“They burned the rest of his plaid along with his body, and mine as well, but the lady who tended me cut me a piece. She gave it to me before I left.”
Red, green with a hint of white.
“The MacKinnon plaid?” she surmised.
He nodded glumly, looking for the moment like a wee little boy.
Elizabeth didn’t understand what it was about a small scrap of cloth that the Scot’s found so worthy of dying for. And nevertheless, she didn’t need to understand to appreciate the fervor with which they applied themselves. They loved their tartans as fiercely as they loved their families… and their land… and now, so it seemed, it wasn’t legal to have either…
But she needn’t marry the man for pity’s sake. There were English guards out in the yard; and knowing what she knew, she could call upon them, and they would arrive with due force, and very likely execute Callum for merely possessing that small scrap.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He shrugged, and said, “In the end, I suppose I wasn’t looking forward to providing details.” He winced, as though the memory offered him a new blow to the gut.
Elizabeth asked gently, without intending injury, “Don’t you think they should know by now?”
“Aye,” he said. “But it’s the how of it I’m dreading, lass.”
Elizabeth reached over to lay a few fingers on his bare arm, and the touch gave her a shock, startling her. She pulled her hand away as he peered up at her, his blue eyes glittering, oh so fiercely. The silence that fell between them stretched interminably…
“So, then… are ye keen for the match?” he asked, finally. “With my brother, Lachlan—I must assume it’s Lachlan?”
Elizabeth lifted a shoulder. “I wasn’t opposed, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Aye, lass, but is it Lachlan ye’re wanting?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I have never met him.”
He lifted a brow then, and said, “I am guessing your cousin’s intention was that I would return in time tae take his place at the altar. Tis as heavy-handed a scheme as I’ve ever encountered.”
Elizabeth nodded. “And yet… I’m certain he meant well.”
He peered down at the ribbon, pulling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Aye, lass… I’m sure he did. Canny lad,” he said, smiling ruefully. “For a Sassenach…” His smile widened then, and Elizabeth’s heart tripped a few beats.
He lifted his brow. “I’m also guessing he knew, as my brother must have known, that the only chance of us getting through this with our lands is to align ourselves with the English. Your uncle, precisely?”
“Elizabeth nodded, picking nervously at a thumbnail, understanding the implication. “Yes, well… I can assure you my uncle Edward hasn’t the least intent to profit from your lands.”
“Mayhap not,” said Callum, “And yet he will.”
Alas, it was Elizabeth’s turn to sigh, because, of course, it was true. It would be dishonest to deny it. Some lands were already being appropriated, and forfeited to the Crown. Callum’s lands, all but a portion, would be assigned to her uncle and leased to his family. All produce attained from MacKinnon lands would be offered first to the King’s regiments, who were bound to be permanent fixtures about Scotland in order to keep the King’s peace. “I could… go… home,” she offered, realizing she didn’t want to.
His smile persisted. “Or you could marry my brother?” he said.
Elizabeth met his gaze, sensing a question in his eyes even as they softened to regard her, and she felt…
Something…
Chapter 6
Something about the way she’d slid her hand across the bed… into the warm spot he’d left behind… it spoke to Callum like nothing ever had. He’d found himself wishing he was still seated there beside her, if only to find her hand… The thought ignited a fire in his veins that he suddenly realized he didn’t want to go out.
For a moment, Callum merely stared at her, wondering how the devil to propose, and whether he truly wanted to…
On the one hand, he loathed being manipulated; it would serve that wretch right if his cousin married his brother as planned, but poor Lachlan wouldn’t know what to do with her. Although he’d very clearly already accepted the betrothal on behalf of the family, he’d probably done so without ever knowing what his bride even looked like or how fiery her spirit—and, oh, that she was. He sensed it keenly, even as she sat so primly beside him, her thumbs twirling nervously in her lap. The gesture endeared her to him as surely as did the blush in her cheeks… and the flowering of hope in her eyes.
So then, he recognized the boon he’d been offered, and… yes, indeed, there must be such a thing as miracles, because here sat one beside him—with golden-red hair, and eyes as blue as cornflowers. And suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of her marrying his brother. She was a woman, through and through, and shouldn’t be wasted on a boy.
And anyway, he knew Lachlan well enough to know that the burden of leadership would be too much for him to bear. Callum was eldest by thirteen years, and Lachlan was scarcely fifteen. The rest of his brothers were eleven, eight and four, and their wee sister’s birth saw their mother gone from this world, barely a year before the Forty Five Rebellion.
Therefore, this was the only logical conclusion…
“Else… you could… marry me,” he said, and found he meant it. He knew a good thing when he saw one, no matter how conspiratorially it was delivered.
Indeed, whatever feelings he had about her cousin, they were already growing ambivalent—on the one hand loathing James for killing his father, on the other, grateful as hell for, not only setting him free, but for seeing to it that he had safe passage home to his family… and a future and home to return to…
“You never gave me your name…”
“Elizabeth Louise,” she said, and Callum smiled, because the name didn’t suit her. It was far too conventional and he had a sense she was anything but.
