The Marquess's Scottish Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “Another sister.” When Kendra gathered them all into a group hug and they bumped foreheads, Cait giggled through her tears.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Are you ready?” Cameron’s voice came through the sturdy oak. “Colin said you’re taking so long you must be eating in here.”

  “Quick,” Kendra said loudly. “Hide the food.”

  They all laughed as Cait opened the door.

  “Cait?” Dressed in a borrowed deep-blue velvet suit, Cameron looked almost as English as she did. “Crivvens,” he said. “Cait, you look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed, looking down toward large cornflower eyes and a head of bright blond curls. “And who is this?”

  “Her name is Mary, and she and her mother are very special guests.” When Cam lifted his hand, Mary’s little hand came up with it. “She, uh, attached herself to me.” He gave a sheepish shrug, but Cait didn’t miss the pleased glow in his eyes. “She may be walking down the aisle with us.”

  So this was the Mary that Jason had run off to avenge. Caithren knelt, her silk skirts pooling around her. “Good day,” she said.

  “Good day,” Mary returned in a small, polite voice. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’ll be a lady within the hour,” Cam interrupted with a teasing smile. “You may as well get used to it.” He blew out a breath, ruffling his straight, wheaten hair. “I, on the other hand, will never get used to being a sir.”

  “Aye, you will.” Cait rose and linked her arm though his. “Shall we go?”

  Luckily the three of them fit side by side down the corridor and wide stone staircase, because Mary still clung to Cam with an iron grip. The only remaining evidence of the lassie’s ordeal seemed to be a slight catch in her gait and a wee slur in her speech. Cait had taken Kendra foraging around Cainewood yesterday, showing her which plants were useful, and tomorrow she would teach her how to make an infusion to help Mary regain her strength.

  The bagpipe music swelled when they reached the double front doors and stepped out into the sunshine. Kendra wandered off to find her twin. Colin was waiting outside for Amy, their infant daughter Jewel cooing in his arms. The bairn between them, he bent to give his wife a sweet, lingering kiss, and Caithren smiled at the three of them together.

  A family. She smiled at the thought that she and Jason might be starting a family soon.

  It was a glorious day to be wed, the quadrangle redolent with the scent of newly cut grass, the sky blue as her gown and dotted with puffy white clouds. Cait’s gaze swept the castle’s crenelated walls and the ancient keep built on a motte—reminding her of the one outside Stamford. Beyond it was an area where the grass grew high and untamed.

  “Gudeman’s croft,” she murmured.

  “What is that?” Mary asked.

  Cameron knelt down to her. “A place allowed to grow free as a shelter for brownies and fairies.”

  “Oh.” Mary’s eyes widened. “Do you know stories of brownies and fairies?”

  “Many. But they’ll have to wait for later.” With his free hand, Cam ruffled her golden curls before he stood and faced Cait. “It’s really the old tilting yard. Colin told me they don’t groom it since it’s long been in disuse.”

  “I knew that.” Her lips curved in a soft smile as she regarded her new home. A hundred rooms, she remembered Jason telling her. “Can you believe this place, Cam?”

  His hazel eyes met hers. “You always were meant to live in a castle, dear cousin.”

  “Aye,” she said, thinking of Da’s tiny castle at home—Cameron’s castle now. “But who’d have ever guessed it would be such an enormous, historic one…and in England?”

  Her head reeled with the impossibility of her new life. Nothing Jason had told her could have prepared her for the sheer size and grandeur of Cainewood Castle. She could scarcely believe she would be living within its four-foot-thick stone walls. As the Marchioness of Cainewood, no less.

  “You’ll do fine.” Cam leaned to kiss her forehead, then looked up. “There’s your man now.”

  Her gaze flew to Jason, and suddenly what had seemed impossible was gloriously real. She was going to live here, in this castle, with the man she loved.

  Clearly comfortable in this place, he walked beside the gray-haired parson, deep in conversation. He wore a forest-green velvet suit that brought out his eyes, trimmed in gold braid that matched the stiff ribbon bows on his formal heeled shoes.

