Alec looked at Caroline in surprise. She met his eyes for only a moment before looking away, her cheeks flushing.
“Europe!” Megan said. “How wonderful. May I go along?”
“I won’t wait for you,” William said. He was sitting on the settee, with the ring still in his outstretched palm. Sophie was by his side, patting his arm supportively, glaring at Lottie balefully.
“I don’t expect you to,” Lottie said, and gave him a sad smile. “I do wish you every happiness William, I truly do—just not with me.”
Alec glanced again at Caroline, but she had slipped out of the room.
“When will you leave?” Sophie asked Lottie.
“Tomorrow,” Lottie replied. “An early start.”
“Right after the wedding then?” Sophie asked.
“Um, right before, rather.”
Alec felt his stomach turn to iron. Caroline was leaving first thing in the morning, walking away, running away. He wondered if she meant to say good-bye, or if he’d just wake up tomorrow to find her gone.
“Neville, we’re leaving too, since there is no point in staying a moment longer,” Charlotte said. “Order the horses harnessed and have everything packed at once.”
“What about supper?” Muira asked.
William shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Then neither am I,” Sophie said.
“I have packing to do,” Lottie said.
Charlotte regarded the ruins of the pie on the floor, the berries and pastry squashed and scattered like a broken heart. “Perhaps you could send a tray to my room, and I will eat while my maid packs. See to it at once.”
Alec didn’t bother to knock when he reached Caroline’s room. He simply threw open the door and strode in, letting the panel crash into the wall with a bang. She was sitting at the desk, pen in hand, and she looked at him with her eyes wide, half rising. There were tears in her eyes, but he ignored that.
“Did you intend to say good-bye? Oh, not to me, of course, but what about the girls, and Muira, the children in the village? How long have you known you were leaving tomorrow?”
Another blush filled her cheeks. “I was writing you a letter,” she murmured.
“Your resignation?” She nodded her head. “Isn’t that the coward’s way out? Do you have a letter for Sophie as well? She at least deserves better. She has no family here, no one at all but you and Lottie—”
“She has you!” Caroline said fiercely, sorrow turning to anger. He read jealousy in her hazel eyes, pain. He felt the same pain stab him.
“Aye, she does,” he said.
“Here, you might as well have this now,” she said, crossing the room in short, sharp steps to hold out a piece of paper. He took it and glanced at it.
“I don’t understand,” he said, feeling heat rising under his collar. “What the devil does this mean?”
“It’s the deed to Lullach Grange—a wedding present. I found out yesterday that I had inherited the house from my grandmother. I cannot keep it.”
“Why?” he demanded.
She met his eyes boldly, dignity warring with tears. “It would draw me back here.”
“Do you hate this place so much?”
She lowered her gaze to her hands. “Quite the contrary, but I don’t belong here.”
He couldn’t imagine Glenlorne without her. “What about the girls? What will they do without you? They adore you.”
“They’ll have Sophie.”
Alec ran a hand through his hair. “Och, I can see it’s going to be a grand wedding, with every bloody person in tears—at least the ones who are left.”
“She’s beautiful, Alec. She’ll make a wonderful wife.” There was farewell in her voice, in her eyes. His heart broke in his chest.
He gripped her shoulders. “Keep the Grange, Caroline. Let it bring you back—in a year, or two years, in five, only promise you’ll come back to—” She stopped the last word—“me”—with a finger on his lips. Her skin was cool, and his mouth watered to kiss her.
Her eyes met his. “It’s best this way, clean and quick. You’ll fall in love with So—”
Sophie appeared in the open doorway. “Oh Caroline, I just have to have your advice about how I should wear my hair tomorrow—Lady Charlotte has commandeered every maid in the place to help her pack, and I can’t bear to ask Lottie, now she’s broken Wi—” She paused when she saw Alec, practically holding Caroline in his arms.
Alec watched his bride’s eyes widen, saw the understanding in the pale blue depths. “Oh,” she breathed, and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh.”