“Aye, well, Elizabeth Louise…”
He slid from the bed and fell to his knee, hitching up his chin. “If you’ll do me the honor of becoming my bride, I shall promise to provide for you to the best of my ability and I will honor and cherish you as a man should honor and cherish his wife.”
Elizabeth blinked.
Was he truly asking her to marry him?
On his knees?
The gesture was so intensely sweet that she felt a sting of tears spring to her eyes. Long, long ago, when she was still just a wee girl… she’d dreamt of a moment like this. And with every year that passed, without a proper suitor, nor prospects that weren’t stodgy and old, she’d lost all hope of love with marriage. And though it seemed she mustn’t truly have a choice, this man… this stranger… was giving her one…
She could return home, even to the dismay of her uncle and her cousin.
Her father had never cared one whit what her desires might be, and even now, he was traveling God knew where. Her uncle wouldn’t like it if she muddled his plans, but neither would he disown her. In fact, he had given her this choice to begin with, as distasteful as it might have seemed, and Elizabeth had chosen to come here of her own free will, in order to help restore a family’s good name. So why shouldn’t she still do so?
Simply because it no longer seemed a matter of charity?
Even as Callum knelt before her, asking for her hand, she knew he would honor whatever decision she arrived at. If she asked him to allow it, he would send her back to Westerham, and he would… what? Return home to face his own dispossession?
And what about her cousin? She knew well enough that the only reason James wasn’t being court marshaled for having freed his charge was because, first of all, until now, there hadn’t been proof. Callum MacKinnon hadn’t yet returned from the dead. Although her cousin was now commissioned to his father’s regimen, and he was under Uncle Edward’s protection, it wouldn’t suit either of them if it became known… unless, James and Uncle Edward ha
d some way to reassure the Crown that its interests were being met. Unfortunately for Callum, it was only their marriage contract that could save him from the gibbet. Eventually, unless he too had her Uncle’s protection, he would answer for his participation at Culloden…
Elizabeth studied his face… handsome, despite the small scar on the right side of his chin. She hadn’t the first inkling what his brother Lachlan looked like, but it didn’t matter, because he was just a boy and Callum was a man…
“Very well,” she said. “I will marry you.”
He grinned suddenly, clearly pleased with her answer, and now, again, he pulled the ribbon through his fingers and took her gently by the hand.
“There’s an old Scot’s tradition,” he explained as he laid the ribbon over her wrist, and then he peered up into her eyes long enough to explain. “A man and a woman pledge vows to remain faithful for a year and a day. At the end of such time, according to our laws, ye would be free tae leave me if it be your choice… However… if ye’ll have me, Elizabeth Louise, I will promise tae gi’ ye no cause tae go.”
Elizabeth’s heart pounded fiercely; she feared he must hear it as well. She nodded, and said, “I will.”
And now, again, his smile unfurled in the most stunning display of startling white teeth as he looped his ribbon about her wrist, then tied it carefully, covering her hand with his own. He said, “As this knot is tied, so, too, will our lives be bound.”
And then he nodded as though she was supposed to say something as well.
“Is that all?”
He chuckled richly. “For now,” he said. “Only one more thing…” He reached up to touch her lightly upon the chin, tapping it gently, and said, “May I kiss my bride?”
Chapter 7
Elizabeth sucked in a startled breath.
The unanticipated question gave her a dizzy feeling in her head and a warm gush in the pit of her belly that didn’t have a thing to do with the hearth fire, nor the ale she’d drunk, nor even the whisky in her cranachan.
How had she come to this moment so unexpectedly?
She had left home intending to become a wife and mother to a young man, but here she was, feeling like a naive little girl… seated before a grown man… who was asking sincerely for her hand in matrimony. Nay, she corrected herself… they were already “handfasted”—married in the eyes of Scot’s law. Barbaric, perhaps, but simple, honest and sweet—as sweet as the promises he’d made her.
If you’ll do me the honor of becoming my bride, I shall promise to provide for you to the best of my ability and I will honor and cherish you as a man should honor and cherish his wife…
Nodding jerkily, Elizabeth held her breath as he lifted himself up from one knee to press his warm lips against her trembling mouth, and if she feared it would escalate to the marriage bed thereafter, she feared for naught. He drew back, smiling at her, and then rose to his feet, and limped over to the still steaming tub, reminding her again of his injury—not one, but two.
“We’ll make it proper once we’re home,” he said, giving her a reprieve, although truly, Elizabeth wasn’t overly concerned with propriety. In fact, had she been so, she might have run screaming from the room the minute he’d arrived.
Moreover, she was very well aware that if they didn’t consummate this marriage—here, and now—tonight, she was sorely afraid that everything would fall apart. After all, what if they returned “home” only to discover his brother, young as he was, meant to contest it?
And even if he didn’t, what about her uncle?
It seemed perfectly obvious to Elizabeth that James had intended for Callum to intercept her before she arrived at his home, but that didn’t mean Uncle Edward intended the same. For all she knew, James had carried out the last part of his mission entirely on his own.
All things considered, this “wedding” had turned out better than she’d hoped for, even if it wasn’t yet official in the eyes of the law.