  When he looked over at her and smiled, her heart did a slow roll in her chest.

  A young woman in a simple but fetching pink dress came up to take Mary by the hand. “It’s time,” she said gently, and reluctantly the wee lass released her grip on Cameron. The little girl looked over her shoulder, her blue eyes lingering on him as the woman led her away.

  “Her mother?” Cait guessed.

  “Aye. Her name is Clarice Bradford.” Cameron’s gaze followed the two as they walked toward the gatehouse on their way to the family’s private chapel. Clarice’s bright blond hair gleamed beneath a pink-ribboned straw hat. “I think you’ll like her.” He turned to take Cait by both hands. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “More ready than I ever thought possible.” Smiling at him, she squeezed his fingers. “You know, Mam always said it’s better to marry over the midden than over the muir.”

  “I’ve heard that said, that it’s wise to stick within your own circle.” Did she only imagine it, or did his gaze flick toward Clarice? “But I’m not sure I believe it.”

  “I don’t believe it, either.” Her own gaze trailed to Jason, waiting for her by the barbican. She was sure she’d never glimpsed so romantic a vision as her husband-to-be standing with the soaring castle behind him, his blue-black hair ruffled by the slight breeze, his clear green eyes locked on hers. “I reckon even mothers are wrong sometimes.”

  THE PARSON cleared his throat. “Caithren Leslie, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, obey, and serve him, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as you both shall live?”

  Beneath the hammerbeam roof of Cainewood’s ancient chapel, dappled by the multicolored light that filtered through the stained arched windows, Jason squeezed Caithren’s hand. She looked around her at the people gathered there to see them wed.

  Cameron, who’d insisted on staying for her wedding before going home to his new life in Scotland. Kendra and Ford, who’d stood by her side that wrenching night in London. Colin—like Jason, but different—and Amy and their beautiful bairn. Mary and Clarice, whose tragedy had set Jason on the path that led him to find her.

  They were all looking toward her, so expectantly.

  “I will,” she said. “All except the obey and serve part.”

  Cameron snickered. Kendra smiled. The parson appeared stunned.

  “I accept those conditions,” Jason said loud and clear.

  The parson still looked confused.

  “Go on, will you?” Jason prompted. “Before she changes her mind.”

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  MOST OF THE wedding party sat around the dining room table, waiting for Colin, who had gone to settle the baby in her cradle, and Ford, who had told them he wanted to fetch something. A stack of marzipaned wedding cakes sat in the middle of the long mahogany table, which was set with the sort of fine china and crystal that Caithren had only read about in books. She kept looking down at the wedding ring that Jason had slipped onto her finger during the ceremony.

  “Do you like it?” he murmured from his seat beside her. “Father sold off most of the family jewels to help finance the war, but I could have found something, or had Amy make—”

  “It’s perfect.” She smiled at the now-familiar gold band studded with emeralds, remembering how he bought it from the Gypsy woman without dickering. “There’
s no other ring in this world I’d rather wear.”

  “Whenever I see it, I think of your dance,” he said low. “And the moment you stole my heart.”

  Her own heart melting, they shared a smile.

  “I’m famished,” Kendra announced. She reached for a cake, then froze. “Did you hear something?” She sat up straighter, twisting her head toward the high, arched windows.

  Cait turned to look, too. But the dancing flames in the fireplace reflected off the beveled glass, making it difficult to see anything.

  “Hear something like what?” Cameron asked.

  Kendra frowned. “Like…scratching.”

  “I was sipping.” Jason rolled his eyes, draining his crystal goblet with a prolonged slurp. “There. Was that the sound?”

  “No…wait! Listen…”

  “I hear it too,” Amy breathed. “It’s—”

  “The ghost!” Kendra’s eyes widened. “The Parkinson ghost!”

  “What’s this about a ghost?” Clearly unshaken, Cameron swirled the wine in his goblet appreciatively.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Jason declared.

