by Tarah Scott
“I was wrong,” he said.
Elise's lips pursed, but she began walking again and said, “Who was this kidnapper?”
“I believed it was Branbury, but Phoebe swears it wasn’t him. Given that he was willing to chase her clear to Scotland, I’m not so sure. By the way, until this mystery is solved, Phoebe isn't to go anywhere without a guard.”
“Ahh, that explains why Donald is always nearby,” Elise said. “You may use Niall, also, if you like.”
He shook his head. “No. It's best if you both have someone near at all times. I would prefer to think it was Branbury who had tried to adduct her that night,” Kiernan went on with his previous thought. “A midnight run for Gretna Green would be harmless enough,”
“Yes. If it wasn’t him, the kidnapper is still out there.”
“Just as Branbury's killer is still out there.”
“You're certain it was deliberate murder?” she asked. “It is possible a highwayman shot him.”
“Possible, but unlikely,” he replied. “Which means I have to discover whether or not Branbury was the intended victim.”
Elise gasped. “Why would anyone want to kill Phoebe?”
“That is what I intend to find out.”
* * *
Kiernan opened the door to the women's salon at Brahan Seer.
Phoebe didn't turn from where she sat staring at the fire, but said, “Are you ready, Lord Ashlund?”
He closed the door and crossed to the couch. “No need to rush.” He sat down beside her and she looked at him. Her brow furrowed as her gaze shifted downward and he realized she was surprised to see him in a kilt. A hint of amusement shone in her eyes, then vanished.
“What did the constable have to say about Adam's murder?” she asked.
“I sent word to the magistrate from Glasgow. He's someone we trust and the closest magistrate. I haven't heard back from him yet, but rest assured, he'll conduct a thorough investigation.”
“I can't hide forever.”
“We aren't hiding, Phoebe, but we must prepare for whatever that fool Ingersoll has in mind.”
“Adam was a good man,” she said. “I owe it to him to face his family.”
“It's not your fault he was shot.”
Her brow rose. “It was you who suggested he wasn't the intended victim.”
“That doesn't make it your fault.”
Something flickered across her face. A sense of knowledge, he realized.
“He was there to beg me to marry him—to run off to Gretna Green that very moment, in fact.”
“I see. Why didn’t you accept?”
“I…I wasn't in love with him.”
“Are you sure?” He glimpsed the moisture in her eyes before she ducked her head. “Phoebe,” he began, but she pushed to her feet.
He stood and reached for her. She turned away, but he grasped her arm and turned her toward him.
“Let me go,” she said through a sob. “He is gone. You needn't worry that he is any threat to—”
Kiernan pulled her close. “Hush,” he said. “You misunderstand.”
“I understand well enough.”
The tears in her voice wrenched at his heart. “No, sweetheart, you don’t.” He pressed her closer and leaned his chin on her head.
She sagged against him. “He's dead, for-for what?”
“I wish I knew.”
“You can bloody well believe—” she hiccupped “—I'll find out.” She sobbed softly into his coat. “Don’t think you can stop me.” She hiccupped again. “Or that our marriage will stop me.”
Kiernan placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “I wouldn't dream of stopping you.”
She stared, eyes wide, cheeks stained with tears. Desire swept through him. Steady, he warned himself. Now isn't the time—He froze when she reached up and wrapped a hand around his neck. She drew his face to hers. Her lips touched his. She's distraught, he reminded himself. She will regret her actions, but when she arched her breasts against his chest, his resolve failed. He devoured her mouth. Her small whimper sent blood pounding through his veins and his cock throbbed with staggering need. He became aware that her fingers had tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. His erection pulsed. Warm, insistent, her lips parted, and he swept his tongue inside. Her tongue flicked against his and he sucked her into his mouth.
She gave a small gasp and melted against him. Kiernan cupped her buttocks and undulated her mound against his erection. By God, her touch set him on fire. They were to be married in minutes, their wedding night was only hours away. Could he wait? He had only to lift his kilt and he would be inside her in seconds. Would she let him? She broke the kiss and he was sure she'd come to her senses, but she slid her mouth along his jaw and down his neck. When she breathed deep he thought he would lose his mind. Kiernan thrust gently against her. Pleasure radiated through his cock and he groaned.
