In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams

by Karen Ranney

  The woman who returned to Scotland made you guess what she was feeling. This Glynis was socially poised and restrained to the point of being expressionless. Yet sometimes there were hints of the younger Glynis in her eyes. A flash of impatience or longing or something fading too quickly for him to decipher it.

  It all came down to trust, didn’t it? How much did he trust Glynis? Once, he could have answered the question in the space of a heartbeat.

  He trusted his father to be the same person, his sister Mary to be Mary. He trusted dawn would come each day. He trusted, mostly, in himself, in his determination and tenacity. If he didn’t know something, he would learn it. If he needed help, he’d ask for it.

  Did he trust Glynis? Could he love someone he didn’t trust?

  She hadn’t commented when he mentioned Matthew Baumann.

  Perhaps it wasn’t a case of him trusting her but of getting Glynis to trust him. Maybe then, when Baumann’s name was mentioned, she wouldn’t turn to stone with a trapped look in her eyes.

  Would she ever tell him the truth? What was the truth?

  He had too many questions and not enough answers, but he was going to brush them away for now. Somehow he and Glynis were going to have to craft a marriage between them, one bridging the last seven years.

  The answer, then, was yes. He could love a woman he wasn’t certain he could trust. The rest would have to come in time.

  Chapter 27

  The wedding of Mrs. Glynis Elizabeth MacIain Smythe to Mr. Lennox Alan Cameron took place on a Thursday evening in the bride’s home.

  The bride, as it might be reported, was pale. She trembled just the slightest bit, but when she realized it, she steadied her nerves and pasted a Washington smile on her face. No one would know she was both terrified and elated.

  This was Lennox. She’d wanted to be in this exact spot for most of her life, saying these exact words and knowing he would be her husband in minutes.

  Yet her imagination had never put her in this situation, holding a secret she hoped he never learned. She’d never thought to keep anything from Lennox. Did he withhold anything from her?

  If she stopped the ceremony now and demanded to know a secret from him, it would probably be how he’d managed to construct the Raven to have so much speed yet be so large.

  Or perhaps why he hadn’t married Rose.

  Her secrets did not consist of good things she’d accomplished, but those acts she never wanted exposed.

  She should have told him. She should have divulged everything and seen, then, if he’d wanted to marry her. He wouldn’t have, of course, which was why she’d been silent.

  Of the two of them, Lennox was the better person. He’d always been kinder, calmer, more understanding. He championed the underdog; he gave to the poor. He was unfailingly loyal, generous, and reasonable.

  What had she to recommend her?

  In Washington people had gravitated to her because she didn’t tell tales and she listened to their concerns. She introduced people to each other if she thought they had common interests. She shared their triumphs but never their tragedies. Some of her acquaintances considered her witty.

  She had long slender fingers. She could sing passably well and her legs were pretty. There, enough assets to offset a few of Lennox’s attributes.

  This ceremony was strangely like her first, being held in a private home rather than a church, even though the officiate on this occasion was a Presbyterian minister.

  No one had arrived at her home this morning, demanding to steal her away from Lennox. Duncan had not led a group of tipsy revelers to counter their demands. The closest she’d come to an old fashioned Scottish wedding was her breakfast of oats.

  She didn’t miss the more traditional wedding. All she cared about was that Lennox was beside her and the union would be official.

  His voice held an air of command as he repeated his vows before the minister.

  Duncan and her mother stood behind her, flanked by Mrs. Hurst, the housekeeper at Hillshead, and a few men from the yard. There hadn’t been enough time to send for Mary and Mr. Cameron. All of the people attending her wedding looked overjoyed to be there. The men, introduced to her just prior to the minister arriving, were all smiling.

  Her brother had a twinkle in his eye, which was more understandable than her mother’s tears. She couldn’t remember her mother crying at her wedding to Richard.

