And she didn't think she could be happy anywhere else.
"He'll be better off with me than to a South Sea siren's arms," she grumbled softly.
"What's that?" Jake rolled from his back onto his side.
"I thought you were sleeping."
"I was. Had to get my strength back. You wear me out, woman."
Gillian stretched languidly and flexed a bare foot. A sight, she had learned, her husband especially enjoyed. "Is that a complaint?"
"I don't know." He grabbed up her foot and nipped at her toes. "Wear me out some more and let me think about it."
When finally their passion was spent and they rose from the soft tartan blanket to gather their things, Gillian discovered a most unpleasant truth. At some point during their energetic love-making, all her clothing—shoes included—had been kicked into the burn where the water carried them away.
"Oh, no." As she stared in shock down into the bubbling burn, her husband broke into laughter. "Fine, carry on like a numpty, why don't you? See how funny you'll be feeling when you ride into Rowanclere wearing little more than a blanket."
"What blanket? My clothes aren't the ones that have gone missing." Yet, even as he said it he tossed her his shirt.
She attempted to convince him to let her wear his trousers, too, but Jake wouldn't hear of it. "I wear the pants in this family, Gillian Delaney, and don't you forget it."
She was giggling when the gunshot caught them completely by surprise. Chips of bark sprayed the air as it slammed into a tree off to the right of them, not too close, but certainly close enough. Before the sound of the shot died on the air, Jake threw her down behind a fallen log and surrounded her with his body. Shielding her. "Are you hit? Dammit, Gillian, say something!"
"I can't. I canna breathe. You are squashing me."
The pressure eased as he shifted the slightest bit. Gillian followed his lead as he waited, listening hard. Only forest sounds intruded. "Stay here. Don't move."
He was up and away before she could react, transformed into a gunfighter in the blink of an eye. Gillian was tempted to rise and follow him. Not because she feared being alone, but because she found this hard-edged, gunfighter side of Jake Delaney fascinating.
However, such action would be foolish at best. Odds were their assailant had been nothing more than a careless hunter. But what if she were wrong? What if a thief or murderer had taken refuge in these woods? Following Jake could make matters worse. So, she'd do as he demanded. This one time, anyway.
Time trickled by and her resolution became more difficult to keep. Where was he? What, if anything, had he found? Why hadn't he returned? What if he were hurt? She decided to give him to the count of five hundred, then she would try to find him.
"One, two, three," she whispered, peering through the trees. At four hundred twenty-eight, she heard his welcome drawl.
"A woman who does what she is told is a rare gift."
"Where have you been?" she asked as he grabbed her hand and helped her to her feet. "What happened? Did you find him? Who was it? Why did—"
"Quiet, woman! You are wearing out my ears. You know, it's flaws like a runaway mouth that keep you from being a perfect wife."
She wanted to hit him. When he didn't tell her what he'd found, she doubled up her fist and did just that, punching him in the stomach.
"Hey!"
"Jake Delaney, tell me—"
"I couldn't find anything. Or, to be more precise, I found too much. Despite the appearance of isolation, these woods are well traveled."
"Hunters," Gillian said.
"Yes." After a moment's pause, he added grimly, "Maybe something more."
"What did you find?"
He dragged a palm up and down the line of his jaw. She could tell by his expression that he debated telling her, so she pressed. "I did as you asked and didn't follow you despite how much I wanted to do exactly that."
He blew out a sigh. "I think someone watched us, Gillian. Someone spied on us while we... picnicked."
Someone watched them making love? Gillian shut her eyes and winced. She really wished she hadn't asked.
* * *
Jake brooded all the way back to Rowanclere. He fumed at the knowledge that they had been spied upon. He seethed at the idea that a bullet came anywhere near to Gillian. He chafed to get his wife delivered safely to the castle so he could return to the picnic spot for a more thorough investigation.
Initially, he'd made but a cursory search for the culprit, unwilling to leave Gillian alone a moment longer than was necessary. Now he wanted to scour the woods for clues to the shooter's identity. Jake had faith in his abilities. He'd tracked cattle rustlers through the Badlands of far West Texas and banditos beyond the Rio Grande. He could certainly trail a gun-toting voyeur from a patch of birch trees beside a Scottish stream.
