A Scottish Love (37 page)

“I worked on you,” she said softly. “I decided I was going to have you forever and ever.”

“So you did,” he said, wanting her to stop talking, to let him simply hold her.

“But I’ve been thinking,” she said, insistent on speaking. “You were partly right.”

“On which occasion?” he asked, smiling.

“You were right about my pride. But I’m thinking you have a bit of your own.” She raised up and looked up at him. “You could have come after me before I married Bruce. You could have put your own pride aside, Colonel Sir Gordon.”

His lips quirked. “So I could have,” he agreed.

“That’s the past,” she said. “I’m thoroughly tired of the past. I must be focused on the future, Gordon.”

“Another point of agreement.”

“I have no money,” she said. “But I’m very much afraid I have to marry for money, again.”

“Will you?” he asked, feeling the most absurd wish to laugh.

“I need a rich husband,” she said, nodding.

He bent down and kissed her forehead, wondering if she would accept a proposal here and now.

“I bring nothing to you, Gordon. Nothing but love. Fergus should live at Gairloch, and he can’t bear to part with any of his shields or claymores.”

Amusement was a strange feeling to have in conjunction with this other emotion, one that threatened to swamp him, and open up his chest so that he might give her his heart.

“I’ve no need for weapons,” he said. “I’ve had my fill of them of late.”

She sighed, then surprised him by sitting up and motioning Fergus inside the little cave, followed by Elizabeth.

Turning to him again, she placed her hands on either side of his face, staring into his eyes as she spoke the words slowly and somberly.

“I will consent to be your wife, Gordon MacDermond. Will you consent to be my husband?”

He smiled. “I will consent to be your husband, Shona Imrie Donegal, and cherish you for the rest of your life. Will you consent to be my wife?”

“And love you forever? With my whole heart, Gordon.”

He heard Fergus say something, but he wasn’t paying much attention, because right at that moment, he was looking at Shona.

He loved her—every proud, haughty look, every small mysterious smile, every toss of her head, and every single glance of her fog-colored eyes. The enormity of the love he felt for her nearly choked him.

Softly, gently, and tenderly, he kissed her.

Chapter 33

S
hona sat in the chair by the fire.

Gordon stood by the fireplace, close enough to be needed, and smiled down at her.

“I’ve done as you asked,” he said, “and summoned the lot of them here.”

She only nodded, queenly in demeanor, but he was close enough to see that her lips trembled.

You should have rested more.

An admonition he wouldn’t make. Nor would she have retreated to her bedroom. She was set on something, something she wouldn’t tell him.

Mr. Loftus was the first to arrive, leaning heavily on a cane, his recent indulgences in wine and rich foods revealed by his gouty limp. Instead of being accompanied by Elizabeth, he was escorted into the room by his daughter, Miriam’s lovely face wearing the sheen of boredom. She helped him sit on the end of the sofa, then took a seat on the opposite sofa.

“You don’t look the worse for your experience, Countess,” he said.

She only nodded in response.

But Gordon knew Shona Imrie Donegal as well as he knew himself. Her lovely gray eyes were shadowed, and she was still too pale. In a few hours, he would take her from here, and heal her in the only way he knew, with attention, conversation, but mostly love.

Miriam remained silent, an oddity from her. But perhaps the frown he’d given her warned her that he wasn’t in the mood for any of her idiocy.

Helen was next, bustling into the room with hands clasped in front of her. He gave her a smile, indebted to her for her persistence in finding Shona. Surprisingly, she took a seat on the sofa beside Mr. Loftus, sending a winsome smile in his direction. He studied her, wondering if his suspicion was correct.

Cook and Jennie entered the Family Parlor just in front of Fergus, with Elizabeth on his arm. Fergus just stared back at him.

He’d have to make amends there.

Cook and Jennie moved to stand behind the sofa on which Miriam sat, but Shona shook her head. “Take a seat on the sofa,” she said, and after a moment, they did, albeit reluctantly.

Old Ned had been sent to Rathmhor, under the care of Mrs. MacKenzie. Since the woman abjured any type of alcohol, even Scottish whiskey, she would watch over Ned until he could turn his back on spirits. Shona had made the decision after a conversation with the caretaker.

