"No, that isn't true. You and Lord St. Ambrose are not doomed. You love each other. I've known it for a long time. I should never have been so reckless with my words."
"August is so very easy to love." Lavinia pressed her lips together, struggling to keep her composure as tears welled in her eyes. "I do not think I can bear to lose him."
"Then you should marry the man." Edith grabbed her friend's shoulders, wishing a good shake would open Lavinia's eyes to what Lord St. Ambrose could give her. "The marquess has kept it no secret he intends to have you for his wife. Why are you fighting him?"
"You don't understand." Lavinia swiped at her eyes. "Marriage is no assurance he will keep me. Once others begin to scorn him, he'll wish he had never set eyes on me. I could spend the rest of my life forgotten and alone in one of his remote country houses. Even my child could be taken from me."
"St. Ambrose would never treat you so cruelly."
"I would like to believe it is true," Lavinia said, her voice raw with emotion, "but my own father sold his flesh and blood to pay his gambling debts. Before he lost everything, he wasn't a cruel man. How can I be certain August will remain the same when his reputation is damaged beyond repair? A man's honor is crucial to his influence with other men. Without alliances, he has no power."
Edith knew very few gentlemen, but she was sophisticated enough to realize Lavinia spoke the truth. Nevertheless, she refused to believe Lord St. Ambrose hadn't considered the risks associated with marrying his mistress or had failed to take steps to ensure his survival. While he was tenderhearted and loving with Lavinia, he possessed a hard edge that should make any man hesitate to cross him.
"I think you underestimate Lord St. Ambrose," Edith said.
Lavinia lowered her gaze and found a loose seam on the arm of the chair. She picked at it, saying nothing. After a while, Edith gave up on Lavinia speaking again.
Edith huffed in frustration. "You are afraid. Despite what you believe, I do understand. I'm afraid too, but sometimes you must trust what you see in a man is a true reflection of his character."
Lavinia glanced up and her lips curved into a soft smile. "Your Mr. McTaggart's character is beyond reproach. You will have many years of happiness with him."
"You could have the same with Lord St. Ambrose. You only need to be brave."
Lavinia pushed up from the floor and returned to the chair across from her. "We've focused on me far too long. Let's speak of your wedding. Have you chosen a day?"
Edith paused, saddened by the realization her friend likely would miss her nuptials given her impatience to return to England. "Mr. McTaggart wants a church wedding."
"This could take longer than I expected," Lavinia mumbled, as if speaking to herself. She raised her sculpted eyebrows in Edith's direction. "Is there a way to rush the crying of the banns?"
"I am afraid that's not possible, even in Scotland. I've been told I needn't be a member of the Church of Scotland to marry Mr. McTaggart, so at least there is no delay from that end. Still, there are fifteen days between the first crying of the banns and the last."
"I see." Lavinia nibbled her bottom lip while she seemed to be mulling over this information. Eventually, she shrugged. "Very well. I see no alternative. You cannot marry without your family bearing witness."
Edith's breath hitched. "Does that mean you are staying?"
"Nothing would keep me from your wedding."
With a shrill shriek, Edith jumped from the chair to hug her friend.
Kissed by a Scottish Rogue: Chapter Eleven
FERGUS'S BREATH CREATED A FOG ON the crisp January air when he stepped from the carriage Lord Thorne had sent to collect him. Three weeks had passed since Eddi accepted his proposal, and their wedding day had arrived at last. He'd come early to the church to make certain Reverend Adair built a large enough fire to warm the chapel so his bride didn't catch a chill.
Despite the blinding sunlight reflecting off the fresh snow cover, the wind froze him to the bones. It would be another frigid night, but he wouldn't complain. He would use any excuse at his disposal to keep Eddi in bed.
Upon entering the building, he discovered his sister and cousin Leana had beaten him to the church. Ismay looked up from the pink and white flowers she was arranging as he ambled down the aisle. "Where did you find flowers, lass?"
"Lady Thorne said I could visit the hot house and take whatever the bride might like." Ismay grinned and returned to the arrangement. "I didna expect ta see you so close to sunrise. I wagered with Leana ye'd still be bundled up in bed with yer betrothed."