There was simply no help for it; if she didn’t lie with her… husband… as a woman should lie with a man… it would be too easy to challenge the handfasting.
And then a thought occurred to her… a shockingly bold idea that was stunning even for her. She had a very good sense by now that he was too much a gentleman to avail himself of a woman’s body simply because he had a right to…
“May I?” she asked nervously, fiddling with the ribbon at her wrist—a wee scrap of cloth she really ought to remove, lest they brand her traitor for wearing it… and nevertheless, she shoved it higher beneath the sleeve of her chemise, emboldened by its presence.
“May ye what?” he asked, sounding confused.
“If you won’t call for a doctor, may I… see to your wound?” Her gaze fell again to the slip of ribbon still peeking from beneath her sleeve. “If I can help, I would like to.”
Callum swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone dry.
One wound was on his upper thigh, near his groin, the other on his shoulder. The latter was safe enough to show her, though he wasn’t certain he could trust himself to allow her to minister to either. Neither would it change the healing, or the past. Still, he considered her request, reaching down to test the water—warm though cooling by the moment.
God only knew, every part of him longed to wade into that clean, fresh water and inundate himself… It would be a shame to waste Little Joe’s efforts, not to mention all those buckets full of water. But the room was entirely too small, with nowhere to conceal himself… and neither would it be easy to partition, even if he dared to appropriate the bedsheets.
Moreover, he was quite certain Pitagowan didn’t have spares on a night like tonight. It was the first night of Hogmanay, after all, and the inn was filled with guests.
All the worse yet, he couldn’t bring himself to confess the need to conceal himself from the woman who was supposed to be his bride. That wouldn’t make a bit of sense, now would it? As far as Pitagowan was concerned, they were betrothed. So, in the end, he said, “Don’t worry about it, lass, I am fine.”
“But I must insist,” she said, standing.
“No,” Callum said more firmly, although having said as much, he still wasn’t certain how to handle the bath—a surprising quandary, considering that only a few hours ago he hadn’t any notion for how to assuage a blushing bride. And, aye… she was blushing—a very lovely shade of pink that he would dearly love to heighten…
Unfortunately, this was neither the time or place.
On the other hand… dirty as he was, he didn’t intend to crawl into that bed beside her with a week’s worth of stink on his person, and, in truth, if they were going to make this marriage work, there wasn’t any point in concealing himself from her. In fact, if he had his druthers, they’d share the bath together, but it only seemed proper he should offer it to her first. “Would you like to take the first bath?”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “Thank you. I can wait.”
“Sadly, I cannot,” Callum confessed. “There’s only one bed and I’d no’ repulse ye with my scent.”
“Y-yes… I-I… understand,” she said.
And then, for a very, very long awkward moment, they simply stared at one another—an odd form of checkmate—until there was nothing left to be done, but to show her his bum…
Chapter 8
Truth be told, Elizabeth wasn’t sure why she’d declined the bath—wasn’t that that best, most efficient way to get them both undressed?
Indeed, it was.
And still, she didn’t know what to do.
Should she stay?
Should she go?
Should she turn her back to him?
Or maybe ask if he needed her help to undress?
In the meantime, there was a bath going to waste; and nevertheless, she wasn’t entirely prepared when he shrugged off his shirt and tossed it over to the bed beside her.
She opened her mouth to speak, not at all sure it was a protest, and then closed it again as he began to fumble with his
trousers. The heat in her cheeks began to blaze.
“You might like to turn your head,” he said with a hint of a smile, and she did, at once, focusing her attention on the door, half anticipating it to fly open and to find Mrs. Grace’s disapproving gaze behind it. At the instant, though she hadn’t yet done a bloody thing to initiate her plan, she felt guilty as charged—or rather, as she might be charged. She was behaving like doxy, no less. Would he think her one if she did what she wished to do?
Lordy, she hadn’t the nerve
Where now her fearlessness?
Where now her mettle?
Unwittingly, her gaze fell to the ribbon of tartan peeking out from beneath her sleeve, and she fiddled with the cloth, discombobulated.
“It rather surprises me that your cousin would allow you to travel so far alone,” he said conversationally.
“Oh, I’m not alone,” she reassured, and then she heard him slip into the tub, and immediately thereafter heard him heave a contented sigh. Sweet lord, the sound was nearly as intoxicating as the whiskey in her belly, though she wished now that she’d asked for more—at least then she might have the nerve to finish what she hadn’t yet had the courage to start.
“You’re not?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I came with my chaperone—Mrs. Grace. If it’s acceptable to you, she would like to stay on to help… when we… er… arrive… home.”
“Aye, well, tis ye’re home now, as well,” he said with a thickening burr, and then he heaved another sigh as he slid more fully into the tub.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she said.
“It is.”
He sounded so sure…
Trying desperately to rein in her nerve, Elizabeth nipped at her bottom lip, making it burn over the self-abuse, nervous, but loathed to confess it. She had always considered herself to be far more… fearless. It was infinitely more difficult than she had ever supposed… to speak to someone whilst in the same room… and not… look into their face—while they were loitering in a bath. But this wasn’t such a shocking thing, was it?
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