  “Well, now.” Cam paused for a swallow. “You won’t be finding a Scot admitting to that.”

  Kendra glared at her brother. “Just because you cannot explain ghosts doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The Parkinson ghost is hardly a new legend. And haven’t you heard about all the sightings in the week since we’ve been back?” She turned to Caithren, apparently looking for support. “Did you know this room was once a private chapel, built by Henry II when the castle was in the hands of the Crown?”

  Cait’s gaze swept the stone arches overhead, fit between with a centuries-old oak barrel-section ceiling. “Tonight it feels like it still belongs to the spirits, aye?”

  Cameron’s goblet hit the table with a little clink. “Tell us about this ghost.” Little Mary climbed onto his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck, sticking her other thumb into her mouth. He shifted to accommodate her. “What are these stories?”

  Kendra sat forward on her lattice-backed chair. “Just this week Cook saw him twice, once in the quadrangle and once walking across the drawbridge, and Haversham saw him on the drive, and Sally saw him on the roof—”

  “—and Carrington saw him under the barbican,” Jason interrupted, “and Mrs. Potts saw him on the wall walk. Our servants have very impressionable imaginations.” He reached for the wine decanter. “Let’s suppose there were such a thing as ghosts—just for argument’s sake, you understand. Why would this Parkinson fellow show up now, after all this time?”

  “Could it be my fault?” Cait wondered.

  “No.” Kendra shook her head. “He died exactly ten years ago this month. And he was killed by a Royalist—not that he didn’t deserve it, the Roundhead cur, presuming to live in our castle—”

  “Wheesht!” Cait whispered. “There it is again!”

  Kendra moved to Colin’s empty chair and grabbed Amy’s hand. “It’s him, I know it,” she whispered.

  Caithren took Jason’s hand as well.

  “It is not him.” Unlike his sister’s whisper, Jason’s voice was loud and sure. “She’s famous for jumping to conclusions,” he said to no one in particular. “It’s a bush being blown against the window.”

  “It’s not windy,” Clarice murmured, her cheeks turning red at having said something aloud. Her daughter let out a little whine, burrowing into Cameron’s shirtfront.

  “Not to mention,” Kendra whispered more fiercely, “there are no bushes under those windows.”

  Caithren turned to see the windows and gasped. Something white floated beyond the leaded panes, dipping and bobbing eerily.

  Like the monk she’d seen in the tunnel beneath Newark.

  Jason turned too, and, despite himself, drew in a sharp breath.

  “What? What?” Kendra whispered frantically, her eyes shut tight. “What is it?”

  “It’s…I’m not sure.” Calmly Cameron sipped his wine. “But a ghost isn’t necessarily something to be afraid of, aye?”

  A sudden clatter from the chimney echoed in the high, arched chamber. Cait gripped Jason’s hand harder, and Clarice grabbed for her daughter and somehow ended up on Cameron’s lap. They all swung around, their gazes riveted to the rattling fireplace.

  “Oh, my heavens!” Kendra breathed. “He’s up on the roof, just like Sally said! Oh, my heavens!”

  They all flinched when the dining room door swung open. A rush of wind sent the tapestries fluttering against the stone walls. Evidently forgetting he was supposed to look fearless, Jason clutched Cait, and she let out a high-pitched squeak. When Kendra screamed, the rest of the females joined her.

  With an unnerving suddenness, mad laughter burst forth to accompany the rattling. Colin rushed in, whipping off a white sheet with a grand gesture.

  They all stared at him, dumbstruck, as he strode to the fireplace and bent to shout up the chimney. “Ford! Come on down!”

  “Confound it.” Jason disentangled himself from Cait and sat back.

  Amy extracted her fingers from Kendra’s and flexed her hand, shaking her head at her husband. “I cannot credit that I fell for that.”

  Colin grinned wickedly, raising one black brow.

  “Fell for what?” Caithren asked.

  “Colin,” Kendra said ruefully, “is famous—or perhaps I should say infamous—for his practical jokes.”

