She closed her eyes, twined her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed him with everything in her heart. I love ye. I love ye. I love ye.
“I suppose this means we’ve a weddin’ to plan,” Kendra whispered, sotto voce.
“Jealous?” Broden taunted.
“Do be quiet, ye oaf. Yer interruptin’ a romantic moment,” Kendra admonished.
Blushing profusely, Emeline settled back on her heels.
“Indeed,” came Lady Penderhaven’s amused voice. Her breath caught, and she gasped, “Liam?” Panic made her voice strident. “Are ye bleedin’?”
Alarm, icy and shrill, speared Emeline. “Liam?” She retreated a pace, glancing at her blood-dampened gown then spearing a frantic glance to his side. She pulled the coat away, and gasped. “Och, God. There’s so much blood.”
“’Tis…no…thin’, jo,” he whispered brokenly before his eyes rolled back in his head, and his knees buckled.
Chapter Thirteen
Through oppressive, unyielding layers of fog, wool, and draft horses’ wide arses sitting on his eyes, Liam struggled awake. Damn, but his limbs felt leaden, his tongue huge and swollen, and his mouth was as dry as soot and tasted as if swine had mucked about inside.
So damned weak.
He couldn’t even lift his arm.
The last thing he remembered was kissing Emeline in front of everyone before everything went black.
“Wh—” A harsh croak emerged from his raw throat.
What he wouldn’t give for a drink of cold water. Husbanding the strength to pry his eyelids open, he peered out through the weighty slits. Sticky with sweat, he lay in his bed, a lamp burning low on the mantel. A banked fire glowed in the hearth, and something godawfully heavy held his legs immobile.
Prince?
As if sensing his master had awoken, the dog lifted his head and thumped his tail.
With supreme effort, Liam swallowed and tried to speak again. “What the hell happened?” he said to himself. Eyes gritty and throat shredded as if he’d gargled glass, he’d never felt so wretched in his life. He almost gave up and sank back into blessed oblivion.
Och, Gagneux stabbed me. That sod would threaten Emeline no more. Liam had seen to that.
“Holly hell,” he hissed, as searing pain radiated across his torso when he tried to sit up.
He closed his eyes, until the wave of agony passed. Tentatively, he brushed his fingertips across the bandages encircling his ribs. Coming in contact with the wound, he winced, cursing the Frenchman to the seventh layer of hell.
The merest noise to his right made him turn his head.
His breath lodged in his throat at the wonderous sight. Fast asleep and fully dressed except for her shoes, Emeline lay curled on her side facing him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting on his arm. Her rich bronze hair fanned across the pillow, and her breathing deep and steady, she slept the slumber of the exhausted.
Because she’d been caring for him?
He rather liked the idea. Liked it a great deal, in fact. He thought his heart might burst so full of love was he.
In sickness and in health…
He took in the soft hand curved around his upper arm, as if, even in sleep, she’d need the physical contact. How could he have not felt her hand the instant he awoke?
A frown drew his brows together.
What in God’s holy name was she doing in his bedchamber? If discovered, there’d be no escaping the scandal. Even if he had every intention of asking her to become his wife.
“Emeline?”
Her sooty eyelashes fluttered before ever-so-slowly inching upward. Her sleep-clouded, dark honey-colored eyes cleared instantly, and she surged upward, worry and fear washing over her features. At once, she pressed her hand to his forehead, closing her eyes for a blink.
“Och, thank, God. Yer fever has broken at last.”
Such relief weighted her raspy words, he had cause to wonder how long he’d been ill.
He caught her delicate hand in his. “What happened? How long have I been abed? What time is it?”
“Shh, dinna tire yerself.” She placed a finger on his lips, and he kissed the tip. She blushed prettily. “’Tis early evenin’.”
“What day?”
Hesitating for an instant, she replied, “Thursday.”
“So I’ve only been unaware for one day?” he asked.
“Nae, Liam.” Emeline shook her head, her hair billowing around her shoulders. The ribbon must’ve come loose while she slept. “Ye’ve been insensate for eight days.”
