Rebellion & In From The Cold

by Nora Roberts

  “Beautiful, always more beautiful, Serena. A man could die from missing you.”

  “I thought of you every day, and prayed. When we heard of the battles, I nearly went mad waiting for your letters telling me you were safe.” At last she drew away to look at him. Because he and Coll had ridden in from camp, he had yet to change to his court dress. With some relief, Serena noted that he was the same man who had ridden away from Glenroe nearly three months before.

  “I was afraid you’d change somehow, being here.” She moistened her lips as she looked back toward the buildings. Nothing she had ever seen was more magnificent than the palace, with its towers and steeples with lights flickering behind its tall windows. “Everything here is so splendid. The palace, the abbey.”

  “Wherever I am, nothing changes between us, Rena.”

  She moved back into his arms to rest her head on his shoulder. “I was afraid it would. I prayed every day for you to be safe. And I prayed every day that you wouldn’t seek comfort in the arms of another woman.”

  He laughed and kissed her hair. “I shan’t ask which you prayed for with more fervor. My love, there is no one else. Can be no one else. Tonight I shall find more than comfort in your arms.”

  She smiled as she turned her lips to his cheek. “Would that we could. In truth, next to finding you safe, my dearest desire was to spend a night loving you.”

  “Then I shall see to it that you have both your desires.”

  She kissed him again and chuckled. “I’m to share a chamber with Gwen. It would be as unseemly, my lord, for you to come to my bed as it would for me to search the corridors for yours.”

  “Tonight you share my chamber, as my wife.”

  Her mouth opened in surprise as she stepped out of his arms. “That’s impossible.”

  “It is very possible,” he corrected. “And it shall be.” Without giving her a chance to speak, he pulled her through the archway.

  The Prince was in his apartments, preparing for that evening’s entertainment. Though Brigham’s request for an audience at that hour surprised him, he granted it.

  “Your Highness.” Brigham bowed as he entered Charles’s sitting room.

  “Good evening, Brigham. Madam,” he said as Serena sank into a curtsy. She would kill Brigham, she thought, for dragging her before the Prince without even a chance to wash off the travel dirt or take a comb to her hair. “You would be Miss MacGregor.” Charles drew Serena to her feet and kissed her hand. “It is easy to see why Lord Ashburn no longer notices the ladies at court.”

  “Your Highness. It was good of you to allow me and my family to come.”

  “I owe the MacGregors a great deal. They have stood behind my father, and behind me. Such loyalty is priceless. Will you sit?” He led her to a chair himself.

  She had never seen a room like this one. The high ceiling was festooned with swirls and clusters of fruits and flowers, and from its center hung a dripping chandelier. Murals ran along the walls depicting Stuart victories in battle. A fire crackled in the hearth beside her chair. Music lay open on a harpsichord in the center of the room.

  “Sire, I have a favor I would ask.”

  Charles sat, then gestured Brigham to a chair. “I am sure I owe you more than one.”

  “There is no debt for loyalty, Your Highness.”

  Charles’s eyes softened. Serena saw then why he was called the Bonnie Prince. It wasn’t just his face and form, it was his heart. “No, but there can be gratitude. What would you ask of me?”

  “I would wed Miss MacGregor.”

  Charles’s smile spread as he tapped his fingertips on his knee. “I had already surmised as much. Shall I tell you, Miss MacGregor, that in Paris Lord Ashburn was very generous with the ladies at court? At Holyrood House he has proved most selfish.”

  Serena kept her hands folded primly in her lap. “I believe Lord Ashburn is a wise warrior, sir. He has some knowledge of the fierce and terrible temper of Clan MacGregor.”

  Highly entertained, Charles laughed. “So, I shall wish you well. Perhaps you would care to be married here, at court.”

  “Yes, sir, and tonight,” Brigham said.

  Now Charles’s pale brows rose. “Tonight, Brigham? Such haste is …” He let his words trail off as he glanced at Serena again. The firelight played seductively over her hair.” … understandable,” he decided. “Do you have the MacGregor’s permission?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, then. You are both Catholic?” Receiving nods, he thought it through. “The abbey is convenient. There is a matter of the banns and so forth, but I believe if a man cannot deal with such matters, he can hardly hope to win a throne.” He rose, bringing both Serena and Brigham to their feet. “I will see you wed tonight.”