Fergus grunted. "Never you mind what me and my betrothed were up to."
Last night he and Eddi had engaged in the practice of bundling and passed the long, cold hours snuggled in his bed at the cottage. When his mother suggested the old Scottish custom, he'd scoffed at the idea. Neither he nor Eddi were young, and he expected his betrothed to balk at the barbaric notion of tying her legs together to protect her virtue.
Eddi surprised him, however, by proclaiming the custom charming. Except for the ropes. Fergus heartily agreed to forgo the second part of the custom. He didn't want his woman trussed up like a turkey, especially when he'd ached to explore every inch of her. He'd behaved himself, though, and observed the custom of talking to his bride to become better acquainted with her, even though he'd spent every moment possible with her during their betrothal. Once they were wed, his inquiries would be more intimate, such as where she liked to be touched. The moment couldn't arrive too quickly for him.
Ismay pulled a pink lily from the bouquet, tucked it in a different spot, stopped to study her work, and then grabbed the lily again.
He frowned. "Shouldn't you be at the castle helping Mistress Gallagher dress?"
"I have plenty o' time. Every wedding needs flowers, and yer bride will thank you." She replaced the lily with a satisfied smile and clasped her hands to her chest. "Perfection."
Leana abandoned the task of securing massive bows to the pews to come view Ismay's handiwork. "You should move this one to here." Leana reached for a white flower and Ismay smacked her fingers. Their cousin drew back her hand and aimed a pouty glower at Ismay.
"Return to the castle, lasses. You shouldn't keep my bride waiting." He wrapped an arm around each of their waists and ushered them to the double doors of the church. "The carriage will take you back."
"Verra weel," Leana grumbled while she threw on her pelisse. "You can finish the bows."
Ismay draped the McTaggart tartan over her head to create a hood. "Mistress Gallagher will be a vision in her dress. She made it herself. She is talented, that one."
"Aye, she is." He smoothed a hand over his jacket sleeve. The new clothes Eddi made for him fit better than anything he'd ever owned.
Once the lasses were gone, he went in search of Reverend Adair and found him in the back part of the church bent over a dying fire in the hearth.
"Is that all the kindling you have?" Fergus asked, eying the stingy stack piled on the stone floor.
The minister tossed a sour look in his direction. "I have enough, Mr. McTaggart. If you had yer way, it would be as hot as hell in here."
"Weel, maybe everyone would be more motivated to attend church if their bums werena frozen to the pews." He headed out the back door to collect more wood from the large stack leaning against the wall.
When he returned, he heard voices coming from the sanctuary. He deposited the wood on the minister's stack and smacked his hands together to remove debris. "I'll see who has arrived while you build up that pitiful fire."
Lords Thorne and St. Ambrose were standing in the middle of the church. The marquess turned a slow circle, studying the stained glass windows. "It is a lovely place for a wedding, but the castle suits my purpose well enough. Is the minister usually here this early?"
Fergus cleared his throat. "Reverend Adair is in the back, my laird."
Lord Thorne came forward with a smile to clasp his hand. "I didn't expect to find you at
the church this time of day. You must be eager for the wedding. Congratulations on marrying the second most beautiful woman at Aldmist Fell."
Lord St. Ambrose excused himself to speak with the minister.
"I hope you don't mind our early arrival," Thorne said. "Helena insisted we inspect the church to make certain everything is in order."
Even if Fergus did mind, he had no authority to deny the baron and his guest entry. Lord Thorne was master at Aldmist Fell. Fortunately, Fergus had grown to like the man. That hadn't been the case when Thorne started sniffing around Helena's skirts in London. Fergus knew a scoundrel when he saw one, but Thorne had turned out to be a pleasant surprise. He was a good husband to Helena and loved her, which was all Fergus had ever wanted for the lass.
"Everything is in order. The only thing missing is my bride," Fergus said.
The baron grinned. "It shouldn't be much longer. The ladies assured us everything was being managed before they tossed us from the castle."