His first priority, however, was making sure his wife was safe.
Which was why he was both relieved and alarmed when, while sneaking into Rowanclere through back way, due to their state of undress, they stumbled upon a couple involved in a heated and decidedly carnal embrace up against the gray stone wall of the stable-block.
"Oh man," Jake groaned when he spied them. "I don't want to see this. I really, really don't want to see this."
"Go away," growled Cole Morgan, not bothering to lift his head from Jake's sister's neck.
"Jake!" Chrissy exclaimed, pushing at her husband's shoulders. Cole muttered some more as he withdrew his hand from beneath Chrissy's skirts and allowed her to edge around him and fly into her brother's arms. "Finally. We waited and waited and waited..."
"Quit whining. Looks like you found something to occupy your time."
"You're one to talk. Where's your shirt? Where's your bride?"
She glanced around, spied both objects of her inquiry, and then did the damnedest thing. Christina Delaney Morgan, Queen of the Chili Queens of San Antonio and acknowledged as the biggest flirt in Texas, blushed. Her cheeks went bright as the walls in Rowanclere's crimson drawing room.
Jake stood there gawking at her. He couldn't remember ever seeing such a sight. He would have pondered the anomaly another moment, but he happened to note the direction of Cole's stare—toward Gillian's legs, bare below the knees—and priorities took over. He tugged on the blanket she held wrapped around her waist, hiding as much of his wife as the tartan allowed.
He couldn't do a damned thing about the bare feet. Well, at least this is family and not some peeking pervert.
Cole flashed a wide grin and stuck out his hand. "Howdy, Mrs. Delaney. I'm Cole Morgan and this is my wife, Christina. She's—"
"Jake's sister," Gillian said with a hint of despair in her tone. Her complexion flushed as red as Chrissy's as she yanked the blanket up in that instinctive feminine response of covering the bosom—never mind about those alluring legs and feet—and primly added, "I am very pleased to meet you."
Chrissy brushed wrinkles from her skirt and didn't quite meet Gillian's eyes as she replied, "I am thrilled to meet you, also."
Cole burst out in a laugh. "Jake, my friend, our women are liars. They're both mortified, embarrassed clear down to the bone."
Jake gave his wife's blanket skirt another downward tug. "You're right. I reckon this isn't exactly the best of circumstances for meeting new in-laws." He paused, then added, "Kinda fits our family, though, doesn't it?"
Cole folded his arms and grinned. "We are manly men with fierce appetites."
Chrissy doubled up her fist and hit first her husband, then her brother, on the shoulder. Hard.
"Bug!" they exclaimed, simultaneously, leveling glares upon her that she fired right back.
Jake added, "What have I told you about hitting me? You're just like my wife. I'm not a punching bag and...."
His sentence trailed off when Gillian began to laugh. "Mrs. Morgan, something tells me you and I shall get along famously."
Her voice was music that helped to relax a part of him that had been wound tight
as a pea vine through a picket fence since the gunshot. "Look, I have a barrel full of questions for y'all and a thing to tell you in return, but I know I'd be more comfortable if Gilly and I make a quick trip upstairs first. How about we meet in the library in ten minutes. It's the room right off—"
"We know where it is. Jake. Robyn Ross gave us a tour of the castle shortly after we arrived."
"Where is my sister?" Gillian inquired.
Cole's grin slashed across his face. "She said something about chariot design."
Gillian winced and chewed at her bottom lip. "Knowing Robbie, that sounds dangerous. Maybe I should—"
"No, princess." Jake grabbed her hand and tugged her along with him as he headed for a seldom used side entrance to Rowanclere. "I know about this. It's something to do with Scooter, I've been helping her, and it's nothing hazardous. C'mon, let's get you upstairs and into some shoes."
She peppered him with questions while they dressed. Some he answered, some he had no answers for, only suspicions. Like the probability that his sister and her husband brought proof that the funds of his trust had been released, completing the sale of the castle. That would mean he had fulfilled the terms of his agreement with Angus Brodie. It would mean he was free to leave Rowanclere.
