A Midsummer Wedding (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  Alexander watched her go to the threshold of the sheepcote with her cloak and shake it ferociously. He told himself that he should be happy. The matter was resolved, and far more easily than he’d expected. As soon as this blasted storm was over, he’d take her back to her life in the queen’s company, finish his other business, and be on his way.

  There were plenty of fine lasses in the Highlands. Far more suitable ones.

  She lifted her face to the unrelenting rain and wind, and Alexander found himself admiring her parted lips, the beautiful lines of her neck. She held the cloak to her chest and he remembered the feel of her silky skin, the fullness of her breasts as he’d pulled that lucky slow-worm from her shift.

  Elizabeth was a striking woman. He couldn’t argue that.

  Still, irritation niggled at him. She’d attempted to deceive him, to trick him into walking away from the wedding.

  Don’t be a fool, he told himself. He wanted to break the contract as much as she did.

  But why should she want to break the agreement? He had a great deal to offer. And it wasn’t only his name and his wealth. Women thought him attractive enough. Blast him if there wasn’t a chieftain’s daughter in the Highlands who wouldn’t gladly come to his bed if he winked at them.

  But Elizabeth was no Highlander.

  By the devil, he’d torn the front of her dress wide open and not taken her to bed. Her glorious breasts, the dark tips, tilting, begging to be tasted. It had taken a great deal of control to keep his eyes on her face and not on her chest. He’d wanted to toss the worm all the way to Peebles and then come back and press his lips to every curve. What would she do if he licked the salt of the river off every inch of her silky skin? His thoughts about sex, his body’s immediate response to her, had come on too fast.

  As she rolled up her cloak and came back in, a bundle of thatch lifted and blew away, leaving a gaping hole overhead. He hoped the roof would survive the storm. He worried about her. She’d been through a lot already. She didn’t need to spend the night in the rain.

  She stood looking down at the tiny fire. He decided he needed to add more pieces of the broken battens if the flames were to give off any heat. Maybe she would even take off her dress and let it dry. As he began to get up, Elizabeth picked up a handful of thatch and put it on top. Immediately, the fire sizzled and went out.

  She looked at him, alarmed, recognizing her mistake. “Oh my Lord, I smothered it. Can you start it again?”

  It was an innocent mistake. But there was a skittishness about her. He wondered if he was having the same effect on her as she was having on him.

  “It’s no use. Everything is too wet.” He patted the dirt next to him. “This is the only dry place.”

  She walked to the opposite corner of the hut and felt the ground. She seemed determined to be contrary. He frowned. Not a trait he allowed on his ships. Or maybe she was trying to keep her distance. She should know his intentions by now. He wouldn’t take advantage of her if he wasn’t to marry her.

  She reached up to test the roof above her, and a section of it tumbled down on her head.

  “Damnation,” she cursed, jumping back and spitting out dirt and thatch.

  Served her right. Alexander remained silent, watching in amusement as she brushed off her dress and hair, stamping the ground around her for fear of some creature coming down with the rest. Her cloak lay forgotten at her feet. In spite of himself, his eyes lingered admiringly on the front of her dress, torn and hanging open in front. Her gaze caught his as she turned away to gather it. He knew. She remembered what he’d done for her. What his hands had touched.

  He looked up as a gust of wind blasted the building, threatening to tear away what little protection they had left. She picked up the cloak and hurried to where he sat.

  “The storm is not easing, is it?”

  Alexander didn’t answer, nor did he repeat his invitation to sit. She remained standing near him, and he could see her shivering badly. She was sure to get a chill before the night was through.

  Something dropped on her head, and she fell to her knees beside him.

  “What is it?” she cried, batting at her hair. “Please! Get it off of me.”

  He ran his hand over her wet hair and brushed away the piece of straw. He breathed in the smell of rain and earth and woman. Don’t be a fool, he told himself again.

  “What was it?” she asked, straightening up.

  He stared at her trembling lips. “You don’t want to know.” He took her hand in his. It was ice cold.

  “Give me the other one,” he ordered.

  For the first time she didn’t complain and did as she was told. “How could you possibly be so warm?” she asked.

  Settling down next to him, their shoulders barely touching, she let him rub her hands between his. Her fingers were long and elegant.

  “Who is she?” Elizabeth stared at their joined hands. “The woman you’re planning to marry?”

  “There is no woman right now,” he replied. “I wanted to end the agreement between us before deciding on someone else.” He paused but didn’t let go of her hands. “But I’ll have to choose one soon. I have a responsibility to my clan.”

  “Why did you wait so long?”

  Alexander wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t understand what she was asking. The age one married was much more important a matter for a woman than a man. And he should have acted sooner.

  “I was hoping you’d choose to marry someone else,” he admitted. “Decide on a husband from among the men in your circle. Courtiers and knights. Serving Queen Margaret, you must have a constant line of suitors.”

  The words had sounded reasonable a month ago, but now they left a sour taste in his mouth.

  She made a sound that resembled a snort. “And that way, you wouldn’t have to offer a settlement.”

