Scandalous in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 3)

by Anna Durand

  I adored Hadley, but sometimes she got so overemotional she'd drag me into the cry-fest with her. By the time she let me go, the tears had come back and I was sniffling.

  My mom handed me a tissue.

  Daubing my eyes dry, I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves. Oh yeah, that worked so well. I made my peace with the pain in the back of my throat and the tears pricking my eyes, because at least I wasn't crying. I blew my nose, tossed the tissue aside, and once more sucked it up for the long walk down the aisle.

  The silvery-gray carpet that formed the aisle started at the vestibule doorway and curved rightward to the lawn, then took a straight shot between the rows of chairs. I lifted my chin and commenced my measured stroll down the carpet. When I turned onto the aisle between the chairs, I noticed three familiar faces in the back row—Luke, Pam, and Sabri. Rory must've flown them in for the ceremony, a surprise to make me happy. My heart clenched at the realization, until I caught sight of Rory—and the vision of him robbed me of breath, even as my pulse quickened.

  The sunlight shimmered on his hair and in his eyes. He'd dressed in a pristine white shirt with a black bow tie, a waist-length black jacket with shiny gold buttons, and the kilt he'd worn the night we met. The knee-length kilt exposed his brawny legs, but black leather boots—shiny ones that looked new, or at least well cared for—covered his feet and ankles. A matching black belt encompassed his waist, and a leather pouch in the same color hung from a gold chain around his waist to ride low in the front. A fringed length of plaid, the same tartan as his kilt, draped from one shoulder down his backside, suspended below his knee.

  He was dashing. No, more than that. He was glorious, the model of a masculine, virile Scotsman.

  Rory's gaze connected with mine and he went stiff, his unblinking eyes searching mine as if he'd never seen me before.

  I tried to smile at him, but my lips quivered in the attempt. A riot of emotions overpowered me, stronger than when I'd realized I loved him. I had to concentrate on every step, or I might've tripped and collapsed to the silver-gray carpet that led me to my husband. When I took my place beside Rory, and we faced each other in front of the gray-haired minister, I wasn't at all sure I could speak my vows. My throat had tightened up, and I battled for each shallow breath.

  Then Rory captured my gaze again, and everything changed.

  In those beautiful eyes, somber yet glinting in the sunshine, I glimpsed tenderness. The stunned expression he'd worn as I walked toward him had softened a little, though he still seemed dazed. In spite of that, the gentleness in his eyes calmed me, calmed my racing heart and my frazzled nerves. I mustered a subdued smile, my lips no longer trembling. As the minister intoned the traditional spiel, I couldn't tear my focus away from Rory—and he never took his away from me.

  At the minister's cue, I recited the usual vows. Love, honor, cherish. In sickness and in health. 'Til death do us part. I said them by rote, hardly aware of my own voice, and when I spoke those two words, "I do," I almost choked up. Every promise I'd just made, I had meant with all my heart and soul.

  Rory mumbled his vows with that stark look on his face. He hesitated before saying "I do," like he couldn't quite bring himself to speak the words. When we exchanged rings, he glanced away from me only long enough to get the gold band on my finger.

  Though I probed his face for an answer, I couldn't find anything to explain his demeanor. Did he hate saying the vows because he didn't mean any of it? Was he choked up with emotion? Had something else upset him?

  If Graham had harassed him this morning, I'd throttle the maggot.

  Next came the kiss.

  I tensed in anticipation, like we'd never kissed before. We'd enjoyed each other's lips more times than I would even try to count. We'd kissed for long, long moments. We'd kissed slow and sweet, rough and hungry, lingering and steamy. Yet this lip-lock would happen in front of our families, in front of a minister, in the wake of meaningful vows we'd exchanged while gazing into each other's eyes.

  Rory clasped my face in his hands, slanted toward me, and touched his lips to mine.

  My arms hung slack at my sides as all the tension flooded out of my body. I swayed into him without conscious thought to do so, and my head angled up to meet his kiss. He pressed his mouth into mine with more conviction, his hands delving into my hair, his lips warm and soft, the kiss tender and imbued with a deep yearning.