Fergus doubted that was how the baron and marquess wound up nosing around the church, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Eddi had told him about the marquess's wishes to marry her friend and Miss Kendrick's adamant refusal to become his wife. He didn't understand why the lass kept refusing him when she could gain respectability, but he'd never been good at sorting out a woman's reasoning. It was enough for him to keep up with Eddi. He'd let Lord St. Ambrose worry about Eddi's friend.
The marquess returned from the back room. "It is done."
"Splendid," Lord Thorne drawled. "The hard part is behind you."
"Your insincerity warms the heart, Thorne."
"It is the least I can offer, given how gracious you were to extend your stay."
Fergus left the men to their good-natured banter to stoke the fire in the back. He kept it burning steadily over the next hour and ignored Reverend Adair's muttered curses each time Fergus tossed a log onto the flames. When the minister left to climb the tower stairs, Fergus made his way to the front doors to await his bride.
At the first peal of the bell, he slipped outside, mindless of the cold. He wanted to be the first to see Eddi. Two carriages approached from the West. Eddi, Helena, Gracie, and Miss Kendrick rode in the first one, while his mother and sister shared the second with Mr. and Mrs. Mason.
On Fergus's orders, the rest of the McTaggart clan was to perform their duties as if today were any other day. Aldmist Fell did not run itself. Besides, if every member of the family squeezed into the church at once, there wouldn't be room to move, and his bride might feel the absence of her own family.
A heavy woolen cape covered all but the bottom ruffle of Eddi's gown, and a hood hid her silvery hair, but the smile she bestowed on him as he offered his hand to help her descend the carriage steps was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. A warm tingle began in his chest, expanding and spreading throughout his body.
"Let's see you inside before you freeze, lass." He led her into the cozy church and urged her to sit on a bench just inside the door while the footmen assisted the wedding guests. Ismay bustled through the front door and passed a pair of dainty satin slippers to Eddi.
As their guests filed past to find seats, he knelt before his bride to unlace her boots. He eased up her skirts, catching a glimpse of her slender calf before he forced himself to focus on the laces. When he removed the boot, he held her small foot. It was barely as large as his hand, and he was struck by how delicate she was on the outside. Appearances could be deceiving, however, because she possessed a will forged of iron that would keep him on his toes for the rest of their lives.
Father always said Fergus would know his mate when he laid eyes on her. It hadn't been instantaneous like his father described, but he held no doubts this woman was his.
She peeked at him from beneath her lashes and smiled as she held out a slipper. "Are you going to place it on my foot or should I?"
He flashed a wide grin and accepted her offering. When he'd placed both slippers on her feet and helped her stand, she unfastened the cloak. Underneath she wore a simple but elegant light yellow gown. The color was a perfect match to the thin strip of yellow in the McTaggart plaid sash tied around her waist.
"Turn around, lass. Let me see what ye've done with my tartan."
Her pale brow arched. "Your tartan? You gave it to me, if you'll remember." She spun so he could view the plaid train cascading down the back of her skirts. She smiled at him from over her shoulder. "You said every McTaggart woman has one."
"That she does, and do you know why?"
"No." Eddi faced him again, her eyes large with wonder. "Why?"
He slid his arm around her waist. The tartan was soft beneath his palm and his Eddi even softer. "Ta let everyone know her McTaggart loves and cherishes her. He will protect her until his last breath."
She reached to cup his face. "And how does everyone know her McTaggart is loved and cherished in return?"
"He knows, lass." He covered her hand lying against his cheek, savoring the warmth of her palm seeping through her glove. "When she looks at him with her loving bright blue eyes, he knows."
A loud clearing of a throat drew his attention. Reverend Adair stood in front of the altar with his arms crossed. "Are ye marrying the lass today, Fergus McTaggart?"
"Oh, aye." He held his arm out to Eddi and she looped hers around his. "And for the rest of our lives."
Kissed by a Scottish Rogue: Epilogue
"HOW dare YOU BRING THAT MAN here?" Lavinia's muffled shout held a note of panic.