  The tradition in the MacIain family was that the bridegroom always wore a kilt. She would have liked to see Lennox in a kilt again, but he was dressed in black with a snowy white shirt.

  Had he worn the same at Gavin Whittaker’s funeral the day before? Her mother had attended but she had opted to remain at home. Although she’d liked Gavin Whittaker, she loathed his wife. Nor could she imagine Lucy wanting her to be there.

  This way, she’d given Lucy something else to gossip about. Now she could regale all of Glasgow of how rude she was not to attend the funeral of the man whose body she’d discovered. Or perhaps Lucy hadn’t missed her, taking the opportunity to complain about something else.

  “Glynis,” Lennox said.

  She blinked up at him, called back to herself and the occasion.

  “We’re married.”

  “Oh.”

  HER MOTHER was having a glorious time entertaining what looked to be the whole of Glasgow. Eleanor greeted each guest with a wide smile, easily conveying to them she approved of the match and even the precipitous nature of it. She supervised every one of the servants from Hillshead with aplomb and such a friendly manner everyone was smiling.

  If Lennox hadn’t treated his servants well, Glynis would have expected a wholesale exodus from Hillshead to their much smaller home.

  Every room able to accommodate a guest was filled. People crowded in the doorways, congregated in the halls, pushed against each other as they craned their necks to get a look at Lennox or her.

  Glynis planted a smile on her face and pretended to be comfortable being the center of so much interest. The wedding supper served a dual purpose, an official welcome of her back into the Scottish fold and an acknowledgment she was now a Cameron.

  Duncan was smiling so often she studied him for a moment, wondering if it was false cheer. But she heard him laugh as he was talking to Mrs. McGillicuddy, an obnoxious lady in her eighties, and decided he was genuinely happy.

  The gossip would have continued if she hadn’t married Lennox. But now, whatever transpired between them had been forgiven. If she danced naked in the moonlight it wouldn’t matter because she was Glynis Cameron. She was the wife of one of the richest men in Glasgow and to be treated with respect.

  She stood beside Lennox in the receiving line, accepting all the congratulations while smiling determinedly through the whole thing. For the first time she was grateful for nights of having to wear an eternal smile when her feet hurt or her corset was too tight.

  Some of the women guests insisted on anointing themselves with so much perfume a cloud of it followed them, occasionally clashing with other scents. Washing over everything was the smell of the food from the buffet in the larger parlor, a room they rarely used since it was so drafty. Tonight the size was a blessing and the drafts blew the air clean of roses, lily of the valley, and something smelling like rotting heather.

  One of their guests, Mrs. McElweny, who insisted on wearing a black bonnet adorned with grotesque purple and red flowers—blossoms never existing in nature—stopped in front of her. The black bombazine she wore in honor of the husband who’d died twenty years earlier was a little rusty but her voice was as sharp as a newly honed knife.

  “I don’t expect it’s normal nowadays for girls such as you to mourn their dear departed husbands all that long.”

  Just as Glynis was trying to find some words to respond, the woman startled her by smiling and winking.

  “However,” she said, leaning forward when Lennox turned to greet another guest, “if it was Lennox Cameron, you are to be excused.”


  She was left staring after Mrs. McElweny.

  Lennox sometimes helped her recall a guest as a girl she’d known from school or a man with whom he did business. Glynis nodded, made a note of their names and kept her smile in place.

  The next guest was Mr. Peterson, a shopkeeper she knew from her childhood, along with the man’s wife and his three daughters, each one barely glancing at her while studiously examining Lennox.

  She’d once done the very same, entranced with the look of him. Standing straight and tall, with a ready smile and twinkling green eyes, he was a glorious sight.

  Was there ever a man as handsome as him? Or one as fascinating to women?

  Charlotte was there, of course, appearing in the receiving line with Archibald.

  “Well, it’s glad I am to see this day, Glynis.” She leaned forward. “You’ll keep the gossips at bay, but for only a little while. They’ll be counting on their fingers soon enough.”