  He pulled away, his hands lingering on my cheeks.

  Clapping erupted, but then someone whistled and the clapping escalated into cheers and whoops from dozens of voices, male and female.

  I rotated my eyes to scan our audience.

  Aidan whistled with two fingers in his mouth, then grinned and pumped his fists in the air.

  Oh yeah, my brother-in-law had instigated the ruckus, for sure.

  I spotted my sister wiping tears from her eyes and my mom blowing her nose, her own eyes red and bleary. My dad's mouth was open as he—What the hell? My dad was whooping. I'd never seen him show so much enthusiasm for anything, much less for one of my significant others.

  Rory lowered his hands, luring my attention back to him. He still had that stunned air about him, even when he brushed a thumb over my chin.

  He sealed his hand around mine and led me back down the aisle.

  Chapter Thirty

  Guests milled around the first floor, availing themselves of the buffet in the dining room and spilling out into the great hall to chat and eat. The door to the library office was closed and locked to deter lookie-loos from poking around in Rory's private sanctum. Oddly, when I'd locked up the office on my way to the vestibule for my big walk down the aisle, I'd found the door ajar. Rory always kept it shut but unlocked. I'd brushed it off as wedding-day jitters making him forgetful.

  After the incident with Lachlan in the kitchen, I figured my husband cherished privacy more than ever. What if Graham had those photos of me? How would Rory react to my nakedness splashed across the pages of a tabloid? The ultimate breach of privacy and decorum.

  I shook off the thought, determined to enjoy this day.

  Our mothers had decked out the great hall in wedding-appropriate fashion, with gauzy fabric hung artfully here and there, and other spaces festooned with silver and gold ribbons. Cute silver bells dangled from the chandelier. We'd opened the long gallery upstairs to guests as well, since many of Rory's cousins proved to be as large as he and his brothers were. They required extra space. The gallery featured the same decor as the great hall, but our moms had arranged for a wet bar there. They'd also cordoned off a dance floor in the gallery, using the same gauzy white fabric that decorated the walls to create a rope. A local band, comprised of MacTaggart relatives, would play both modern and traditional music for the guests.

  Everyone wanted to congratulate me, tell me how happy Rory was, or regale me with stories of my husband the superhero solicitor who saved homes and businesses, even marriages. Pam, Sabri, and Luke stopped by to offer their felicitations and secure my promise to keep in touch, then they vanished into the melee.

  After a while, maybe twenty minutes, I took advantage of a lull in the bridal greetings and sneaked outside for a bit of fresh air. I leaned back against the sun-toasted stones of the vestibule's outer wall. The sun, though descending toward the horizon, warmed my face as I turned it up to the golden rays, my eyes closed. I drew in refreshing lungfuls of clean Highland air, my thoughts circling back around to my husband.

  "Mrs. MacTaggart, you're a bonnie bride."

  I jumped away from the wall and glared at the figure whose familiar voice had spoken my name. "Graham Oliver? You were not invited. Get out of here before I kick you in the bawbag."

  No need to ask how he got on the property. The new driveway gate was open to admit guests.

  His lips warped into a nasty smile. "Sorry I missed the ceremony. I predict the marriage willnae last a week more."

  I barred my arms over my chest. "Your predictions don't mean diddly-squat to me."r />
  He scratched his chin. "But my next article will."

  A shadow elongated over me.

  "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Rory's voice bellowed from the vestibule doorway. He stalked to Graham, seizing the man's collar. "Leave my wife alone."

  Graham sneered. "Ye donnae know your bride as well as ye think, MacTaggart. I've seen sides of her bound to make ye cringe."

  "Dùin do ghob, ye scunner."

  "I'll shut the fuck up when I see fit."

  Rory fisted his hands in Graham's shirt and hoisted him off the ground. Through teeth clenched hard enough to grind marble to dust, he snarled, "Go home to your sewer and stay away from my wife."

  He hurled Graham away.