Helena cringed when something heavy banged against the wall and shook a painting.
"You are being ridiculous," Lord St. Ambrose bellowed in return. "My child will have a father."
Helena stopped pacing the study to throw a wide-eyed look at her beloved Sebastian. "Do you think Reverend Adair can hear them?"
The clergyman had been bustled away to an unused drawing room the moment Lavinia realized what Lord St. Ambrose intended. Helena's sister hadn't raised her voice—yet—but her face turned an alarming shade of red, which was the reason Helena and Sebastian escaped to the study as soon as the minister was safely tucked away.
Sebastian left his chair to gather Helena to his chest. She dissolved against him, savoring the lean strength of his body. "I'd wager everyone on the estate could hear them, darling. Your sister and St. Ambrose might bring down the roof if they get much louder."
Helena pushed back to see her husband's face. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"
He grinned, causing her breath to catch slightly. She hoped she never lost the thrill that came with being the recipient of his attention. "The castle has seen worse rows, Helena. Don't you recall how Edith and Fergus were at each other's throats only a month ago? Now they are happily married and off to enjoy their wedding night."
A tentative smile eased across her lips. "They did appear happy, did they not? Leaving Aldmist Fell will be easier knowing Edith is here to watch over Fergus."
He chuckled, hugging her close again and kissing her forehead. "He's a man. He doesn't need a nursemaid."
"Be that as it may, I am comforted knowing he is not alone."
"Alone? Have you noticed the number of McTaggarts swarming the castle?"
Sebastian was teasing, so she didn't feel the need to argue her point. Fergus needed a helpmate—someone to love—and he had one in Edith.
Helena would rest easier still if she could see Lavinia's future secured. Her sister loved Lord St. Ambrose and he adored her. There had to be a way for them to live happily-ever-after. What other choice was there? They had a baby on the way.
She nibbled her lip, her stomach twisting with worry. "Lavinia will be furious with me for telling St. Ambrose about the baby."
"She will forgive you in time, love. One day she will realize you have her best interests at heart."
The yelling had stopped and the door swung inward. Lord St. Ambrose stood in the threshold with Helena's sister. Lavinia appeared surprisingly calm after the
commotion a few moments earlier. Her smile was strained, but when she met Helena's gaze, there was a hopeful spark in her blue-green eyes that lifted Helena's spirits.
"As you might have heard," Lavinia said, "St. Ambrose has offered marriage. I've been given no choice but to accept, and we have need of witnesses. Are you and Lord Thorne available?"
"Of course." Helena approached her sister warily. "Lavinia, should we speak privately first?"
Lavinia shook her head. Helena's heart sank. To lose her sister's friendship after all the years they had been separated would devastate her. Lavinia released Lord St. Ambrose's arm and rushed forward to clutch Helena against her. Helena hugged her sister in return, her relief coming out in a breathy laugh.
"Thank you," Lavinia murmured in her ear. "I'm so frightened of what is ahead, but I know you mean well."
Helena drew back, tears of happiness flooding her eyes. "Trust St. Ambrose to protect you. Trust our love for you. We will weather this together."
Lavinia nodded and offered a watery smile. "I do trust you."
St. Ambrose put his arm around Helena's sister and gazed at her with such love, Helena's heart felt as if it might burst. "I thank you as well, Lady Thorne. You've made it possible for me to have everything."
For a man who possessed wealth and power beyond Helena's imagination, he offered the best proof possible that she'd made the right decision. Her sister would be well settled in marriage with a man who would love her forever.
Perhaps Helena had a natural talent for matchmaking. Unfortunately, she'd run out of candidates in need of a spouse before fully exploring her abilities. She supposed she would have to be content with her role in Fergus and Edith's match, and now her dear sister's marriage.
She clapped her hands. "Reverend Adair has been kept waiting long enough. Shall we join him?"
She led them toward the small drawing room where the minister was waiting, thrilled to bear witness to the beginning of Lavinia's new life and frightened about how her sister would be treated once the ton learned St. Ambrose had thumbed his nose at their rules and married his mistress.
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