  Pale, not at all certain she wasn’t dreaming, Serena found her parents in their chamber.

  “Serena.” Fiona sighed over the fact that her daughter still wore her traveling suit. “You must change. The Prince’s court is no place for muddy boots and soiled skirts.”

  “Mama, I am to be wed.”

  “Devil, lass.” Ian kissed her tumbled hair. “We’re aware of that.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Fiona rose from her chair. “But how—?”

  “Brigham went to the Prince. He took me, like this.” Serena spread her muddy skirts, knowing her mother would understand her feelings on the matter.

  “I see,” Fiona murmured.

  “And he, they …” She looked from her mother to her father, then back again. “Mama.”

  “Is it your wish to marry him?”

  She hesitated, feeling the old doubts well up. Instinctively she lifted a hand to her breast. On a heavy chain under her bodice was the emerald Brigham had given her. “Aye,” she managed. “But it has all happened so fast.” He would be leaving again, she thought. Leaving to fight. “Aye,” she said, her voice stronger. “There is nothing I want more than to belong to him.”

  Fiona slipped an arm around Serena’s shoulders. “Then we have much to do. Leave us, please, Ian, and send a servant for Maggie and Gwen.”

  “Tossing me out, are you, my lady?”

  Fiona held out a hand to him, even as Serena reached for his other. “I fear you would have a strong dislike for the woman’s work that must be done in the next few hours.”

  “Aye, I’ll go willingly.” He paused a moment to draw Serena close. “You have always made me proud. Tonight I give you to another man, and you will take his name. But you will always be a MacGregor.” He kissed her. “Royal is our race, Serena, and rightly.”

  There was no time to think, and certainly no time to dwell on the enormity of what she would do before the night was over. Servants rushed in and out of the chambers with jugs of hot water that Fiona scented delicately for her daughter’s bath. Gwen and Maggie chattered as they took out seams and sewed new ones on the dress Serena would wear to be married.

  “It’s romantic,” Gwen said as she scanned her stitches with a critical eye.

  “It’s madness.” Maggie glanced over, knowing Serena was soaking behind the screen. “Rena must have woven strong magic to make Brigham hurry so. He must not be so stuffy as I once thought.”

  “Imagine.” Gwen shifted the ivory satin delicately. “Going to the Prince. We never had a chance to unpack from the journey before we’re changing Mother’s ball gown into Serena’s wedding gown.”

  Maggie sat back, touching a hand to the mound of her belly. The baby she carried always became more active at night. The unpacking would have to wait, she thought, just as she and Coll would have to wait to have a proper reunion. She stifled a giggle as she remembered how he had roared when they had been interrupted just as they had started to become reacquainted. She looked over as Serena emerged, wrapped in towels, her skin and hair dripping.

  “The dress will be beautiful,” Maggie told her, blinking back tears at the thought of the wedding. “And so will you.”

  “By the fire,” Fion
a ordered, armed with a brush. Knowing the trembles had nothing to do with a chill, Fiona began to soothe her daughter as she dried her hair. “A woman’s wedding is one of her most precious memories. Years from now, when you look back, what seems now like a dream will be very clear.”

  “Should I be so afraid?”

  Fiona reached over Serena’s shoulder to take her hand. “I almost think the more you love, the sharper the fear.”

  Serena gave a weak laugh. “Then I must love him more than I knew.”

  “I could not wish a better man for you, Rena. When the fighting is done, you will have a good life together.”

  “In England,” Serena managed.

  Fiona began to stroke with the brush as she had so many times before. Her hands were gentle as she thought of this small pleasure that would soon be denied her.

  “When I married your father, I left my family and my home. I had grown up with the sound of the sea, the smell of it. As a girl I would climb the cliffs and watch the waves break on the rocks below. The forest of Glenroe was foreign to me, and frightening. I wasn’t sure I could bear being so far away from everything I had known and loved.”

