica’s hair. “That is the chance we will have to take.”
“What if I already am in love?” Jessica said.
“What?” Three sets of Roxburgh jaws dropped.
“You heard me.”
“So we did,” Lucy said. “But you’re not making any sense.”
Olivia narrowed concerned eyes on her. “Can it be you did hurt your head when you fell off the ladder? Doctor Belch said not, but—”
“I am fine.” Jessica stood. “There is nothing wrong with me at all. Except… except…”
The other three women exchanged glances.
“Except what?” Chastity urged.
“You said you are in love,” Olivia said.
Jessica’s face heated. “Aye.”
“Who are you in love with?” Lucy asked.
“He came into the yews and caught me, caught us, when I fell off the branch.”
She didn’t mention that the beautiful young woman behind him chose that moment to vanish. Whoever the man was, he had a ghost f
ollowing him. Jessica had thought the woman was his wife. Her sisters wouldn’t believe her. They might even call stinky Doctor Belch to reexamine her head. She couldn’t bear that. Still, she wouldn’t deny her unexpected reaction to the man. She wasn’t sure it was love. How could she know? He was tall and broad-shouldered, well-muscled, and just plain dashing. She’d felt a prickling all over and couldn’t look away from him. Then the branch began to crack, the woman—the ghost—disappeared.
Then Jessica was in his arms, and flooded by the most extraordinary sensations. Feelings she absolutely would not feel with Sir Stirling’s stodgy, live-by-the-rules husband candidate.
“Jessica.” Chastity’s voice broke into her reverie. “Who was this man?”
Olivia frowned. “He might have been a deer poacher. The woods verge onto the high moors.”
Lucy turned her attention to Chastity. “Remember how Lord John kidnapped her for your inheritance? Maybe this was another man trying to kidnap Jessica.”
Jessica scowled. “He rescued me. I could’ve broken an arm or leg, maybe even my neck. And,” she sent a pointed look at Lucy, “he was dressed quite nicely. He was most definitely a gentleman. A truly fine one.”
“How fine?” Chastity asked.
Perfection sounds about right.
“Very fine,” Jessica said, and again a prickly sensation rippled along her skin. “He is perhaps the most handsome man I have ever seen. Dark hair and green eyes. Though he walked with a very slight limp. Not that it made him look any less handsome.”
“A limp?” Chastity repeated. She glanced at Olivia and Lucy. “Good Lord, could it be…?”
“How nicely dressed was he?” Olivia asked.
Jessica rolled her eyes. “He wore a black topcoat with a snowy white cravat, and his boots were polished brighter than a mirror—just like Sir Stirling’s.”
A strange silence descended as her sisters exchanged glances.
“Was he dressed for a wedding?” Chastity asked.
Jessica blinked. “A guest?”
All three of her sisters shook their heads, and Chastity said, “Lieutenant Patrick Chalmers.”
Jessica stared, unable to speak. Her heart pounded.
"You think him handsome—and,” Lucy beamed, “you said you were in love with him. It is just as I said. You have already been swept away by him.”
Jessica clapped both hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my.”
Olivia and Lucy laughed and rushed to hug her, both at once.
“Come, ladies.” Olivia broke free. “We must get Jessica dressed. It won’t do to keep her groom waiting.”
Lucy smiled. “The man you fell for – quite literally – is your groom!”
“I cannot believe it.”
A smile spread across Jessica’s face, then she realized her dashing groom might not want a kitten-chasing, tree-climbing, bruise-faced bride.
Chapter Four
Stirling caught Patrick’s eye and Patrick yanked his gaze from the window beyond the chapel’s pulpit. Stirling leaned toward him and whispered, “Behold your bride.”
Everyone in the small, candle-lit, flower-filled church had gone quiet. Patrick’s heart thudded. If he had any doubts of this being a dream, the soft, stirring music that began to play and the tap-tapping footfalls of two sets of feet on stone ripped away his last hope that he’d awaken in his bed at Baldain House, his leg aching.
“Turn, you arse,” came Stirling’s harsh whisper. “She is beautiful. Just ignore the bruises on her face and the yew resin in her hair. She had a small mishap this morn—”
“Holy God!” Patrick whipped around.
The wood nymph approached, walking on the arm of the Duke of Roxburgh.
“It’s her,” Patrick whispered.
“Who?”
“The vixen I told you about.” Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes from her. “The lass in the yew.”
“Ahhh, the kitten rescuer.”
Amusement laced his friend’s voice and Patrick flashed him a look. “You knew.”
Stirling brushed at his sleeve. “I suspected.”
Patrick’s stared at him. “I dinnae believe this.”
“You should thank me.” Stirling’s gaze returned to the chapel aisle. The duke and his daughter were half its length away. “Look at those flushed cheeks and eyes. Christ, man, that hair. She’s spectacular.”