Kiernan gripped her buttocks and lifted her from the floor, took one step and eased her onto the couch. He came down on her, kissing her hard as he yanked up her skirt and slipped his hand between her legs. His finger met her slick heat. She was so wet. Kiernan buried his face in her hair and slid a finger inside her. So tight.
“Phoebe,” he whispered.
She stiffened.
His head spun.
“My God,” she cried, and he jerked his head up.
His mind snapped into focus on her wide-eyed expression of shock.
“No.” She shook her head.
“Sweetheart—”
“Not this, not now.”
He yanked his finger from inside her.
“No,” she cried more softly, this time.
He cursed and rose, pulling her to her feet.
“It's wrong,” she said through tears.
Kiernan held her close. “I know,” he soothed. “It's my fault, all my fault.” And it was.
* * *
Phoebe’s gaze fell from the afternoon sun shining through the stained glass window of the chapel to the sprig of white heather Kiernan had pinned to the bodice of the light green dress that served as her wedding gown. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her hand resting on his, and the thick gold band he had placed on her ring finger.
The reverend’s “You may kiss the bride,” registered faintly in her mind. Yet, she understood quite clearly the meaning when Kiernan’s tender grip on her hands loosened and his finger curved under her chin. Her gaze flitted past the lock of golden hair that had come loose from its binding and across the strange sight of his kilted figure as he tipped her face up toward his.
“Lady Ashlund,” he said in a quiet voice, and brushed a kiss across her lips.
Her mind flooded with the memory of their earlier interlude and Phoebe experienced the same flush she had when Kiernan lowered himself onto her. Her mind clouded as it had in that moment, then shame followed, just as it had then. But the slick heat between her legs didn't fade. He slipped an arm around her and turned to face the small crowd who sat in the little chapel. Kiernan’s hold on her waist tightened and he halted, staring at his father, who stood at the end of the aisle. Kiernan started forward again, and Phoebe allowed him to lead her down the aisle.
“Father.” Kiernan stopped before the duke and extended his hand, but his father grasped his shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.
The duke released him, then turned smiling to Phoebe. He winked. “A bit sooner than you had anticipated, lass, but a fine thing, nonetheless.”
“Your Grace.” She started to curtsy.
He caught her hand, stopping her. “Father will do.” He kissed her cheek. “Now, let me look at you.” He took a step back. “A fine thing, indeed.” He drew her close and hugged her. “Don't fret,” he said into her ear. “All will be well.”
To her great surprise, relief rushed through her. The duke released her, and Phoebe turned to see Elise standing behind her. The duke stepped past Phoebe.
“Marcus.” Elise fell
into his arms.
Just as a bride might fall into her groom's embrace, Phoebe couldn't help noticing, and a sudden urge to cry swept over her. She ducked her head with the intention of turning away, but the strong arm that slid around her waist startled her. She recognized Kiernan’s touch. He held her steady as the duchess withdrew from her husband’s embrace. Phoebe caught sight of her misty eyes and was sure she, too, would give into the tears that hung perilously close to the surface. When Elise embraced her, she remained silent, but gave Phoebe a squeeze, then returned to stand beside her husband.
Phoebe recognized the fiery redhead who next approached. Earlier, Elise had introduced Phoebe earlier to Sophie, the duke’s cousin, and her husband, Justin. “How wonderful that you have managed to settle this rascal down,” Sophie said with a lilt of Scottish brogue. She glanced affectionately at Kiernan, then looking back at Phoebe, added, “I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Ashlund.”
Justin stepped up and said, “Mille failte dhuit le d’bhreid, Fad do re gun robh thu slan. Moran laithean dhuit is sith, Le d’mahaitheas is le d’ni bhi fas.”