Caroline stepped away from him, forced a smile. “I was giving Alec my wedding gift to give to you tomorrow—Lullach Grange.”
Sophie pursed her lips, still looking from Alec to Caroline and back again. She made no move to pick up the deed Caroline held out to her. Her cheeks paled to ivory, then flushed a deep shade of pink. “Then I should thank you.”
Alec felt like a heel. Sophie held herself stiffly, and forced a smile. The tension, the suspicion and sorrow in this room was thick, made it hard to breathe.
Sophie wasn’t stupid. She knew well enough what she’d seen, and she’d never forget it. It was a bad bloody way to start a marriage. She shook herself, smiled at Caroline, and backed toward the door. “I think—I think I shall go to bed,” she said, retreating.
“Sophie—” Alec began, but she smiled at him brightly and shook her head.
“Oh no. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, Alec, very bad luck indeed. Good night.”
He watched her go, listened to her feet retreating down the hall, the rustle of her taffeta dinner gown, and hung his head.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Caroline didn’t sleep a wink. Once her few belongings were packed and ready to go, and she had written letters to Megan, Alanna, and Sorcha, she sat and stared out at the old tower on the hill. She traced its outlines with her fingertip, fixed it in her memory to keep her warm and remind her of happiness in the years to come. At dawn, she slipped out of her room to put the letters in the girls’ rooms.
She almost ran into Sophie in the hall.
She wasn’t dressed for the wedding. She was dressed for travel. Sophie let out a frightened squeak at the sight of Caroline. “Oh, Caro, you startled me!”
“Are you getting ready for the wedding so early?” Caroline asked.
Sophie lifted her chin. “I’ve decided not to marry Glenlorne. In fact, I’m leaving. If Lottie can do it, so can I.”
Caroline’s jaw dropped. “But why—” She spun at the sound of footsteps behind her, and found William creeping out of his room, dressed as well.
“Caroline!” he cried in surprise, and dropped the valise he was carrying. He whipped off his top hat and hid it behind his back. He looked at Sophie, his face flushing.
“I suppose you’ve caught us, Caroline. We’re eloping,” Sophie said. She moved to stand with William, linking her arm through his. He put his hand on hers, and she saw Lottie’s ring on Sophie’s finger.
“What?” Caroline stared at them.
“I would never have been happy here at Glenlorne. I hate the Highlands, and Alec simply doesn’t love me, and I can see now that he could never love me. He’s honorable, and since my father left him little choice but to take me, he would have married me, despite the fact that he’s in love with someone else.”
William’s eyes widened. “Really? Who?”
Caroline felt her face heat, but Sophie ignored William’s question.
“I couldn’t bear to be married to a man who did not adore me. William adores me, and I have discovered that I adore him too. We have much in common, while Alec and I—” She shrugged. “I think he’ll be relieved rather than distressed when he finds I’ve gone.”
“William, is this because of Lottie? Is your pride so hurt?”
“No, I can see that Lottie is quite right. We wouldn’t suit. Sophie doesn’t care a jot for adve
ntures or long walks in the hills or views from mountaintops.”
“And William understands the importance of the perfect shade of yellow,” Sophie gushed. She came forward to squeeze Caroline’s arm. “Don’t look so stricken, Caro. I understand, I really do. I wish you only happiness, whatever happens.”
Caroline felt a sharp stab of panic and guilt. “I’m leaving, Sophie, today, with Lottie. This isn’t necessary. There’s nothing—” Sophie stopped her with a smile.
“If he’d looked at me the way he looks at you, even once—well, he didn’t, and that’s that.”
“I trust you won’t tell him!” William said. “If Glenlorne finds out I’ve stolen Sophie away, he may feel obliged to come after us and challenge me to a duel, and you know what a poor shot I’ve always been, Caro, and I’m even worse with a sword. Not that I wouldn’t fight for Sophie, of course.”
“Oh, William,” Sophie breathed, and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She turned and smiled at Caroline, and Caroline saw all the happiness on her face that a bride should feel. “Do wish Glenlorne the very best when you do see him. It’s quite obvious to me that adventures only serve to show us where we truly belong. William is where I belong. Good-bye, Caroline.”