  Now was not the time to declare she and Lennox had been relatively virtuous, but not for lack of wishing on her part. She merely smiled at Charlotte and turned to greet the next person.

  Matthew Baumann grinned at her.

  Startled, she could only stare at him.

  “I thought you left Glasgow,” she finally said.

  “And miss the occasion of your wedding? Or how lovely you look as a new bride?”

  “I didn’t realize you were invited,” she said.

  She knew the instant Lennox realized who she was speaking to, could feel the tension as he turned.

  “Your mother invited me. I told her you and I had known each other in Washington. Of course, I didn’t tell her the nature of our acquaintance.”

  Was he going to blurt out their history here and now? She wanted to take a step back or even flee but was anchored to the spot by Lennox’s hand at the small of her back.

  “Perhaps it’s time you left,” Lennox said, his voice rough.

  Baumann’s smile didn’t dim. “Ask your bride if she wants me gone, Cameron. Or if it would be better to mollify me at the moment and treat me as if I’m a valued guest. Perhaps you might even pour me some wine.”

  “The buffet is excellent,” she said. “I do hope you try it. And the punch. We’ve three kinds.”

  Lennox glanced at her, frowning.

  Baumann was right. She would do anything to keep him happy. She didn’t want the night ruined by the truth.

  “Imagine how surprised I was to find you had married again. I truly hope this union is more pleasant than the last.”

  She placed her hand on Lennox’s arm when he would have advanced on the other man.

  Signaling with her right hand, she attracted the attention of one of the maids from Hillshead.

  “Take Mr. Baumann to the buffet table,” she said. “If he needs anything, let me know.”

  He grinned at her.

  Lennox’s arm bunched beneath her hand. She saw the quick flash in his eyes and wished she could say something, anything, to ease his anger. There was nothing to say, nothing but a full explanation. Must she utter it on her wedding night?

  Give me one night with Lennox. One night with a bit of laughter, the chance to experience my girlish wishes and dreams.

  Her smile was only a rictus of expression as she turned to the next guest. Taking a deep breath and then releasing it didn’t ease the tightness in her chest.

  Finally, blessedly, they were done with the receiving line.

  Lennox moved off to greet someone, leaving her temporarily alone. Was he looking for Baumann? What was she going to do about that situation?

  “What’s wrong, Glynis?”

  She glanced up to see Duncan standing there. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her to a secluded corner in the small parlor.

  “What did Baumann want?” he asked.

  “How do you know him?”

  “He introduced himself to me at Hillshead. He told me he worked for the United States government, which I took to mean the Union. Does he?”

  She nodded.

  Duncan frowned. “That must not please Lennox.”

  “No, it doesn’t. He can’t abide Baumann. It would be wise if they weren’t in the same room together.”

  “Why is he here?” Duncan asked.

  “To offer me his felicitations. To bedevil me. To make my life miserable. Probably all of those.”

  Her emotions were in a whirl, churning in her stomach until she couldn’t even think of eating. Perhaps she should have a glass of wine or two until she became tipsy. She wouldn’t be so anxious then.

  What would Lennox say if his bride was drunk?

  “I’ll go and tell him to leave.”

  She shook her head. “No, don’t. Just leave him alone.”

  Duncan frowned at her. “It’s your wedding day,” he said. “You’re supposed to be happy. Overjoyed. You don’t look happy or overjoyed.”

  Then she would have to try harder.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I’m very happy. Truly.”

  He didn’t need to know how close she was to tears.

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed Duncan on the cheek.

  “Thank you for being such a good brother,” she said. “Now I’m going to find my husband.”

  Husband. Lennox was her husband. She shouldn’t be thinking of anything but that.

  She found him surrounded by a group of people. When she moved to stand beside him, he reached out with one arm and pulled her closer. The gesture would have been unthinkable the day before and now only generated smiles.