“Eight days,” he croaked. Eight days?
She speared the bedside clock a swift glance then took in the drawn draperies as she swept her hair over her shoulder, a tremulous smile on her lips. A becoming blushed turned her cheeks rosy again. “I dinna mean to fall asleep. Are ye hungry?”
Was he? He considered the question for a second. “Aye. Verra. And thirsty, too. Will ye join me?”
“Aye.” A radiant smile blossomed on her face. “I’ll order ye a tray and also let yer mother and sister ken ye are awake.”
She made to scoot off the bed.
“Wait.” He still held her hand. Dark purplish shadows framed her eyes, and a trace of gauntness sharpened her features. “I want to ken what happened.”
“Ye remember bein’ stabbed?” she asked softly.
“Aye,” he gave a slow nod, all the saliva in his mouth gone. “Could I have a drink of water?
“Of course. I should’ve thought of that.” In one lithe movement, she slid from the bed. Liam loathed releasing her hand, but he was unbearably thirsty. After filling a glass from a covered pitcher on a side table, she brought it to him.
He greedily drank every drop and sighed as she took the glass. “Much better,” he said.
“Would ye like more?” She held up the glass.
“Nae,” He patted the mattress beside his hip. “Sit down and tell me all. Why do I feel like I’ve been keelhauled and spent a month in the Sahara?”
“’Twas a nasty gash in yer side, Liam. Verra deep, and ye lost a great deal of blood. The doctor said ye were lucky no organs were injured. The wound had to be cauterized.”
Thank God, he was unconscious for that ordeal.
Worry stamped on her refined features, her focus dipped to his bandage. “Ye also caught a fever. Ye fought it over a week.” She averted her gaze, her throat working as if she fought tears. Despite feeling as week as a kitten, his heart soared. “We feared ye’d succumb, ye were so verra ill,” she whispered, her voice quaking.
“And that would’ve upset ye?” The words formed of their own volition.
Dewy mouth parted, she sliced him an astonished look. “But of course. How can ye even ask such a thing?” She flexed the edges of her eyes slightly. “Liam MacKay. Are ye fishin’ for compliments?” Her doe eyes went all soft at the corners and the radiance of a woman in love glowed on her face. “Ye must ken how I feel about ye.”
He lifted her hand and raised it to his lips, placing a kiss on the long fingers. “A man still likes to hear it from the woman who has captivated his heart.”
She went as still as a doe in a hunter’s sights. Wonder shone in her eyes. “I have yer heart? Truly?”
“Aye, Em.” He tugged her nearer, and she came without resistance. “I gave it to ye that day I saved yer life, only I was too stubborn to recognize the feelin’s in me. I let scars from the past blind me to what ye meant to me. What we can be together.”
“Oh, Liam,” she breathed, her eyes sparkling. “Ye have my heart, too.”
“Come, lay next to me. I need to explain a few things.” He drew her down beside him, careful not to disturb his wound. When the soft curves of her body were tucked into his side, her head resting on his shoulder, he ran his fingers through her hair. “I love yer hair. That very first day when I saw it glintin’ gloriously in the sun, it enchanted me.”
She arched a fine brow. “I had a madman pointin’
a gun at me, and ye noticed my bedraggled hair?”
“Aye. And how brave and bold and magnificent ye were.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, aware he probably didn’t smell all that fresh and badly needed to cleanse his teeth and shave. “I want ye to ken why I married Kristin.”
She shook her head against his shoulder, but he shushed her with a firm squeeze to her waist.
“I need to, lass.”
Searching his face, she gave a half-nod. “All right.”
Staring blindly at the fireplace, he cleared his throat. This wasn’t as easy as he’d believed it would be. “I met Kristin at a house party.” He cut her a sidelong glance, noting the doubt in her expression. “Aye, I used to attend such things.”
When he’d been young and foolish and headstrong.
Emeline’s lips twitched. “Go on,” she encouraged gently.
“Four years older than I, she was a widow and the much cosseted and pamper daughter of a moderately wealthy London merchant. When she turned her attention to me, I was flattered. At one and twenty, full of myself and arrogant as hell, I allowed her to turn my head.”
