Scottish Brides (42 page)

She stood and walked past Harriet until she came to Jeremy's side. She rose on tiptoe to brush a kiss against his cheek.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “for your kindness. But it doesn't matter now.”

“It does to me,” he said, his eyes not veering from hers. “You need someone to protect you.”

“What she needs, Jeremy, is to be banished from this house like the whore she is.”

“No,” Jeremy said, moving to stand between his sister and Janet. He looked at his sister, and his expression was cold. “You do not understand, Harriet.” He turned to Janet and smiled. “I've asked Janet to be my wife, and she has agreed.”

Thirteen

 

 

 

“What do you mean, she's not here?” Lachlan said.
“And where might she be?”

The man who answered the door was young and dressed in a uniform that evidently made him feel important. Perhaps that was the reason he looked down his nose at Lachlan. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Lachlan had a bit of the barley odor about him again. And a few scorch marks, too. The explosion had been all stuff and fury, yet the effluence from it had been as cloying as before. But rather than taking the time for a dip in the loch, he'd mounted a fresh horse and set out on his way to Janet.

Of all the miles he'd ridden, of all the times he'd come to England, all the border raids and nights he'd come to Janet, he dreaded this journey the most. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was tired, infused with a bone-deep weariness. It was that he felt like a blathering idiot. The minute she'd told him who she was, he should have swept Janet up in his arms and run with her for the border. But he had not, and that stupidity was going to cost him a bit of explanation. He had already thought of the words he might use, decided that it was time his pride bent a little. He'd thought that she might not make it easy on him, or might not understand that he'd only been flummoxed by her identity and the sudden thought that he would not be able to protect his clan. He'd imagined all manner of ways he might coax her to forgive him, but he'd never thought she might not be here.

The servant backed away, preparatory to shutting the door in his face, Lachlan was sure. Instead, the young man found himself being hauled up by the collar, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground. It was not so much the sudden blanched color of his face that pleased Lachlan, but the quick spark of absolute terror in eyes that had just a minute ago been filled with contempt.

Lachlan grinned broadly, showing all of his bright white teeth. “I know that your memory serves you better, now, doesn't it, lad? Now would you like to tell me where she's gone?”

The man sputtered, but a voice behind him spoke up readily enough.

“She left—that's all you need to know.”

He turned his head. A woman stood there, dressed in blue, her hair braided and arranged at the top of her head like a crown. Not one tendril was out of place. Her hands were folded at her waist, and she watched him without expression as he lowered the footman to the ground. She dismissed the servant with a hand gesture.

Lachlan had seen pretty women all his life. This one was attractive, he supposed, but he thought first that she was too controlled. Not one emotion could be read in her soft blue eyes. Her smile was only a thin slash of full lips. He wondered if she disliked her prettiness, if she saw it as a curse where other women might have seen it as a blessing.

“She's left,” she said again. “Isn't that enough?” Her voice was high-pitched and sounded as if she spoke through her nose. It grated on him.

“Where is she?”

She smiled again. He had no doubt who she was, any more than he doubted his very great good fortune at having avoided a union with her. Harriet. The name seemed to fit her.

“Where did she go? I've a thought you know perfectly well.”

“She eloped. With my brother. Who is shortly to be disinherited. If you find them, you might tell him that. And tell him that I've sent word to my father as to his actions. She may change her mind about marrying a pauper.”

His laughter seemed to surprise her, but no more than his parting words. “It's too late for that. She's already married to me.”

 

Even as Janet left the house where she'd spent the last seven years of her life, she knew she was making a mistake.

What she had done the night before had not felt wrong, however the world might see it. Because of it, she could not quite see herself as ruined. Nor could she negate her feelings for Lachlan by entering into a marriage with another man, however much it might provide a future for her.

True, her prospects looked dim. She could never return to Harriet's employ, and she had few talents. Her schooling had been sporadic; her greatest skill had been that learned at her father's knee. She could, she supposed, get a job as a shop girl or a tavern maid. But where would she live, and how until she earned her first coins? No, not just dim. The future looked bleak.

“I cannot do it, you know.” She looked across the carriage at Jeremy. He turned from his survey of the countryside and looked directly at her. “I'd ruin your life pining for another man.”

“I'd thought to get halfway to Scotland before you'd object.” His smile was rueful. “I'd even thought to get the marriage ceremony out of the way before you came to your senses.”

When he leaned forward and clasped one of her gloved hands in his, she was even more bemused. “I'm a good sort, Janet. I would be a good husband to you.”

She nodded.

“But it's not enough, is it?”

She shook her head. “No, Jeremy.”

“Well, I had a stroke of luck. You were so miserable, you would have agreed to anything.”

She nodded. She could feel the tears well up again. “You mustn't be nice, Jeremy. I'll drown us both if you are.”

He dropped her hand and leaned back against the upholstery. “What shall you do, then, Janet? How will you live?”

“I don't know,” she said, sighing. “Have you any friends who might need companions?”

“Your future would be solved if you would marry me. Are you very sure you won't?”