  For a few minutes conversation rolled over her in waves, but everyone stopped speaking when Lennox called for attention. He put his arm around her shoulders, smiled down at her, then addressed the crowd.

  “The recent tragedy has made Glynis and I cognizant of the passing of time. We didn’t want to waste another moment until we were wed. Thank you for coming to help us celebrate this day.”

  Lennox could have had a position in the diplomatic service himself. By his words, he managed to convey their union wasn’t unexpected as much as urgently desired. Plus, he also addressed Gavin Whittaker’s death.

  For the next two hours she glided among the guests, asking after people she remembered, ensuring they were fed and had a glass of punch. Lennox did the same, their singular efforts linked by an occasional glance across the room.

  She had planned to avoid Baumann but to her surprise he’d disappeared. Had Lennox or Duncan told him to leave? She wouldn’t put it past either of them. Had his main reason for attending the reception been to unnerve her? If that were the case, he’d succeeded.

  Finally, most of the guests left. The only ones remaining were friends of her mother’s who sat in the small parlor discussing their own marriages and those of their children.

  When she and Lennox entered the room, Eleanor stood, hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. When she pulled back, there were tears in her mother’s eyes.

  “Be happy, my darling daughter. I know you will be. How I wish your dear father were here.”

  She turned to Lennox, hugging and kissing him as well.

  “Now, off you go,” she said.

  The other three women smiled at her knowingly. Could this moment be any more embarrassing?

  Lennox held out his hand for her and she grabbed it, their fingers entwining.

  One of the ladies tittered as they left the room.

  Were they going to discuss their own wedding nights the minute they left? If so, she wanted to be gone before the discussion began.

  The carriage sat at the front of the house. Lanterns illuminated the drive and the faces of the last guests waving at them.

  Lennox opened the door for her and she gathered up her skirts, moving inside. He entered the carriage and sat opposite her.

  “Were you and Baumann lovers?”

  He hadn’t forgotten Baumann’s appearance. How foolish of her to hope he would. A flaw of hers, to keep thinking circumstances would improve
just because she wished it.

  “You’ve asked me that before,” she said.

  “You said you weren’t, but he treated you like an ex-lover. Like he was jealous.”

  When she didn’t respond, he continued.

  “You’re my wife.”

  She stared at him, hearing the echo of that declaration across the years. Richard, too, had said the very same thing in an identical tone.

  “Which means I’m a mirror of you, is that it?”

  He frowned. “Which means he damn well better not address you in public anymore and certainly not with a leer.”

  She blinked, surprised at his vehemence.

  “I know you had a life, Glynis. I know parts of it were exciting. Glasgow must seem dull for you in comparison.”

  It was her turn to frown. “Of course it isn’t,” she said. “It’s my home.”

  “I know things happened to you. I know you were married. I know you have secrets, but you don’t have to keep those secrets to yourself. You can share them with me.”

  How many times had she told herself that? The one time she’d tried to tell him she’d found a dead man.

  He didn’t say anything else but it was evident he wasn’t pleased with her silence. His eyes were stones and his mouth narrowed to a straight line. The smiling bridegroom of a few minutes earlier had disappeared.

  She wanted to tell him that the truth was too stark for this night of beginnings. She didn’t want to talk about Richard, Washington, or Baumann.

  For a little while she wanted to be Glynis MacIain, newly married. She wanted to expunge seven years from her life and pretend they never existed. All the good experiences she’d had she would do without. It didn’t matter that she’d met important people—who was she in the grand scheme of world history? It didn’t matter she’d amused some dignitaries, flattered others, and been a friend to some.

  She’d erase every kind word, every compliment, every adventure, every soaring note of music, every amusing play, every trace of awe to have the years rolled back.

  Perhaps she could be like the poor woman she’d heard about in Washington who lost her mind on the deaths of her husband and sons. The poor thing could not remember who she was, so she spent the entire day smiling at other people, looking deeply into their faces as if seeking her own identity in their appearance.