He hesitated to tell her this next part. It made him seem like a callow youth.
He had been.
“And…?” Her gaze remained inviting and encouraging but a slightly tinny tone colored her voice. This was difficult for her, as well.
“Kristin was beautiful, confident of her loveliness, and we soon became lovers.” He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he could as easily shut out the memories. “I ignored all the signs that she was more interested in becomin’ Baroness Penderhaven. I dinna think she even realized a feudal baron isna part of the aristocracy. Her parents denied her nothin’ and made it clear they’d welcome a match between us despite our vast differences. As enamored of her as I was, I wasna ready to commit to marriage. So she and her crafty mother decided to entrap me. They arranged for me to be caught in a…compromisin’ situation with her.”
Emeline stiffened, radiating outrage. “That’s utterly despicable.”
“She also claimed she was with child, so we wed. I stupidly believed her and believed we could be happy, even though I kent she was spoiled. Even after I discovered she wasna with child as she’d claimed. The first year was tolerable.” He rubbed his stubbled chin.
“But…?” she gently prompted.
Liam knew she asked for his sake. So he’d finally be freed from his past, not because she had any craving to know the sordid details.
“But after the bairns came,” he said, “she drank more and more, and kept threatenin’ to take the wee ones and leave. I couldna bear the idea, and although, as a man, I had the legal control of our children, I didna want to deprive her of them. In her way, Kristin loved the bairns, and children need a mother. Even if she isna a very good one.” His voice had dropped to a rough whisper, whether from talking so much or from the anguish Kristin’s betrayal had wrought, he couldn’t say.
“I’m sorry, Liam.” Emeline gripped his hand. “She sounds like a tortured soul who thought ye were the answer to her unhappiness and grew increasingly bitter when she realized ye werena.”
“Where did ye acquire such wisdom?” He stroked her cheek.
She chuckled. “Ye’d be amazed at what I heard in my aunt’s shop, some of which was useful, but mostly tattle that burned my innocent ears.”
“I was a gullible idiot, and my foolishness cost my precious bairns their lives.” He blinked away the moisture blinding him.
She propped herself on an elbow, her intelligent eyes scouring his face. She traced his scar then pressed a kiss to the jagged flesh. If he hadn’t been as frail as a new born foal, he’d have taken her right then and there. Made her his for all time.
“What could ye have done differently?” she asked, the question sincere. “She came to yer bed willingly when there was nae understandin’ between ye. As widow, she kent what to expect. When she lied and said she was with child, ye did the honorable thing and married her. And when she grew more and more difficult, ye still tried to be honorable for the sake of yer children.”
She made it sound so reasonable, so matter of fact. She readily absolved him for the things he’d had no control over. God knew he didn’t deserve such forgiveness.
Compassion crimping her eyes, she shook her head. “I canna think ye could’ve done anythin’ differently. Ye werena the problem. She was.”
“I also killed yer brother,” he said, more abruptly than he’d intended. “I dinna ken how, but he kent we were comin’. He had four men waitin’ to ambush us.”
“Did ye have any other choice?” The color drained from her face, but she didn’t break eye contact.
Drawing his mouth into a grim line, Liam gave one short jerk of his head. “I tried to take him alive, but he was crazed with rage and jealousy. He swore he’d never rest until ye were dead. I am sorry, though. He was yer kin, even if ye didna ken him.”
“I have a sister, too.”
Liam angled his head, interest in his eyes. “Ye do? How do ye ken?”
Emeline succinctly told him about the wills, the birth and marriage records, and the letters from her father and sister.
“It seems, I’m an heiress.” Two lines creasing her brow, her expression took on a faraway look. “I think I shall have to write my sister, at the very least. Or perhaps, invite her here. I dinna think she has anyone now.”
“What if she’s like her brother?” Liam didn’t like the idea at all. He knew firsthand how conniving women could be. The sister had gone from being a woman of substance and position to an illegitimate progeny with few, if any, prospects, unless things were a far cry different in France than England or Scotland.