  “Oh.” Cait’s gaze flickered to Jason. “Well,” she told Amy, “if it makes you feel any better, Jase fell for it, too.”

  “I did not.”

  “Then it was someone else’s heart I felt pounding beneath my hand?”

  She giggled when he sputtered.

  Red-faced, Clarice slid off Cam’s lap and onto her chair. “There’s no ghost, then?”

  “None.” Colin’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “The staff was quite obliging with the mysterious sightings. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re about now, waiting to see how it all turned out.”

  The door opened, and they all looked into the corridor expectantly, but it was only Ford returning from his chain-rattling assignment. He took one look at Cait’s good-natured pout and burst into peals of laughter.

  “On our wedding day!” she chided, but she couldn’t help laughing along with him.

  Cam rose and, settling Mary on her own chair, walked over to shake Colin’s hand. “Well done, I must say. This is my kind of family.”

  “Then welcome to it.” Colin looked to Caithren. “You, too.”

  He went to the door and signaled, whereby more servants than were necessary paraded in carrying the many dishes that comprised the wedding supper. They smiled conspiratorially as they set down platter after platter, slanting sidewise glances at Colin and each other before parading back out.

  Steaming dishes of chicken cullis, fricandeau of beef, and artichoke pie wafted their scents toward Caithren’s nose. She did feel like part of this family. Jason’s hand squeezed hers beneath the table. One of his feet moved to tangle with hers, making her face heat with thoughts of their wedding night to come. When she turned to him, she felt so warm and happy she couldn’t quite believe it.

  A grand sallet sat on the table, a bed of young greens with mandarin oranges, eggs, and long sprigs of rosemary standing tall, stuck into lemon halves and hung with cherries. But Kendra went for a cake.

  “She always eats dessert first,” Ford said at the look on Cait’s face.

  Kendra smiled, licking marzipan off her lips. “I might not have room for it later.” She took another bite. “Would you like some?”

  Cait shook her head and reached for some chicken. Toasts were drunk and good-natured teasing abounded. An hour later, when the meal was finished and everyone still sat around talking, she pushed back her chair and rose.

  They all turned to look at her.

  “A Scots funeral is merrier than an English wedding,” she declared. “Whatever happened to that bagpiper?”
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br />   Jason shrugged. “I think he’s eating in the kitchen.”

  “Well, would somebody fetch him already?” She moved from the table and shook out her skirts. “I’ll be wanting to dance.”

  While Ford went off to do her bidding, she gave the others instructions. “Hold hands in a circle, lads and lassies alternating. That’s it. Now, who has a handkerchief?” When Colin produced one, she handed it to her cousin. “Cameron, you take the middle since you know what to do.”

  When the piper arrived, Caithren surprised everyone by kicking off her shoes, then running to scoop up her lucky silver coin when it rolled across the floor. Laughing, Kendra and Amy doffed their shoes as well. Although they couldn’t cajole Clarice into dancing in stockinged feet, at least her shoes were flat and sensible. Wee Mary wore flat shoes, too, but she was perfectly happy to get rid of them and her stockings, besides.

  “Very well.” Cait turned to the piper as Ford took his place in the circle. “We’ll have a reel first, if you please.”

  Around and around they went in time to the rousing tune, until Cameron came from the center to Cait. The circling stopped, and he laid the lace-edged hankie at her feet. They knelt on either side, and she bestowed him with a kiss on the lips. This met with mixed laughter and gasps until Cait snatched up the handkerchief and took her place in the middle.

  Around they went again, dancing until she chose Jason. Their kiss was long and heartfelt, causing much throat-clearing and finally applause. After Jason bowed and went into the center, the circling resumed.

  Jason chose Amy, and Amy chose Colin, and Colin chose Kendra, and Kendra chose Ford, and Ford chose Mary, and no one was surprised when Mary chose Cameron. By the time Cam chose Clarice they were all worn out, and Cait signaled the piper to take a rest before Clarice had to go to her knees.

  Just in time—as Clarice’s cheeks had gone even pinker than her dress.