Caroline watched them go, stunned. Another door opened, and a small troupe of servants in Somerson livery jostled past her, bearing the boxes, trunks, and baggage they’d carried into Glenlorne Castle just one week and three days earlier.
Lottie came out of her room, and had to press herself against the wall. “Goodness, what a crush! Fortunately Mama brought only the essentials on this trip. It takes four trips to move everything she needs for the Season to from Somerson Park to the London house.” Lottie said. “Are you ready to go?”
Caroline stared across the gallery, out the window at Glenlorne Tower. It seemed to ask the same question. She pictured Alec sitting in the chapel, waiting for his bride, pacing the stone floor before the altar as the Reverend Mr. Parfitt tapped his long fingers on the prayer book and mopped his brow. The villagers would be awake by now, dressed in their finest, donning MacNabb kilts, sashes, and tams and heading up the glen toward the castle behind the pipers to witness their laird’s wedding.
Alec would be there when the door to the chapel opened at last, and he wouldn’t understand, would never know what happened when Sophie didn’t come. Caroline shut her eyes. It was all her fault.
“Caroline?” Lottie asked, her brow furrowing.
She should go. She should follow Lottie down the stairs and never look back. She took the first step, and stopped.
“I have to find Alec and tell him,” she said, and ran down the stairs.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Alec tugged on the sleeves of his jacket, and smoothed a hand over the MacNabb plaid of his kilt. He hadn’t slept. He’d risen and dressed and gone for a long walk, climbing to the old tower and watching the sunrise, thinking of Caroline. No matter how hard he tried to replace her face with Sophie’s, it was Caroline he saw—Caroline laughing with the girls, Caroline learning Gaelic from the villagers, Caroline’s passion as he made love to her, Caroline’s determined expression as she tore up her petticoats to bandage him. He looked up at the empty window of the tower, and remembered the very first time he’d seen her there, her red hair flying in the Midsummer wind, her expression blissful as she stared out at the valley. She’d fallen into his arms, and it had felt as if she belonged there. He remembered her by candlelight, starlight, firelight, sunlight, and rain. She’d be gone by the time he returned to the castle. Without her, the building looked as empty and bereft as the old tower.
His hands clenched in frustration. In an hour, he’d pledge himself to Sophie Ellison, promise to honor her and cherish her all the days of his life, to stand by her, to be faithful and true. Tonight, he’d take her to bed and make good on his promise. He shut his eyes. By then, Caroline would be miles away, lost to him forever. How he wished now he’d stayed in London, or gone to sea, or done anything to avoid this. He cast one last look at the window high above him, watching as a flock of skylarks burst through it, took to the brightening sky, celebrating the dawn with their cries. He trudged back down the path to the castle, going to the chapel beyond it. He passed his grandfather’s grave, and his father’s. He felt as if the eyes of every MacNabb ancestor were upon him, watching him, urging him to do the right thing.
And the right thing was to marry Sophie, wasn’t it?
He entered the chapel, built in the days when the MacNabbs were Catholics, and since redecorated and simplified to the Presbyterian style. The wee kirk was festooned with flowers—Muira and the girls had seen to that, choosing flowers for their meanings. There were pots of garlic and chives by the door, the strong smell meant to chase away evil. Sophie would carry a sweeter-smelling bouquet of roses for love, heather for luck and ivy for faithfulness.
The inside of the church smelled like Caroline’s hair, washed with Muira’s wildflower soap. He shut his eyes against the craving for her, and went to sit on the altar steps, looking around him. How many MacNabbs had been wed here? Countless numbers, to be sure, villagers, clansmen, and lairds alike. It was his job to see that countless more had that chance, his own sons and daughters, the sons of his kin. The responsibility lay heavy on his shoulders.
He checked his watch. Sophie would be dressed by now, and the girls would be putting flowers in her hair—along with the fabulous Bray jewels, of course. Mr. Parfitt would bring the ring Lord Bray had sent to put on Sophie’s finger. It was huge, a diamond surrounded by sapphires to match her eyes. He put his hand in his pocket, but took it out when the door opened.
