And the Bride Wore Plaid (29 page)

“I have a better reason,” Simon said grimly. “I saw the Sassenach. He was climbin‘ down out of Miss Kat’s window usin’ that old oak.”

To a man, they came awake.

“That bastard,” Donald swore, jumping to his feet.

“I get to kill him first,” Neal said, standing, fists ready.

“No, ‘tis fer me to do the killin’,” Hamish growled. “Ye can do the dismemberin‘.”

Simon sighed. “Whist now, I know how ye’re all feeling. I was the same. I even thought of takin‘ him off his horse and doin’ the deed right there by meself. But ‘twould not answer. Miss Kat would skin us alive. Lads, I think the time has come to invite the Sassenach to a meetin’.”

Silence met this suggestion. Finally, Hamish sighed and said, “I suppose ye’re right. Miss Kat needs a beau. The Sassenach is a beau.”

“But will he be good to her?” Will asked.

“He will be if we have anything to say about it,” Simon said grimly.

One by one, the men nodded. Finally, Donald looked at Simon. “We’re agreed then. The time has come to invite the Sassenach to a meetin‘. And you, Simon, are the one who will do it.”

My lord, I am happy to report that your son has all the makings of a fine young gentleman once he gets over an unfortunate tendency to pinch the maids.

the dashing Peter Franshawe, tutor to the Duke of Draventon’s son, to the duke during their daily progress meeting

Devon awoke the next morning to the sounds of tradesmen and hammering, carts rumbling over the drive, and the low murmur of a crowd. For a moment, he thought he was still in London, that perhaps Kilkairn Castle and all its occupants were naught but a dream.

The idea made him sit bolt upright, and it was with relieved eyes that he realized he was indeed at Kilkairn, the familiarity of the green chamber setting his mind at ease. Memories came flooding back and he turned onto his back and linked his hands behind his head, dwelling on each moment of the night before.

It had been amazing, an experience he would never forget. He’d known Kat would be a passionate lover. But he hadn’t realized how that would increase his own pleasure.

But most astounding of all was that though he’d slept with her last night, he’d awoken this morning, anxious to see her again. That was yet another first, in a series of firsts.

His gaze wandered over the room. Perhaps he should rise and see her. Had she awoken yet? Had she thought about him?

Good God, I’m acting like a lovesick puppy
. He blinked, then sat upright. Love? Surely not. What he felt was merely explosive lust and ... something else. Respect, perhaps. He knew of few women with Kat’s capabilities or heart. So it was not love that he felt. Not unless ...

His gaze fell on the empty candle dish beside the nightstand.

What if the talisman ring had
caused
him to fall in love with Kat?
Real
love. Bloody hell, what if the ring had meant for him to fall in love with her all along and he, thinking to trick it, had merely played into its nefarious plans and—

“Bloody hell, what is wrong with me?” he muttered. The ring had no power; that was nothing but an old wives’ tale that his mother had made up to amuse six very active children. Not that it mattered, the ring was not in his possession, but someone else’s.

He frowned. Unless, of course, Tilton had found it.

Downstairs, someone shouted and then dropped something with a large thump that seemed to echo down the hallways. “Bloody hell, what is all the din?” He got up from bed and began rummaging about for his clothing.

The door opened and Tilton entered carrying a tray. He raised his brows on finding Devon half dressed. “Pray tell me the buff breeches and green coat are an effort to amuse your host and not an honest attempt at fashion.”

“What? This coat and breeches? I wore them to the Whythe-Stanhopes’ and everyone complimented me.”

“Hm. Did they appear to be smirking when they made their comments? Or perhaps the wine was flowing freely? I believe I have heard that the Whythe-Stanhopes are notorious about spiking the punch at their own parties.”

Devon eyed his valet with a narrow gaze. “Are you accusing me of being out of style?”

“I would never presume to do such a thing,” Tilton said primly, setting the tray on the night table, “no matter how true such a statement might appear to others.”

Devon looked down at his breeches for a moment. Then he sighed. “Damn it, now you have me wondering if perhaps you’re right. Find me another coat to wear.”