Patrick’s heart thundered. Stirling was right. She was spectacular—just as she had been when she tumbled into his arms. This last week he’d been so absorbed in the repairs on Baldain House that he’d given no thought to the pleasures a wife might bring. Now, however, desire sent a message to his groin that would embarrass him if he didn’t gain control.
“And I thought I was the military strategist,” Patrick whispered. “You planned this all along.”
Stirling shrugged. “I might have.”
“Christ, ye might have told me she was a hoyden,” Patrick snapped.
Stirling gave a low laugh. “What does it matter? She has saved you…perhaps in more ways than you yet know.”
“What the devil,” he began, but Stirling gave a small shake of his head and Patrick closed his mouth as the Duke of Roxburgh and the wood nymph reached the altar.
The duke gave his daughter a hug, then placed her hand in Patrick’s and left them standing before the vicar. She looked up at him through thick lashes. Her pretty mouth parted, and desire shot straight to his groin.
Before he knew it, a dull rumbling of the holy man’s words filled the chapel, then Patrick found a ring thrust into his palm and he managed to glide it onto the vixen’s finger. He stood numbly by as she did the same, an act that drew more low-spoken words from the vicar. The minister looked at him and, with great care, Patrick repeated his vows. The minister looked at the bride—Patrick’s bride—and Patrick held his breath as she spoke in a quiet, sweet voice that sounded nothing like that milkmaid he’d caught falling from a tree.
Patrick started when the vicar loudly proclaimed them man and wife. The world around him dissolved into oohs and ahhs and cheers as his legs carried him to the registry, then out the door to the waiting carriage. The duke and Stirling rode with him and his wife to Gledstone where a small orchestra played in a large dining room laden with a sumptuous bridal feast. And, may God help him, he did not think he could eat a bite—now or a month from now. He was married.
“Are you angry?”
“What?” He started at the sound of her voice.
She stared down at her plate. “You look fierce.”
“I am fierce,” he blurted. How had they come this far? It seemed only a moment ago, he’d caught her falling from that yew.
She looked up at him and his breath caught. Her eyes shone bright.
“Should I be afraid?” Her brow furrowed.
“Nae, you shouldn’t.” Damn, but he didn’t want her afraid of anything, least of all him. “I am fierce about things that matter to me. Things I care about. Scotland. Inverness. My home. And now…” He lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “You, my wife.”
My wood nymph, he almost added.
She tilted her head. “I will not be an ordinary wife.”
“I never wanted one.”
“Ordinary, or at all?”
“Neither,” he replied.
“Oh.” Emotion flickered in her eyes—a look that speared his heart. “I liked you from the moment I saw you.”
He started and said, “You did?” before realizing how stupid he sounded.
“You didn’t like me?” she asked in a small voice that twisted his belly.
Patrick grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. “Aye lass, I did. More than you know.” Then he remembered something that sent a chill down his spine. “Why did you say I was haunted?”
“Because you are,” she said.
Could she possibly know he’d seen the green lady? “How so?” he asked.
“There was a lady with you. A fair maid in green who walked along behind yo
u—until she vanished.”
Patrick stared, too stunned to speak for a moment. “You saw her? You are sure she wore green?”
Her gaze dropped to her hand and she touched the gold ring on her finger. “As sure as this ring now binds us, aye.”
Patrick shook his head. “I never guessed she would follow me. She is not known to leave Baldain House.”
“You know who she is?”
Patrick still couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t appeared to portend a misfortune, but to herald his marriage. “She is the green lady of Baldain House. She has been with us since Culloden. You mustn’t be frightened. She rarely shows herself.”
To his surprise, his bride smiled. “Then I am honored.”
You can be, sweet, Patrick started to say but her father stood and lifted a champagne glass high.
Patrick’s own words could wait. He now had so much to tell his bride. And he had things to say to Stirling. It seemed Stirling knew him well. But did the man know himself? His own prospective bride did not appear enamored of him.
***
Jessica interpreted the shock on her new husband’s face as easily as if she’d been reading his thoughts all her life. He had been stunned when she’d mentioned his family’s ghost. Now he watched the table where her sisters sat with a few family friends and Sir Stirling.
The Marriage Maker.
Her father was deep in conversation with him, no doubt planning Sir Stirling’s marriage to Chastity. Chastity sat stony-faced. Jessica’s attraction to the lieutenant had been immediate. Did Chastity not feel something similar for Sir Stirling? He had proven himself a good man. He was very handsome, even elegant and worldly. Not as dashing as her own new husband, but he came close.
Chastity rose. Was she leaving? Jessica pushed her chair back and stood. Patrick looked at her, brow furrowed, but she hurried after her sister. Chastity continued past the orchestra and walked toward the hallway. Jessica caught up with her an instant later.
Chastity slowed and frowned. “What are you doing?”
Jessica grasped Chastity’s hands and brought her to a halt. “You were right, Patrick was the man in the woods.”