Alec looked up, expecting Sophie. He got to his feet, took a deep breath, and held it.
The morning sun caught Caroline’s red hair, made it glow. The breath stuck in his throat.
“Alec!” She hurried down the aisle toward him, her footsteps sharp on the stone floor.
He resisted the urge to open his arms and catch her. He let out the breath he was holding. “Caroline,” he said. He didn’t get farther. A dozen questions came to mind, but he couldn’t ask any of them. She stopped a few feet from him.
“She’s gone, Alec.”
“Who?” he asked like an idiot. Was there anyone else in the world but Caroline? Her eyes, her hair—he drank them in.
“Sophie—she left this morning, eloped with William.”
It took a moment for the meaning of that to sink in. He stared at her, saw the sorrow in her eyes, the tears on her lashes. “It’s my fault, of course. She saw you in my room, imagined—”
He felt a rush of relief go through his limbs.
“She imagined the worst, Alec. There isn’t going to be a wedding at all.”
He tilted his head. “You mean she saw the truth.”
“She thought you—” She swallowed. “I mean, that I—”
He smiled. He couldn’t help it. His face stretched into a grin. Her felt as free and happy as the skylarks. “She could see that I love you, is that what you mean?” he asked. “And that you love me, and that you belong at Glenlorne, and that Glenlorne needs you?”
She shut her mouth with a snap and stared at him. He stepped forward and swept her into his arms and kissed her until her lips softened and she kissed him back. He’d been wrong—she smelled better than the flowers. She pulled back and stared at him.
“Don’t you understand? There isn’t going to be a wedding.”
“There is indeed going to be a wedding. I don’t care about marrying a fortune. We’ll find a way. As long as I have you beside me, we’ll find a way.”
She stared up at him. The door opened behind them. Neither looked to see who it was. He dropped to his knee. “What do you say? Will you marry me, lass?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I will.”
Mr. Parfitt had come to break the sad news to Glenlorne that his bride had left hours earlier with another gentleman. He shook his head as he walked past the gravestones of the little
burial ground. It must be something in the Highland air. He’d never seen so many broken betrothals in his life. He’d never conducted a wedding before, being new to the clergy. He’d been thrilled, honored, and very well paid when Lord Bray hired him to escort his daughter north and see her wed as quickly as possible. He’d failed. He looked up to heaven, asked the Lord above just how he was going to explain all this to the earl—well, both earls, the father and the bridegroom. He’d hoped for an appointment to a rich parish, and now he’d be fortunate to find a job escorting prisoners to the hangman in a London prison.
He sighed and opened the door to the chapel, and stopped in his tracks. The laird was there waiting, to be sure, but he wasn’t alone, or bereft. Lady Caroline was in his arms. They both smiled when they saw him in the doorway.
“We’re ready,” the earl said. The clergyman tightened his grip on his prayer book.
“But—” he looked at the flushed faces of the happy couple, saw the joy in the young woman’s eyes, the pride in the groom’s—everything that had been missing from every single betrothed couple here at Glenlorne until now. It touched his heart. He sighed and climbed the steps to the altar. “This is most unusual,” he said. The door opened again, and people began to crowd into the little church. Parfitt recognized the laird’s sisters, the housekeeper, the ghillies, and dozens of other folk. They did not seem surprised in the least by the sight of Lady Caroline standing beside the laird. In fact, they grinned and nudged one another, whispering that they’d known it all along. And they smiled, as if all was right in Glenlorne and God’s universe. Who was he to dispute that?
“Shall we begin?” he said, and opened the prayer book.
He did not stop until he reached the part regarding the exchange of rings. “Have you a ring, my lord? I have the Bray diamond in my pocket, of course, but under the circumstances, it seems wrong to use it now.”
The laird frowned a moment, then reached into his pocket. “I have one,” he said. He took out a ruby ring and laid it on the prayer book, where it glittered like a drop of blood.
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