“Excellent, sir.” Tilton uncovered the dishes on the tray. “Perhaps you should eat while I do that very thing.”

Devon was more than willing to eat; his stomach was rumbling so loudly he was beginning to think that was what had awakened him rather than the mill downstairs. “What is going on to cause that racket?”

“Preparations for the ball, sir. Apparently Lady Strathmore has been most lavish in her preparations and His Lordship has been complaining about it since.”

“I see.” Devon had forgotten the ball. Lately, it seemed that he’d forgotten a lot of things. He yawned and stretched.

Tilton shot him a sharp glance. “Tired, sir?”

“Somewhat.”

“Yes, sir. Sleep riding will do that to you.”

“Sleep riding? What are you talking about?”

“Merely that after you went to bed last night, you apparently got up, dressed, and went for a ride.”

“I was awake. And yes, I know I did. How did
you
know? It was late and I thought you were already abed.”

“I was, sir. However, the lower footman’s youngest brother was apparently roused from his warm cot and offered a large sum to saddle your horse.” Tilton met Devon’s gaze evenly. “I assured the entire staff that you frequently rode out while still sleeping. They were intrigued of course, and I had to answer a thousand questions, most of them having to do with what would happen if you were sleep riding and had the sudden need to relieve yourself—would you be awake enough to realize it. After we surmounted that hurdle, they began to ask why you would ride in your sleep to His Lordship’s sister’s cottage. I fear I had no answer for that.”

Devon didn’t like the sound of this at all. “The staff all know, then, where I went?”

“Oh yes, sir. The wagering has been fierce. Some seem to think Miss Spalding may yet have a chance.”

“What about my sleep riding? Didn’t anyone believe that?”

“A few of the more dewy-eyed ones, but not enough. It would not surprise me if the story filtered back to His Lordship.”

Wondrous. Devon wondered what Malcolm’s reaction would be to such information, and a faintly sick feeling tightened his stomach. “Any word yet on the lost ring?”

Tilton shook his head, a frown creasing his brow. “No, sir, and I’ve interrogated the entire staff. No one has even seen it. I asked your footman, Paul, to make inquiries among the stablehands.”

Devon took a sip of his juice to cover his relief. It was reassuring to know that the ring hadn’t unknowingly been in his possession last night, when he’d been with Kat. He didn’t want to think of their time together as ordained by some family myth. He wanted it to have been of her own free choice and nothing more.

Strange how that mattered. He wondered why, then shrugged it off. Devon finished his breakfast, changed his coat for another, and then made his way downstairs. Malcolm was on the main staircase, looking about the great hall with wonder. Devon waited for some sign that his friend had heard about his late night visit, but it quickly became obvious that Malcolm was as yet unaware of anything other than the fact that his house was being turned upside down.

Boxes were stacked everywhere, as were large folds of silver and blue cloth. Tables had been removed, chairs lined up, and every servant Devon had ever seen at the castle was in evidence, scrubbing and polishing and cleaning.

Devon wondered if any of them had ever worked so hard. He watched the small army, then said to Malcolm, “I thought this was to be a small, private ball.”

“So did I,” Malcolm said grimly. “Apparently that was a misconception. Every person within fifty miles has been invited to attend.”

“How horrid,” Devon said. And it was. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his last few precious days doing anything but being with Kat.

The thought of leaving was beginning to bother him. He absently rubbed his chest where a faint pressure seemed to lurk. What was it about her that tugged at him so? At first, she’d been his haven from the lure of the ring to keep him from becoming enamored of the she-witches of the world, women like Murien, for example. But then he’d begun to enjoy being with Kat for Kat’s sake.

But that was to be expected, he supposed. After all, other than Kat, what amusement had there been at Kilkairn Castle? None. Malcolm, usually the brightest of companions, was consumed with his argument with his wife. And while riding was certainly a pleasant thing to do, Devon certainly couldn’t be expected to do that alone. So that just left Kat.

A faint sense of relief filtered through Devon. Once he left the isolation of Kilkairn and found himself home once again among the glittering ballrooms of London, he’d forget all about Kat Macdonald.