  “How did you?”

  “By loving your father more.”

  They left her hair loose so that it streamed like candlelight down her back. The bodice of the gown was snug, skimming her breasts, leaving them to rise softly above as a resting place for a rope of pearls. The sleeves belled out, sheening down to her wrists. There was a glimmer of pearls on the skirt where it flared over hoops and petticoats. At the waist was a sash gathered up with a clutch of the palest pink wild roses. With her heart hammering, Serena stepped into the abbey.

  It was a place of legends, of joy and despair, and of miracles. There she would be wed.

  He was waiting for her. In the wavering light of lamps and candles, she walked to him. She had always thought he was at his most elegant in black, but she had never seen him look more handsome. Silver buttons glinted, adding richness to the severe cut of his coat. For the first time since she had known him, he wore a wig. The soft white added romance to his face, contrasting royally with the dark gray of his eyes.

  She didn’t see the Prince, or the pews filled with the lords and ladies who had come to watch the ceremony. She only saw Brigham.

  When her hand touched his, it stopped trembling. Together, they faced the priest and pledged.

  The clock struck midnight.

  The Prince had decided that a wedding, however hurried, deserved a celebration. Within minutes after becoming Lady Ashburn, Serena found herself being led to the picture gallery of the palace, where Charles had given his first grand ball on the night he had taken the city.

  The long, wide room was already filled with music. Serena was kissed and congratulated by strangers, envied by the ladies, studied by the men. Her head was reeling by the time she was handed her first glass of champagne. She sipped and felt the bubbles burst on her tongue.

  Exercising his privilege, Charles claimed her for a dance. “You make a lovely bride, Lady Ashburn.”

  Lady Ashburn.

  “Thank you, Your Highness. How can I thank you for making this possible?”

  “Your husband is of great value to me, my lady, as a soldier and as a friend.”

  Her husband.

  “You have his loyalty, sir, and mine, both as a Langston and as a MacGregor.”

  Brigham claimed her when the dance had ended, fending off complaints by others who would have partnered the new bride.

  “You are enjoying yourself, my love?”

  “Aye.” Ridiculous to be shy, she thought, but she felt herself color as she smiled at him. He looked different in the wig, with the flash of jewels, she thought. Not at all like a man who would toss her over his shoulder and threaten to dump her in a loch. He looked as glamorous as the Prince himself. And nearly as much a stranger. “It’s a beautiful room.”

  “You see the portraits?” he asked, leading her gently by the elbow for a closer look. “There are eighty-nine, Scottish monarchs all. I’m told they were commissioned by Charles II, though he never once entered Holyrood House, in fact never returned to Scotland after the Restoration.”

  She knew her history, she thought irritably, but tried to show an interest. “Aye. This is Robert the Bruce, a fierce soldier and well-loved king.”

  “I should have known a woman as well-read as you would know her history and her politics.” He leaned close to her ear. “What do you know about military strategy?”

  “Military strategy?”

  “Ah, so there is something yet I might teach you.” Before she could answer, he pulled her roughly through a doorway. She had only time for a muffled squeal before he swept her into his arms and began to race along a corridor.

  “What are you doing? You’ve gone mad again.”

  “I’m escaping.” As the music faded behind them, he slowed his pace. “And I went mad from the moment you walked into the abbey. Let them dance and drink. I’m taking my wife to bed.”

  He mounted a staircase, not even bothering to nod at a servant who, wide-eyed, bowed himself out of the way. With Serena still in his arms, he kicked the door to his chamber open, then kicked it closed again behind them. Without ceremony, he dropped Serena on the bed.

  She tried to look indignant. “Is that a way to treat your new bride, my lord?”

  “I haven’t even begun.” Turning he shot the bolt on the door.

  “I might have wanted another dance or two,” she said, smoothing her palm over the bed.

  “Oh, I intend to dance with you, be sure of it. From now till dawn and after.”

  She gave him a cheeky grin. “There’s dancing, Sassenach, and there’s dancing.”

  “Aye,” he said, mocking her. “It’s not the minuet I have in mind.”