  The man crumpled to the ground, scrambled to his feet, and brushed grass from his pants. "I'll be seeing ye both. Soon."

  Graham took off for one of the myriad vehicles parked in the vicinity of the drive.

  Rory glared at the black sedan until the shadows of the forest engulfed it.

  "Relax," I said. "Don't let him ruin this day for us."

  My husband grunted, but the tension in his body lessened.

  I slipped my hand into his. "Let's go back inside."

  We tromped back to the great hall, entering hand in hand. I had my husband to myself for a whole five minutes before Lachlan and Aidan waylaid him to huddle in the corner talking about shinty and other guy stuff. My sister and mother cornered me at the opposite end of the room, though I lost track of their chatter, distracted by thoughts of Rory.

  What was his problem today?

  Just when I'd resolved to go talk to him, whether he liked it or not, my mom announced it was time for our first dance as husband and wife. With two sets of paired fingers in her mouth, she issued an ear-piercing whistle that made the great hall go quiet. She flagged Rory down and herded both of us upstairs to the makeshift dance floor.

  My shell-shocked husband had relaxed a smidgen, and as he took me in his arms for a formal dance, his hand closed around mine in a gentle hold. I placed my other hand on his shoulder, while his free hand settled over the small of my back. Rory and I floated across the floor together, swirling in elegant circles, our gazes bound to each other. Our world telescoped down to an invisible bubble encompassing us, a sanctuary where none of our problems existed and only this moment mattered.

  Rory's expression had grown soft, his eyes shimmered.

  A warmth blossomed in my chest. I must've smiled like a lovesick goofball, because I felt like one. When he looked at me that way, I had hope—for tonight, for the nights after this, for us.

  He started, blinking rapidly. The frantic surprise gripped him once more.

  My chest tightened, and my hope withered.

  While Rory avoided looking at me, the guests meandered onto the dance floor in couples, gradually filling the space around us. I saw my parents dancing, Hadley and Cole too. Jamie had taken on the task of wrangling the twins for my sister so she and Cole could dance. I'd noticed Gavin Douglas seated beside Jamie during the ceremony, and now he crouched beside her aiding with the entertainment of Madison and Mackenzie.

  Surrounded by all these people who loved me, I couldn't wallow in self-pity. I wouldn't.

  I looped my arms around Rory's neck. "Did you fly Gavin back here for the wedding? Last I heard, he'd gone home to America. Jamie was bummed."

  "I offered," Rory said, as he linked his arms behind my back, "and Gavin accepted the invitation to travel here on the jet."

  "You wanted Jamie to be happy."

  "For one day, if nothing else. What happens next is up to him."

  "That was very sweet of you. And it was extra sweet to invite Pam, Sabri, and Luke."

  "Your happiness is worth any cost."

  I tickled the nape of his neck with my fingertips. "You want people to think you're a grumpy grizzly, but you're really a teddy bear."

  "You have a strange opinion of me." He regarded me with guarded curiosity. "How can you call me sweet and a teddy bear, after the way I've treated you?"

  "Sometimes you are cranky. On rare occasions, you're a jerk. I understand why you are the way you are, though, and I accept it."

  He tried to pull his head back, but my hands prevented it. "Why would you do that?"

  "Accept you as-is? Because I also know you want to evolve." I lifted onto my toes to look him in the eye, letting his arms carry me suspended above the floor. "Your therapy isn't over yet. You have potential, and I'll help you realize it in whatever way I can."

  We lapsed into silence, while his gaze turned distant and I rested my cheek on his shoulder. My feet touched down on the floor, but I let him lead me wherever he wanted to go.

  I whispered in his ear, "You are the handsomest groom ever, very regal and sexy in your formal kilt wear."

  He glanced down at me but said nothing.

  "Would it be rude if we snuck out of here?" I asked. "You slept in the other bedroom last night to make our mothers happy, but I'm feeling seriously deprived of sex and cuddling."

  That strange muted shock crept across his face again.

  "What's the matter, baby?" I asked.

  "Nothing." The word was clipped, his tone gruff.

  "Baloney."