His stomach sank like a foot in a bog, but almost immediately, another thought occurred that somehow made him feel a bit better. He couldn't go anywhere. Not until he got to the bottom of the mystery about the gunshot and the watcher in the woods.
"That sonofabitch," he grumbled as he slipped his arms through the sleeves of a clean shirt. The dark mood that had lifted upon seeing the Morgans descended like a cloud once again. It followed him down the stairs and into the library where Chrissy and Cole waited.
Upon entering, he glanced around the room, fully figuring to see another familiar figure. "Mother didn't come with you?"
Chrissy shook her head. "She won't be arriving until shortly before the party."
"Party? What party?"
Chrissy and Cole shared a baffled look, then his sister said, "Uh, the party you invited us to. Invitations to a celebration in honor of your marriage arrived at Hartsworth along with your note. We left almost immediately."
Jake turned to Gillian. "Do you know about this?"
She shook her head. "It must be Uncle Angus's doing. A foy is a traditional way to celebrate a wedding. He's probably invited all the family and everyone in the glen." She addressed Chrissy. "When is the event to take place?"
"Ten days from now."
"Oh." Jake didn't necessarily mind, but he wished someone had informed him about it. "Like they say, the husband is always the last to know."
Chrissy rolled her eyes. "Come on, Jake. You know we would have paid you a visit, party or not. You sent a note saying you'd married. Surely you knew to expect us after that."
"Actually, I figured to see you ride in a few days ago."
Cole accepted the glass of whisky Jake offered. "I want you to know I delayed her as long as was humanly possible."
"You always were a decent friend, Morgan." He lifted his own glass in silent salute.
Their banter annoyed his sister so Chrissy, being Chrissy, fought back. "You have to admit, news of your marriage came as quite a shock. At least, to me it did. Mother didn't act too surprised. The last I heard you were on your way to Bora Bora. What happened, Jake? What happened to make you give up your silly dream of traveling the globe? How did you convince this lovely young woman to tie herself to the likes of you for the rest of her life?"
Jake darted a glance toward Gillian. She sat on the edge of her chair, staring hard at her hands lying laced in her lap. His mouth suddenly went dry; he felt like a rabbit looking down the barrel of a shotgun. Hell, only Chrissy would have found the one topic of discussion guaranteed to make this sorry day even sorrier.
Then his wife glanced up. Their gazes met and held. He saw the warmth glowing in their deep blue depths and in that warmth, he recognized the question. Are you willing to stay with me?
He asked his own in return. Have you decided to come with me when I go?
Since their marriage, the idea had grown on him and now, the thought of traveling alone left him cold. How beautiful would he find Tahiti an beaches if Gillian wasn't sitting on the sand?
But could he bear never seeing them at all?
Hell, he couldn't think about this now. He couldn't deal with this now. He grimaced and shoved his hand through his hair. And remained silent.
Gillian's expression underwent a subtle change. He wondered if anyone else saw the shadow that dimmed her sunshine smile as she looked at Chrissy and said, "Actually, you misread our marriage. Jake and I have an understanding. He will still be taking his trip."
He cut his gaze toward her. She lifted her chin. Well, hell. That didn't sound like she meant to come along.
Jake dragged his gaze from Gillian and focused on his sister, figuring it was time to change the subject. "All this socializing needs to wait, for now. I've got business in the woods. Need to look around. Somebody took a shot at my wife and me today."
"What? Why didn't you say something earlier?" Cole sat his whisky glass down hard and sighed. "Not more trouble. I was hoping we were done with that sort of thing."
Chrissy's expression turned fierce. "Why would someone shoot at you? What have you gotten yourself into now, Jake Delaney?"
"Me? Hey sister, I'm not the one who got herself sealed into a sarcophagus last winter, now am I?"
"That wasn't my fault and you know it."
"Please!" Gillian shoved to her feet. "The two of you whine louder than Flora's hungry bairns."