Phoebe frowned, and Kiernan's warm breath washed over her ear when he bent and whispered, “A thousand welcomes to you with your marriage kerchief. May you be healthy all your days, may you be blessed with long life and peace. May you grow old with goodness and with riches.”
She looked at Justin, though her mind was on the cool metal of the ring on the finger of the hand Kiernan held. Phoebe smiled. “Thank you, my lord.”
Justin kissed her cheek, then shook hands with Kiernan. “My congratulations,” he said, and moved on.
Mather stepped up. “Lady Ashlund.” He bowed.
“Mather,” Phoebe said with an unexpected rush of affection. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I'm so glad you're here.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, his face flush. He extricated his hand from hers and moved on.
Phoebe recognized the captain of Brahan Seer as he stepped up.
“Meal do naigheachd!” he said.
She gave him a bemused look.
“Congratulations to ye, Lady Ashlund,” he said with a smile, and went on.
The last guest stopped before them “Ye have a fine lad, there,” Winnie said. “I saw his father birthed, and have known Kiernan from nigh the day he was born.” Her eyes grew moist. “Fine lad.” She placed a hand on Phoebe’s shoulder and squeezed before brushing past her.
Kiernan angled his head toward Phoebe and said through the corner of his mouth, “Are you sure you're up for the celebration?”
“You can't disappoint your tenants,” Phoebe replied.
“I'm sorry, Phoebe, but they insisted on a celebration.”
“Don't trouble yourself, Lord Ashlund,” she said. “It's only fitting they should offer their best wishes.”
“You need stay only a few minutes, then you can excuse yourself. No one will think much of your retiring early for the evening.”
The small celebration, Phoebe noted, as they rounded the bend that led from the chapel to the castle, spilled from the great hall into the courtyard. She faltered, then decided it was far better to face a crowd of strangers, than any single anxious face. All were indeed strangers, aside from those few who had attended the ceremony, yet they greeted her as though she was no stranger, and certainly not English.
The guests hadn't waited for the bride and groom to join them before beginning the merriment. Though the food on the long table had remained untouched, scotch, wine, and other spirits had been indulged in without hesitation. A shout went up as Phoebe and Kiernan passed through the doorway. Kiernan’s arm jerked from her waist as he was pulled from her side by a rowdy group of men. He received hearty slaps on the back and comments in Gaelic, which no one translated. The men began dragging Kiernan away. He glanced helplessly over his shoulder. She raised a questioning brow, but he shrugged and turned his attention to his comrades.
“Come along, Phoebe,” a woman said behind her.
Phoebe turned to see Elise step up beside her.
“Chances are, you won’t see Kiernan the rest of the evening. The women usually gather near the hearth and leave the rest of the room to the men.” She smiled. “Much safer that way.”
Phoebe looked at the men milling about, laughing loudly, slapping one another on the back, and generally ignoring the more civilized niceties. “Yes,” Phoebe agreed. “I see your point.”
Elise took Phoebe’s hand and led Phoebe through the crowd. “The women you are about to meet are rather unique. Teachers, healers, even one political activist. Each a leader in her own right.”
“Educated women, out here?” Phoebe asked.
“In their own way,” Elise said, and pushed through a wall of men.
“Och, m’lady,” one man said, jumping out of her way.
She nodded, moving on. “Only two actually read, however.”
A serving girl carrying a tray rattling with mugs and glasses containing a variety of drinks stopped just ahead of them. Phoebe snatched one of the glasses as she passed the girl. Phoebe lifted the glass and was taking a large swig just as Elise brought them to a halt near the hearth.
“Ladies,” Elise said, “may I present the bride, Phoebe MacGregor, Marchioness of Ashlund.”
Phoebe sputtered and wheezed as the scotch blazed a scorching path down her wind pipe. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she swung her gaze onto the women. Through bleary eyes she saw their attentions’ were firmly fixed on her. She stared back.
“Rather odd the first time you hear it, isn’t it?” Elise asked, and the women broke into gales of laughter.
The faces of the women before Phoebe blurred. She sighed and took another gulp of scotch.