  He loosened his hold on me, his gaze darting to the doorway.

  "Hey." I snapped my fingers to regain his attention. "You haven't told me what you think of my dress, or whether I look pretty today."

  "Well—I—" He gulped visibly. "The dress is fine. Rather flattering."

  "Gee, don't gush like that. It's embarrassing."

  He coughed, eyes averted. "You look pretty today."

  "If you're resorting to repeating what I said near-verbatim, something is definitely up with you. Spill, Rory." When his face blanked, I added, "It means talk to me."

  His gaze flitted around, the movements verging on frantic, until he seemed to spot the object of his search. "I need a drink. Excuse me."

  Rory pushed away from me so fast I stumbled half a step. He bolted for the wet bar, where Lachlan and Aidan loitered, sipping amber liquid from tumblers.

  I gaped in mute confusion as Rory barked orders at the bartender, then grabbed the tumbler plunked in front of him. He swigged the contents in one mouthful and hollered for another, tossing it back in a single swig.

  This was how every girl imagined her wedding day.

  Our first ceremony had been rushed, utilitarian, and a total blur. Our second ceremony had proved beautiful and romantic—except for Rory's disturbed demeanor and the fact he'd run off to drink with his brothers. Was this how our entire marriage would be?

  I clutched my tummy, struck by sudden queasiness and a wave of icy dread. Our entire marriage would last less than a year from today.

  A hand tapped my shoulder.

  Startled, I turned to find a tall man with gray eyes holding a hand out to me.

  The man turned out to be the first in a parade of MacTaggart cousins who each requested a dance with the bride. When the sixth cousin bid me adieu, I cried off any more dances. My feet ached, my legs ached, and every time I glanced at Rory stationed at the bar, a pang lanced my heart. I'd resorted to studying the black-and-navy striped tie of my last partner so I didn't have to witness my husband's steadfast attempt to get soused.

  Yawning, I started for the bar—and stopped short.

  Rory wasn't there.

  Gavin Douglas was clomping toward me with a grave expression.

  "Uh, sorry," he said. "They sent me to tell you. Your husband's wasted and his brothers carried him up to your bedroom."

  Despite the weight crashing down on me, threatening to plow me down into the bowels of the earth, I summoned a smile for Gavin. "They gave you the crap job, eh? It's all right. Thanks for letting me know."

  "Sure thing."

  I charged upstairs and straight to the open bedroom doorway. Lachlan and Aidan had hauled Rory halfway to the bed. The smacking of my footfalls on the wood floor attracted their attentio
n. I stomped to a halt on the threshold, scowling at the scene, my skirts flouncing around my legs.

  "We thought to drop him on the bed," Aidan said.

  I drummed the toe of one shoe. "I'd say dump him on the floor, it's what he deserves for this." Despite my harsh words, I wanted to cry more than rage. "Put him on the bed."

  With a bit of grunting and huffing, they hefted Rory onto the bed.

  Lachlan nodded at my husband. "Should we, ah…undress him?"

  "Don't bother. You can go." I moved inside the room. "Thank you."

  The brothers filed out the door. As Aidan passed me, he said, "We tried to stop him drinking, but he wouldnae hear about it."

  "He is a stubborn—" I bit off the word ass. "—Scotsman."

  "Aye," Lachlan said. "But I haven't seen him drunk in twenty years."

  Wonderful. Marrying me drove Rory to drink.

  My brothers-in-law departed, shutting the door.

  Since I had no hope of undressing Rory, given he weighed a ton, I changed into sweats and a T-shirt and laid down beside him. Across his body, I noticed an object on the bedside table.

  My mini photo album.

  I rose on one elbow. The album was open to a picture of me in the Egyptian dancer outfit. The album hadn't been there when we woke this morning. He must've gotten it out later to peruse the options for his wedding night feast of pleasure. I smiled down at my unconscious husband, caressing his cheek, loving the hint of stubble that prickled my skin.

  Drool trickled from the corner of his gaping mouth.

  Ah yes, the wedding night every woman dreamed of.