“Ned,” Shona said, “have you been making sure the doors don’t work in the passages?”

“It was the only way to keep the ghosts out.”

“And you’ve been doing this at night?”

He nodded. “It’s when you have to catch them. They wander through the hallways, always whispering, always trying to scare me.”

Endless days of drinking Gairloch’s whiskey had evidently addled Old Ned’s wits.

“Did you strike me in the Clan Hall, Ned?” she asked.

He looked shamefaced, his eyes never quite meeting hers.

“That were a mistake, Miss Shona. I thought you were one of the ghosts come after me when I was sealing up the door.”

“Did you lock me in the passage, Ned?”

He shook his head vehemently. “I wouldn’t do that, Miss Shona.” His face changed, his eyes dancing with merriment or self-congratulation, Gordon wasn’t sure which. “I did trap me a ghost last night, though. The
bean tuiream
. Dressed all in red, she was. I got her good and fast, I did.”

“Where is the madman?” Mr. Loftus said now. “When I buy Gairloch, I’ll not have him in the place.”

Gordon was an expert at reading Shona’s expressions. He wondered if the others realized how enraged she was at this particular moment. He smiled, caught Fergus’s eye, and almost laughed.

“I’m not selling Gairloch to you,” she said very quietly and very firmly. “We’re not selling,” she added, glancing at Fergus.

“Does that mean, Father, that we can finally return home?” Miriam asked. “I’m very sorry, but I truly cannot abide Scotland. It’s very cold and very empty, isn’t it?”

“I apologize if you’re disappointed,” she said, ignoring Miriam and addressing her remark to Mr. Loftus.

“Oh, I doubt he’s all that disappointed, Shona,” Gordon said. “You didn’t come to buy Gairloch, did you?” he asked, staring at the older man. “You were prepared to do so, if necessary. But that’s not the real reason you’re here.”

Loftus didn’t say a word, merely flicked his hand at Helmut, who was instantly at his side.

“No need for protection, Mr. Loftus. Just tell the truth.”

“What are you talking about, Gordon?” Fergus asked.

“Somehow, he learned about the blasting powder. Was it you behind the burglary of my partner’s lodgings?”

The American didn’t say a word. Neither did his daughter, who viewed her father wide-eyed.

“He came to discover our formula,” he said. “And if he couldn’t steal it, to buy it.” He studied the American. “All I want to know is how you knew? Did you have a spy in the village? Someone who conveyed the information to you?”

Shona turned to him. “The inspector. That’s how he knew. He sent a man to look at Gairloch before we arrived. He probably stayed in the village.”

Gordon folded his arms, and leaned back against the mantel, a deceptively casual pose that was as false as Shona’s composure.

“Is that what happened, Mr. Loftus? You decided that my blasting powder would add to your considerable wealth?”

“You should sell it to me,” Loftus said. “I could make you a fortune.”

In Loftus, he saw his father, two men similar in their need for power. He wasn’t going to take orders from anyone anymore. Not because of patriotism or paternal fealty or even greed. He was going to decide his own future.

“I think we can do quite well on our own,” Gordon responded. He turned to Fergus. “And so could you, if you’d like to throw in your lot with us. I still need a manager for the Works.”

“I need a position,” Fergus said. “Now that I’m to be married.”

Shona sent a surprised look to her brother, then smiled.

“But I won’t be a model employee,” Fergus added.

“You weren’t a model soldier,” he responded.

“The queen didn’t agree.” Elizabeth frowned at him, moving closer to Fergus.

Gordon couldn’t help but smile. His friend deserved someone who would be as fiercely loyal as Elizabeth seemed to be.

“Oh, he’s brave,” he told Elizabeth. “But he’s apt to argue with a command as obey it.”

“Just the sort of employee you need,” Fergus said, smiling. “You have a tendency to be an ass from time to time.”

They grinned at each other, and just as quickly as that, they were friends again.

He was not, however, finished with Loftus. “You’re the one behind the men trying to buy me out, I take it?”

The older man didn’t answer, but there wasn’t any need for words. The acknowledgment was there in the American’s eyes.

“We’ll be gone in the morning,” Mr. Loftus said, standing.

Shona only nodded in response. He left the library, Helmut following in his wake.