“Phoebe,” Elise said gently, “perhaps you would like to retire for the evening?”
Phoebe surveyed the crowded room. “What time is it?” she asked even as the clock on the mantle chimed. She grimaced. “By heavens, must they make such racket?”
“It's nine o’clock,” Elise replied. “Would you like to eat a little something before bed? You haven’t had a thing all evening.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Phoebe said, “but I have, indeed, had something.” She finished off the contents of her glass. Phoebe didn't miss the look the duchess exchanged with one of the women. “Don't trouble yourself, ma'am,” Phoebe said, “I'm quite capable of holding my liquor. Much to my misfortune,” she added under her breath.
“Still,” Elise persisted, “let’s have something to eat.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“Bed then?” Elise said.
Phoebe thought for a moment. “Yes, I think that would be a fine idea. Where am I to sleep?”
“Come along, I’ll show you.”
There was a moment Phoebe thought she would be ill. The long corridor they traveled seemed to be a maze. She didn't recall such twists and turns in her previous stay at Brahan Seer. At last, they stepped into a brightly lit corridor much wider than the one they had been in and she took a deep breath.
“Are you all right?” Elise asked.
Phoebe nodded. Elise gave her an unsure look, but continued down the hallway. She stopped in front of the fourth door, opened it, and stepped back, indicating Phoebe should enter ahead of her. Phoebe stepped inside. A fire burned in the hearth on the far right wall. Four candles burned in the candelabra that sat on a table against the wall in front of her. A canopied bed sat to the left, and on the silk cover lay scattered the petals of various flowers. The nightgown laid out with obvious care on the foot of the bed, however, is what snagged her attention.
“A bridal chamber,” she muttered.
Elise whisked past her without a word, yet, Phoebe knew the duchess understood she had forgotten the reason for tonight’s revelries.
“Shall I have a bath drawn for you?”
“Good God, no.” Phoebe gasped. “Oh, forgive me, Your Grace, I didn’t—”
“No bath, it is, t
hen.” Elise turned down the bed. “We're in the south wing, in case you wondered.” She stopped and looked at Phoebe. “Do you plan on standing in the doorway all night?”
Phoebe looked about her as if suddenly realizing where she was. “No, ma’am, of course not.” She stepped into the room, despite a sudden desire to turn and run. “The, er, south wing, you say?” she said, taking each step as if it were her first.
“Yes.” Elise fluffed the pillows rather vigorously. “On the third floor.”
“Ahh,” Phoebe said.
Once no more fluffing of the bedcovers and pillows was humanly possibly, Elise straightened. “Let me help you out of that dress.” She started toward her.
“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, I prefer to do it myself.”
Elise stopped. “I can have someone sent up.”
Phoebe shook her head. “Really, I prefer to be alone for a little while.”
“It's customary for someone to sit with the bride, you know.”
“I know. I appreciate your concern, but really, I am best left to myself now.”
Elise nodded. “If Kiernan remains below, I'll check on you a little later.”
Phoebe grabbed her arm as she passed. “I beg you, Elise, don't hurry him.”
Elise patted the hand that gripped her. “Perhaps a little sleep will do you good.”
“Indeed.”
Elise went to the door, but paused in the doorway. “If you need anything…”
“I promise to call for you.”
Elise closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Phoebe turned to the sideboard beneath the window, centering her attention on the decanter there. “I believe I have all I need.”
Kiernan opened the door to the bridal chamber. Phoebe wasn't sleeping as she should have been, given the wee hours of the morning. Though, upon first glance, one might have thought she slept, he knew she only lounged. It wasn’t the fact she was still fully dressed that gave away her state, or that only the blonde lock that had come free earlier was the only hair out of place, but more the way she sat on the bed, head back against the pillows propped up behind her. A crystal tumbler sat listed slightly in her lap, yet, her grip on the glass clearly held the object in check. Brandy, by the look of things. Kiernan smiled, the decanter, only a third full, sat on the table beside the bed, near enough to reach without inconveniencing the drinker from her leisure.