She shook her head. “I dinna think she is. He name is Jeannette, and she sent a letter, too. In it, she was very gracious.”
“Enough talk of negative things.” Wincing, he turned slightly onto his side, gritting his teeth, and opened the bedside table and withdrew the ring box. He removed the ring and dropped the box before turning back to her. “I have the most wonderful woman in the whole of the world in my bed, and I need to ask her somethin’ verra important.”
He slipped the ring on her finger, delighted the color almost exactly matched her glorious eyes.
Hope vied with doubt in Emeline’s expressive gaze as she looked at the ring. Her attention dipped to his lips for a half-second, and she said with caution, “But ye said ye’d never marry me.”
“I was an unmitigated arse. An absolute inconsiderate, selfish dolt. Please, forgive me, leannan, I—” Stopping abruptly, he scowled.
“What is it, Liam?”
“Now that ye’re an heiress, perchance ye’re no’ interested in weddin’,” he said. “Mayhap, ye want to travel—”
“Hush, ye silly man.” Emeline rolled closer, placing her left hand on his chest over his heart. “There’s nothin’ on this earth I’d rather do than marry ye.”
“Are ye absolutely certain?” She must be. He’d not marry her if she had a single doubt.
She raised her head to plant a kiss on his mouth. “Aye, my Highland warrior.” A deliciously naughty gleam entered her eyes as she slid her hands over his shoulders. “Aye. Let me show ye how much.”
Epilogue
Eytone Hall, Scottish Highlands
December 1721
A palm pressed against the icy window pane, Emeline stood enthralled as great, fat snowflakes sifted from the sooty sky. She’d seen snow before, of course, but never in this quantity. It had begun yesterday morning and hadn’t stopped. The entire Highlands were blanketed in a thick, virginal mantle. Beautiful and peaceful.
A private smile curved her mouth as contentment she couldn’t have imagined flowed through her like warmed honey.
If the weather permitted, Liam had promised to take her sleighing on the morrow. Their houseguests were as enthusiastic about the outing as she. Jeannette, now living at Eytone Hall and Liam’s ward, had proved to be the sister Emeline had al
ways wanted.
They even looked much like one another, except Jeannette’s hazel eyes simmered with a hint of mischief Emeline’s never had. As sweet and sincere as their brother had been evil and calculating, Jeannette had adjusted surprisingly well to her change in circumstances and to living in the Highlands.
Emeline had the privilege of meeting Pierre Durpreiz when he’d escorted Jeannette to her new home. He’d been as charming and kind as Aunt Jeneva had vowed him to be. He wrote her regularly now, and had almost convinced her to journey to France to view her estates once the plague had been eradicated.
Quinn and Skye were houseguests, too.
Last year, Skye had introduced a few of her favorite Yuletide traditions. Recovering from the sudden deaths of both parents within a week of each other in October of 1720, she’d thrown herself into the holiday preparations as a way of honoring them as well as needing the distraction to help deal with her grief.
The result of her efforts had been a season so memorable that, although Scots didn’t celebrate the holiday in the same fashion as the English, Liam and Emeline had decided at Eytone Hall, Christmastide would be observed in the more traditional, festive way.
Kendra and Broden had arrived two days ago, as had Berget and Graeme and a few others. Arieen’s time drew near, so she wasn’t able to come. However, she’d vowed to be the first to arrive next year. Logan and Mayra Rutherford had sent their apologies as well, wanting to remain near Arieen, as well as a reluctance to travel with their two-month-old daughter, especially after Mayra had miscarried last year.
The house overflowed with family, friends, and love.
“Lass, come to bed,” Liam murmured from the comfort of the large curtained bed dominating the room. “I dinna want yer frozen toes and bum assailin’ me again,” he teased.
Turning from the window, Emeline tilted her head coyly, all but purring, “I dinna hear ye complainin’ about my bum this mornin’ when ye—”
“Woman. Bed. Now.” A mocking smile quirked his well-formed mouth.
To Woo a Highland Warrior Page 14