Before Miriam followed, she turned to face Shona.

“You’re a very strange countess,” she said. “I can’t imagine that any of my friends will really believe you existed. You swear and you’re quite rude. Besides,” she added, “you’re not at all discreet. Or do you think that no one knows you two are lovers?”

Helen’s eyes widened.

Shona, however, only smiled.

“You’ll have to tell your friends that I’m a Scottish countess,” she said calmly. “That makes all the difference.”

“Is it like wearing a kilt?”

“Entirely,” she said.

Gordon held his laughter until Miriam left the room. He came and stood in front of Shona, stretching out both hands. She placed hers in his, her eyes clear and focused on him.

“It’s time to go home,” he said softly.

She nodded.

“You’re going to Rathmhor, then?” Fergus asked.

“With my wife, yes,” he said.

Fergus shook his head. “Leave it to both of you to do it that way. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What have they done?” Helen asked, her gaze flicking between them.

“He married her. She married him. In the passage,” Fergus said. “A declaration of intent witnessed by other people is as binding a marriage as any other in Scotland. But the Reverend John McIntyre will not be pleased,” he added. “He’ll declare it a penny marriage.”

“That’s because he’ll want to preach dour pronouncements over us, first,” Gordon said. “Or perhaps he simply wants a celebration.”

“We have a lifetime to celebrate,” Shona said, her gaze never moving from him.

Fergus eyed Elizabeth speculatively.

“No,” Elizabeth said firmly, taking two steps back and holding up her hands. “A minister, please. I’m English. Not a Scot.”

“You’ll be a Scot soon enough. After all, you’ll be the Laird of Gairloch’s wife,” Fergus said.

Shona glanced at Elizabeth. “You’ll be an Imrie. Definitely not English.” She looked at Fergus. “And you’ll not be telling her about the feet washing.”

“What? Feet washing?” Elizabeth said, but no one was answering.

“And you’re a MacDermond,” Gordon said, looking down at her. “Finally.”

What happened between Fergus and Elizabeth would have to wait. What the rest of the Invergaire thought would simply have to wait. His blasting powder would have to wait.

He wanted to be alone with his wife.

His wife.

Shona stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

The whole damn world could wait.

Epilogue

S
ometimes, she was completely and totally confounded, as now.

Shona stared at the letter, then waved it at Gordon as she entered his library.

“You’ll never believe it,” she said, standing beside his desk.

He didn’t give her a chance to talk further, merely grabbed her skirt and pulled her over to sit on his lap, not an easy feat considering she wore three petticoats and her skirts were fulsome enough to cover his papers.

He kissed her soundly just as she was about to explain.

“It’s from Helen,” she said, somewhat breathlessly a few minutes later.

“An explanation why she’s left us alone for nearly a week? Not that I mind,” he said, and proceeded to kiss her again.

They did this so often that it was a wonder he was able to get any work done on his blasting powder. When she said that to him, he merely laughed and kissed her again.

Why did she always feel as if she’d imbibed Gairloch’s whiskey after kissing him? Whiskey that Mrs. MacKenzie refused to serve now that Old Ned was on her staff.

So many changes had occurred in just a week. Old Ned was walking around dressed in clean clothes, his eyes looking a little red, his beard shaved clean. Mrs. MacKenzie watched him as if he were a thief in their midst. Poor man, he took his life in his hands if he ever so much as thought of taking another drop of drink.

They had, amid a solemn ceremony, buried the man and woman from the passages in Invergaire. A small pack had been found in the cavern, as well as a set of pipes, leading to speculation that the two had been the laird’s missing wife and Brian MacDermond. Would they ever know for sure? Perhaps if the ghosts of Gairloch were never heard from again.

The interment had been a very uncomfortable gathering, as it turned out, since Reverend McIntyre frowned at her and Gordon the whole time. He’d not liked the idea of an irregular marriage and was determined to have them wed, again, this time before the entire congregation.

She had no objection. She’d marry Gordon a hundred times over.

“No,” she said now, pushing away from him. “You really need to read this.”

She held out the letter for Gordon to read, retreating to the chair beside his desk. Not that his lap wasn’t a perfect place, but some of the proprieties should be observed.