Brother and sister locked gazes. He grinned. "Isn't she cute?"
"I like her, Jake. Now tell me who would want to kill you."
A wheezing cough sounded from the doorway right before Angus Brodie said, "That's a tale I'd like to hear myself."
* * *
Gillian beamed at her grand-uncle. "Uncle Angus, it is wonderful to see you up. You must be feeling better."
"I am feeling well this day—at least I was. Tell me about this trouble."
Gillian nibbled at her bottom lip and wandered around the room during Jake's recitation of the events in the birk woods, afraid he'd say more than strictly necessary about their activities during the picnic. She had yet to recover from her embarrassment over her initial meeting with the Morgans. All she needed now was for Uncle Angus to hear the story.
Jake averted that disaster, however, by telling the tale in crisp, succinct sentences. She sensed his anxiousness to return to the woods to search, but he took care with her grand-uncle, answering all his questions before asking some of his own. Questions that took Gillian aback.
"What about this Maclean fella?" Jake asked. "Think he could have done it?"
"David?" repeated Angus.
"Not David," Gillian scoffed. She wiped a bit of dust from the glass and brass inkwell on the desk.
"Why not?" Jake sprawled upon a settee. "Jealousy does strange things to a man."
"Who is David?" asked Chrissy.
"I was once betrothed to David Maclean," Gillian replied. "He married someone else. Assuming that shot might have been a product of David's jealousy is sappie-headed."
Jake snorted. "You're the one being sappie-headed, whatever that is. Have you already forgotten what he wanted when he came to call? I don't doubt David Maclean is jealous as hell that you are mine and not his. In fact, I think Maclean took a potshot at me and missed. He watched us, Gillian. Spied on us."
"Spied on you?" Uncle Angus repeated. "What do you mean?"
She felt the heat climb up her neck. Please, Jake, don't.
"Some sonofabitch stood in the trees and watched me make love to my wife."
If embarrassment could melt the human body, Gillian would be a puddle on the library floor.
Angus thumped the tartan carpet with one of his canes. "Maclean would not act in such a dishonorable manner."
Jake sat u
p straight and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stared Angus right in the eyes and declared, "The hell he wouldn't. He asked her to be his mistress!"
"Jake, watch your language," cautioned his sister.
Angus frowned and tugged at his beard. "He asked that of her?"
"Yes!"
Angus looked at Gillian. "Ah lass, the puir man loves you so much."
"Love?" Jake's eyes went wide and round as he shoved to his feet. "Excuse me, Gillian is my wife—" he thumped his chest "—not his. The man had his chance and he threw it away. He married someone else."
Angus gave another whack with his cane. "You don't ken, Delaney. He did his duty by his family, just like young men—and women—have done for ages. He is a good man." Angus paused, then threw down the verbal gauntlet. "Gillian would not have fallen in love with him were he not."
"That's right," Gillian agreed.
Jake made a fist and banged on a table. "David Maclean is married. And by God, Gillian is too. They both need to remember that." Green eyes blazed as he shot a look toward Cole and snapped, "I'm headin' back to the woods to take a closer look at the scene. Are you comin' with me?"
Cole Morgan followed Jake as he stormed out of the library, and moments later, the bang of Rowanclere's front door echoed through the hallways.
"Even with my puir hearing I heard that slam," Angus said, wincing. Then he cleared his throat and added, "Gilly, what is all this nonsense about David? Did he truly ask you to be his dunty?"
She sank onto the settee recently vacated by her husband. "Aye. The day Jake and I wed. Though I doubt Jake would admit it, I believe it is the reason he proposed marriage. He was angry at David."
"He was jealous. He is still jealous and that is why he suspects this David of being the culprit behind the shooting." Christina Morgan settled back into her seat with a pleased smile. "Green looks good on my brother. Matches his eyes. Mama will be so happy. You have hooked him but good, Gillian."
Gillian offered a sickly smile. Chrissy couldn't have been more wrong. "Our marriage is more an arrangement than a traditional union. Your brother made his wishes clear from the outset. He will depart for his travels as soon as some legal work is completed."
Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 22