  “You have no reason to think so ill of me,” he protested. “I was and I am still planning to provide for you.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled her hands away, leaning back against the turf wall. It wasn’t about the money. She’d been well provided for. He’d done her wrong to wait this long. She’d had a right to be set free sooner. He was happy that she didn’t move away.

  “Why not send a letter before?” she continued. “Or a representative from your clan? Why did you come to Stirling without telling me your plans? Everyone is preparing for a wedding.”

  He should have done all that, and long ago. But he hadn’t. Alexander looked at her upturned face. At the direct gaze. At the perfect symmetry of eyes accented by her high cheekbones. Rumors of her beauty had reached him over the years. He had to admit that part of his reason for not releasing her was his vanity. It made him proud that others knew she belonged to him. But there was also his own prejudice regarding what he imagined to be her upbringing.

  That was why he’d come. To see for himself. But her refusal to meet with him—not to even accept a message from his squire—had affirmed his decision.

  “I felt I needed to explain in person,” he told her, unwilling to share all that was in his mind, especially now that he knew how she felt. “And you? You could have sent an emissary or a letter.”

  “I couldn’t openly defy my family’s wishes. And besides, you know as well as I that most bridegrooms would have taken offense at such a rejection. That wouldn’t have made for a comfortable way to begin a marriage, I shouldn’t think.”

  She drew her legs in to her chest, and they sat in silence for a while. She was shivering and Alexander fought the urge to gather her to his side and warm her with his own body. He was the one to speak first.

  “I assume that part of your ruse regarding Clare Seton and Sir Robert Johnstone is true.”

  She nodded. “Aye. They’re to be wed at the end of summer.”

  He hesitated but then decided to ask the question that kept edging into his mind. “Is there someone else that you have set your eyes on?”

  “No one,” she admitted, sounding surpris
ed. “Because our impending union was well known, no one has sought my hand. What Scot would risk drawing the wrath of the Black Cat of Benmore on himself? And frankly, I can’t see such a thing happening now.”

  Now it was Alexander’s turn to be surprised. How else could he describe the strange sense of relief he felt at her words. But at the same time, he would want her to marry, if she chose to.

  “Then what did you have against our marrying?” he asked in spite of himself.

  She rested her chin on the knees and stared out at the driving rain. He needed to know. He refused to doubt his decision. Going their separate ways was easier for both of them.

  “Say what’s on your mind,” he encouraged. “This may be our only chance to clear the air and walk away free people.”

  “I was afraid,” she told him.

  He frowned. “Afraid of me?”

  “Not of you.” She met his gaze and held it. “I was afraid of the change in my life. I am three and twenty and accustomed to the independence I have, to go and do as I wish. I cherish the comfort and freedom that I would lose.”

  The comfort of the court life. He couldn’t give her that in the north.

  “Of course I was afraid of your reputation as a pirate, as well. I imagined you to be a hard man. But I was also afraid of your people. I thought of my future as an unwelcome stranger. I know nothing of where you live in the Highlands. I could only imagine my life alone at Benmore Castle, surrounded by hostility, while you sail the seas . . . and perhaps die an early death doing it. What would be my fate then?” She shook her head.

  Although this was a reputation he reveled in, her words hurt. For decades, the men in her family had seen fit to entrust Elizabeth’s future in his hands, pirate or no. But she didn’t share that trust. She didn’t think he was capable of providing for her, protecting her—now or in the future.

  And she knew nothing about the Macphersons, the kindly folk who’d been waiting for decades to welcome Elizabeth to their midst. They knew the rising fortunes of their clan had been founded upon the exchange made with Ambrose Hay’s father. They were eager to accept her on that alone. She clearly had no idea that Benmore Castle was one of the great fortresses of the Highlands. Not modern, to be sure, but still a place that Alexander took pride in. And rightly so.

  Whatever he did, however easy he could make her life in the Highlands, in her mind it would never match the elegance that she’d known.

  “You were afraid you’d be marrying a barbarian,” he said curtly.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You said enough.” Alexander couldn’t hide the tone of disappointment in his voice. This is exactly what he’d feared. Exactly what he’d heard from those lairds who’d ruined their lives with women of Elizabeth’s upbringing.

  “But you’ve not said what you have against me,” she reminded him, in the same sharp tone. “Why didn’t you want to marry me?”

  The bluntness of her words had torn down the curtain of courtesy. Alexander knew he had to say what was on his mind or he’d forever regret not speaking. “I didn’t want to marry you because I knew you’d be unsuitable as a wife.”

  “Unsuitable?” she repeated, her eyes rounding in protest.

  “I knew you’d be unprepared for Benmore Castle,” he asserted. “You’ve lived your entire life in court. I doubted you’d be capable of adjusting to our ways.”

  “You think I’m spoiled and weak.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You said enough.”

  Chapter Eight

  The long, sustained creak that invaded her dream exploded with a loud crack just before a swirling gust of rain drenched her.

  “Oh my Lord!” Elizabeth sat up, groggy and unfocused. The portion of thatched roof above her was gone and the rain was pouring down. As she skittered to the side, she realized she was alone. “Alexander?”