“I'm very sure. But I thank you very much for the offer, Jeremy.”

“It was my first, you know. Perhaps I shall become adept at it, become quite a man-about-town, flitting from lady to lady, asking from each her hand.”

“Someone wonderful will no doubt accept,” she said, smiling wanly at him.

“Someone wonderful already has.” His smile was soft and tender. “Unfortunately, her feelings are already engaged. Who is he, this idiotic man who hasn't the slightest idea of what he's missed?”

“Does it matter?”

“Do you think I'll challenge him?”

“You mustn't.” Her feeling of horror was genuine.

“Thank you for that,” Jeremy said, smiling. “I'll think myself a protector of a lady's honor, then. If not her husband.”

“I do thank you, Jeremy. It was very sweet.”

“Ladies, I have found, Janet, do not like
sweet.
They prefer dashing or exciting, but certainly not sweet.”

At that moment, a shot rang out. The carriage lurched as the horses reared and then raced forward a few feet before they abruptly stopped. Janet was thrown forward and braced herself on the opposite seat.

A few shouts were heard, and then the carriage door opened. Lachlan, looking tired and dirty and extraordinarily surly, greeted her with a scowl.

“I hate to disturb you, Janet, but there's something that belongs to me in this carriage.” She'd never heard his accent so thick, the deep rumble of his voice carrying not only the flavor of Scotland but the hint of danger.

“Another cow, Lachlan?”

If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she would have missed that twitch of his lips that measured his amusement. As it was, it was gone just as quickly.

“No, Janet,” he said, and this time his voice was softer, overlaid with a hint of something she'd never heard from him. Tenderness?

He looked over at Jeremy and spent a scant moment seeming to take his measure. “She's my wife, lad. I'm sorry, but she's already taken.”

“You said you'd not asked me to marry you, Lachlan.”

“Silly woman, of course I hadn't. I had already wed you by that time.” He reached in and pulled her easily to the ground. She sent one last look in the direction of the carriage. Jeremy leaned out the door.

“Is he the one, Janet?”

She nodded.

“He doesn't look at all sweet,” Jeremy said, before pulling the door shut.

“Did the lad just insult me?” Lachlan scowled at the closed door.

She ignored his question. “What do you mean, we're married?”

She'd spent the last few hours grieving for him. That she could have been spared the misery with a few words from him made her wonder what she wished to do first—hit him or kiss him. When he swung up into the saddle and pulled her up to sit in front of him, she decided that it might be foolish to argue with a man so obviously determined. Therefore, she settled on kissing him. Long moments later, when she surfaced, he smiled down at her.

“You'll need to know a little about my country, lass. There's many a way to get married there. I made a promise to you, and then you lay with me. It's one of the time-honored traditions. But you'll learn to be a Scot in time.”

“I am a Scot, Lachlan, although it's been many years since I've lived in Scotland. My name, which you've never bothered to ask, is MacPherson.”

He stopped his horse and looked down into her face. His smile, when it came, was broad. “Truly, Janet? Well, that's a relief. Almost as much as not having to apologize. I'll not do it after I found you eloping with another man.”

He leaned down and kissed her once more.

A few minutes later, she spoke again. “You didn't mean it.”

“What?”

“You didn't mean it. You would never have married me if you hadn't thought I was Harriet.”

He turned his horse and trotted back in the direction of the carriage. He didn't need another shot to stop the driver; the beleaguered man only turned and looked behind him, then held up both hands as if in surrender.

Lachlan dismounted and rapped on the carriage door.

Jeremy opened it and looked out at the sight of Janet still mounted and an irritated Scot standing before him.

“I've a favor to ask, Englishman.”

Jeremy's eyebrows wagged upwards.

“All you have to do is witness this.” Lachlan turned to Janet and gripped her hand tightly. “I'll have you for my wife, Janet. Will you have me for your husband?”

She blinked at him, bemused. There was a shadow of beard on his face, and he looked irritated and tired. There were several strange stains on his shirt and trousers, and he smelled like malted barely. But his eyes seemed to sparkle, and his grin was daring.

“Are you sure, Lachlan?”

“With all my heart, Janet. I'll welcome you to my heart and home as if you were the Bride of the Legend.”

“What Legend?”

He frowned. “A bit of nonsense that has no place here and now. Are you not going to answer me, then?”

“Yes, Lachlan, I'll have you for my husband.”

He turned to Jeremy. “Did you hear all that?”

“Indeed.”

“Then, Janet, we're wed again. Is that enough for you?”

He only laughed when she punched him on the arm.

Fourteen

 

 

 

He had plans, wonderful plans that would somehow
come to pass. He couldn't help but think that things had a way of working out, if you put your nose to the ground and kept believing in it.

His clan didn't have to know that Janet wasn't exactly the Glenlyon Bride. The fact that he'd been spared Harriet's presence in his life could be construed as a deep and heart-felt blessing. He wondered if she limped and added it to the list of questions he would ask Janet when she awoke.