Of course, he couldn’t leave at all until he found the talisman ring. Brightening a little, he asked Malcolm if he’d discovered anything about the ring. To his surprise, Malcolm hesitated, then nodded. “I heard one thing from one of the lower housemaids, but... I need some time to make certain of the facts.”

“Take your time,” Devon said, waving a hand. “I’m in no hurry.”

Malcolm eyed him curiously. “What about your business in Edinburgh?”

“For now, I’ll send a letter and postpone the meeting. I’m certain they will not mind.” Of course, Devon’s brother Marcus
would
mind. But Marcus was in London, and by the time he discovered that Devon had changed the meeting date, there would be precious little he could do about it. “I cannot leave without that ring.”

Malcolm seemed to agree, but before he could say anything, another group of workmen came clomping into the hall to add to the growing stack of boxes.

“Bloody hell, what is Fiona doing?” Malcolm asked.

Devon didn’t know or care. He just wondered if Kat would be attending. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken the words aloud until he saw Malcolm’s lowered brow.

“I don’t know if she’ll come or not; she’s funny about these things. But why are you asking? Are you wishful to see her?”

Devon was wishful to see her, taste her, touch her, and do everything in between. But all he said to Malcolm was “I was just wondering, that’s all.”

“Hm,” Malcolm said, uncertain how to read the casual statement. Certainly there was a spark of interest there, only .. . was it good interest, or self-absorbed masculine interest?

For Kat’s sake, he hoped it was not the latter. “It would surprise me if she attended. She’s not usually one for such things.”

Another stack of heavy boxes were being unloaded and he had to move so that the servants could clean the floor. When it came to getting things organized for an event, Fiona became a little general, ordering people about and making lightning-fast decisions.

His heart swelled a little at the thought. Lately, he’d caught her looking at him in a sad way, as if debating a horrible, difficult decision. Was she on the verge of deciding she’d had enough, that their marriage wasn’t worth fighting for?

Malcolm wiped a hand over his tired eyes. The wager had been a horrid, foolish idea and had alienated them even further. He wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to win.

Throat thick, he waved a hand at Devon. “I won’t be able to play billiards this evening. Fiona has assigned us all a list of duties, and I must see to it that the library is readied.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just stay out of Fiona’s way. She’s a tyrant when it comes to these things.”

Devon bowed. “That, I can do. In fact, I’ll begin now.”

Malcolm managed a smile, answering St. John’s further comments as best as his aching soul would allow. Eventually Devon excused himself and Malcolm watched him go, wondering what had the lad in such a merry mood.

Well, Malcolm hoped Devon enjoyed it while he could. God knew that the second he fell in love, his happiness would be limited.

Sighing heavily, Malcolm quit the great hall and retreated to the peacefulness of his library.

Kat awoke with a pleasant, satiated feeling. It had been so long since she’d felt that way that she had to stop and think of the cause. As she stretched, her muddled morning mind stretching along with her, her ankle became entangled in something. She bent down to free herself and saw it was a strip of a white silk scarf.

Her cheeks heated as her memory came flooding back. She and Devon had made love in this very bed. And not just love, but exquisite, breathtaking love. Her breasts tingled with the memory of his hands, his mouth, of the way he’d tasted her and the power of his body over hers.

She shivered and gathered a pillow close, snuggling her cheek against it. If she breathed deeply enough, she could still smell him, the faint scent of sandalwood clinging to her sheets.

There was a knock before the door opened and Annie came in carrying something over her arm, Simon and Hamish following her. They were carrying the large brass tub and arguing about something, though they did break off their bickering long enough to wish her a good morning.

“Up, ye sleepyhead!” Annie called out merrily. “Ye’ve a bath to take and measurements to take afore I cut the cloth for yer gown.”

Kat started to sit upright, but then remembered that she was as naked as the day she was born. Belatedly she snatched up the cover and held it before her.

Simon and Hamish were still arguing in heated whispers about a meeting of some sort, and had missed her error. But Annie’s eyes widened, her gaze seeking and then finding the discarded night rail pooled on the floor. That sent Annie scurrying, admonishing the men to begin fetching the pails of water as soon as it was hot. She whisked them from the room and closed the door.