  She smoothed the rumpled skirt of her gown. “What is it you have in mind, then?” She lifted her brow as she assessed him and wondered that he didn’t hear how fast and loud her heart was beating. “Gwen thinks you’re romantic. I doubt she’ll continue to think so when I tell her how you dropped me on the bed like a sack of meal.”

  “Romance?” He lighted the candles that stood beside the bed. “Is that what you want, Rena?”

  She moved a nearly bare shoulder. “It’s what Gwen dreams of.”

  “But not you?” With a little laugh, he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a chair in a manner that would have made Parkins shudder. “A woman’s entitled to romance on her wedding night.” He surprised her by kneeling on the bed and slipping off her shoes. “I had no chance to tell you how magnificent you looked standing beside me in the lamplight of the abbey. Or of how, when I saw you there, every dream I have ever had came true.”

  “I thought you looked like a prince,” she murmured, then shivered when he ran his fingertips along the arch of her foot.

  “Tonight I’m only a man in love with his wife.” He brushed his lips over her ankle. The scent of her bath clung to it and spun seductively in his head. “Bewitched by her.” Slowly he skimmed his mouth along her calf to trace the pulse at the back of her knee. “Enslaved by her.”

  “I was afraid.” She reached for him, gathering him close. “From the moment I stepped inside the nave I was afraid.” Then she sighed as he ran kisses along the edge of her bodice, moistening and heating her skin.

  “Are you still?” With sure fingers he unfastened her gown, then watched as it dropped silently to her waist.

  “No. I stopped being afraid when you picked me up and ran with me through the corridors.” She smiled, and her hands were as confident as his as she pushed the waistcoat from his shoulders. “That was when I knew you were my Brigham again.”

  “I am always yours, Rena.” He lowered her gently to the bed and showed her how true his words were.

  Chapter 13

  They were three more weeks at court. Nothing could have been more splendid than Prince Charles’s Holyrood. The food was sumptuous, as was the mu
sic, the entertainment, the people. It was a gold and gleaming time, when the great halls echoed with laughter and dancing, when frivolous games and affairs of the heart were played with equal abandon.

  From all over the country came elegantly dressed men in their powdered wigs, and glamorously gowned women to flirt with them. Holyrood was gay and glittering, and in it Charles lived those weeks a true prince. It was a place and a time that would never be forgotten.

  Serena watched Brigham meld into this world he had been born for, while she, fueled by determination more than by confidence, adjusted to the life of beauty and glamour.

  There were new rules to learn, a new pattern to the days and the nights. Here, at the first court to grace Scotland in many years, Serena discovered what it was to be Lady Ashburn. There were servants to attend her whether she wanted them or not. Because of Brigham’s position, they were given a gracious chamber hung with tapestries and appointed with elegant furnishings. She met more people in a matter of weeks than she had in the whole of her life, many of whom had come out of curiosity, but more still who had come out of loyalty.

  Court life continued to make her uneasy, and often impatient, but the people who comprised it made her proud of her heritage, and her husband.

  Serena had the first true inkling of Brigham’s wealth when he presented her with the Langston emeralds. With the help of his contacts in London he had them transported from Ashburn Manor and gave them to Serena less than a week after they had exchanged vows.

  The necklace was as stately as its name and glimmered with stones as green as the lawns of his estate. It was matched with a bracelet and ear bobs that made Maggie’s jaw drop. To accent them, Brigham commissioned a dressmaker. Serena found herself gowned in silks and satins, in soft lawns and wispy lace. She discovered what it was like to wear diamonds in her hair and scent her skin with the finest of French perfumes.

  She would have given it all for a week alone with Brigham in a Highland croft.

  It was impossible not to enjoy the splendor, impossible not to revel a little in the envious glances of other ladies as she was escorted into a room by Brigham. She wore the gowns and the jewels, dressed her hair and felt beautiful. But as the days passed, she couldn’t shake the sensation that it was all like a dream. The lights, the glamour, the tinkling laughter of women, the sweeping bows of men, her own easy relationship with the Prince.