  There was no answer. He was gone. But he couldn’t be. He dove into a raging flood to save her. He’d never leave her alone like this. Where was he?

  “Shite, shite, shite.”

  Awake now and fighting back panic, she looked around the sheepcote. He couldn’t have left without her.

  Grey daylight filled the open wall of the hovel. Staring out at the storm, she had no idea what time of day it was. She glanced up as the wind buffeted her and then wrenched away another section of roof. The place was coming apart with each gust of the wind. Where was the Highlander?

  “Please don’t let this be happening.”

  Elizabeth tried to remember to breathe as she jumped to her feet. Last night, they’d exchanged words. Each of them had insulted the other when they should have held their tongues. She couldn’t have offended him so much that he’d clear out without so much as a word.

  He was made of the hardier stock than that. He delivered verbal punches as easily as he took them. He wouldn’t desert her unless something had gone wrong. Or perhaps he’d gone for help. But why not wake her, tell her?

  “Damnation.”

  She was cold. Her cloak was in a protected corner, dangling from a rudely fashioned hook. She didn’t recall hanging it up. She poked at it, making sure no vermin had taken possession, before pulling it down.

  She was still wet—or wet again from the wake-up drenching—but at least she’d slept. The storm howled around them all night. But every time she stirred, the warmth behind her had lulled her back to sleep.

  She paused, trying to decide if the warmth was a dream or real. She recalled snuggling into it, unable to get close enough.

  Wind, saturated with rain, swept through the hut, and Elizabeth threw the cloak around her shoulders. Pulling up the hood, she fastened the ties and went out. Her heart sank.

  “Disaster,” she murmured.

  A chill clutched at her insides. The flood had risen overnight. It was now a few yards below the sheepcote. The surface of the moving waters was littered with trees and shrubs and half-submerged timber from bridges and farms and Lord knows where.

  She didn’t want to think or imagine that something could have happened to him. What happened if he tried to swim through this to get help? What if he drowned?

  This was all her fault. She shouldn’t have bought into Queen Margaret and Clare’s plan to begin with. But it was her fault. The stupid notion of playing games. Her cowardice in not meeting with him and telling him the truth. Life was not a few steps in a dance or a promenade in a masque. She’d endangered a man’s life. Tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t live with herself if something happened to him.

  Worry for Alexander wrenched her gut as she turned to go around the building. The wind whipped her hood over her face, and she banged directly into a broad, muscular chest.

  Her heart leapt with joy. She looked up, overwhelmed with relief. Her fists struck him on the chest to make sure he was real.

  “You came back for me.”

  He looked down at her and smiled. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

  Whatever words were said in the heat of the moment last night, they meant nothing to her now. He was safe. He was here. Her eyes took in the wet shirt clinging to his chest. Her fists opened, and she let herself feel the strong beat of his heart. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. He was safe. Safe.

  He reached out and laid a warm palm on her forehead.

  “Are you unwell?” he asked. “Feeling feverish?”

  Elizabeth realized she was smiling like a fool. “Nay, I’m perfectly well. How is that wound on your head?”

  “It was barely a scratch.”

  Elizabeth insides quivered and began to melt as he peeled a wet twist of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers traced her sensitive lobe, the line of her jaw, trailing down her throat before they slowly fell away. His touch played havoc with her senses.

  The memories of last night rushed back. Following their quarrel, Elizabeth had curled up in the dirt with the smell of dampness and animals around her. The tense silence h
ad been as chill as the wind, but she’d finally fallen, shivering and exhausted, into a restless half sleep. Looking at him now, she knew the source of that enveloping warmth. It was no dream. Alexander lying down behind her, his powerful arm drawing her in against him. His thumb ever so often softly caressing a band of exposed skin beneath her breasts. Dream or no dream, she’d made no objection. In fact, she’d wanted more. She’d wanted him to move his hand and touch the tips of her aching breasts.

  Rain continued to pelt down on them, but neither moved. Her mouth was dry, her heart pounded madly against her ribs. Elizabeth couldn’t understand what was happening to her. She wondered if he remembered last night, too.

  She lifted her gaze. He truly was a beautiful man. In this strange light, his eyes were the darkest shade of blue. They were the color of the morning sky at dawn. Strands of his long hair had escaped the tie and hung about his sculpted face. She almost reached up and tucked the locks behind his ear, but she didn’t trust herself. Even now her palms tingled from the feel of his chest.

  A sharp gust of the wind blasted them, and the building groaned precariously.

  “We have to go,” he said.

  She was relieved and disappointed that the spell was broken. Elizabeth followed him as he turned and walked around toward the rear of the building.

  “We need to move north, away from the river,” he said over the wind. “To that line of forests.”

  Alexander was all business now. The gentle hand that had just caressed her face was pointing at the vague blotchy line of black in the distance.

  “There’s no easy way to get there,” he told her. “It’s all flooded.”

  Her stomach clenched with worry. Their situation was grimmer than she could have possibly imagined. They were at the top of a brae that would soon be inundated. She stared at the moving sea that two days ago had been meadow and farmland.