“Graeme, if you’re going to discharge me, I’d prefer you did so straightaway.”
His brows flew high on his forehead, his eyes flexing the merest bit. “Whatever gave ye the idea that I intended to dismiss ye?”
Her gaze veered to the empty portico then gravitated back to him.
“I thought…Lady Marjorie said…” She moistened her lips and though trepidation’s sharp claws scraped across her shoulders, she noticed his focus slide to her mouth for an instant. “Perhaps I misunderstood. What did you wish to say to me?”
“Camden’s returned, and the information he’s brought is verra disturbin’.” He took her elbow and led her to a stone bench situated along one side of the courtyard, beneath a tree’s overhanging branches. After urging her to sit, he settled beside her and gathered her hand in his.
She stared at their entwined fingers. Why had he let his guard down now? What was the nature of the news that had caused this abrupt change in his behavior?
“How so?” she asked. “I’ve told you everything. I swear, I have.”
“He’s discovered that Warrington is the other man inquirin’ after ye, and Camden believes he bribed or coerced the agency owner into revealin’ yer location.”
“No!” Berget gasped, clasping her other hand to her breast. Her heart raced, and her stomach tumbled over itself sickeningly.
“I’m afraid so, lass. Even now, we believe he journeys here.”
“Why won’t that devil’s spawn leave me be?” she cried.
With his other hand, Graeme caressed the top of hers.
“Yer father’s already spent the money Warrington gave him as part of the marriage settlement. And given the unsavory things Camden uncovered about Warrington, I believe only one way remains to truly protect ye. Other than runnin’ him through, which I’d no’ hesitate to do if I must. The mon’s an absolute reprobate, and I’ll no’ allow him near ye.”
“So you’re sending me away.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I understand.” Blinking back stinging tears, Berget forced the words from her mouth. “He poses a danger to Marjorie and the girls. To your clan and perhaps the villagers, too. Especially if he is as evil as you say.”
And Warrington was. Probably worse than anything she might imagine.
A rough sound rumbled deep in Graeme’s throat.
“I should go pack at once.” She tried to withdraw her hand, but he tightened his grip.
Grazing his knuckles across her cheek, a tender smile tilted his mouth. “Ye’re always willin’ to think ye’re at fault and to sacrifice yerself. I didna mean ye’re to leave, leannan. What I’m suggestin’ is that we must marry straightaway. I’ve sent Camden to the village for Father Phillip.”
That was why he’d thundered away like hell’s hounds pursued him.
Berget gaped as his words took root and a little tremor of excitement and hope jolted through her. “You would marry me? After…everything?”
He ran his thumb over her lips, “Aye, my violet-eyed lass, I would gladly marry ye.”
“Are you absolutely certain, Graeme?” She examined every angle and plane of his dear face, striving to determine his sincerity. “Marriage is for a lifetime. I know you didn’t intend to wed again, and as much as I want to say yes, if your only motivation is to protect me from Warrington, then I must refuse.”
He stiffened, going perfectly still except for the merest quivering of his nostrils. Had he truly thought she’d agree out of a selfish desire for his protection?
His intense scrutiny never leaving her, he spoke slowly and deliberately. “I made a vow to ye, lass, that ye would be safe here. And as I told ye before, I keep my oaths. This is the only way I can protect ye.”
“I know, because you’re an honorable man. But you’ve already entered into a marriage once before that you didn’t want, and you were utterly miserable as a consequence.” She inhaled, forcing her lips upward though her heart fractured further with each word she spoke. “I cannot let you do that again. Even though your motives are pure and unselfish, and I’m grateful you’re willing to make such a magnanimous sacrifice for me.”
Neither could she wed him if he didn’t love her. What happened if the day came, and he met a woman he could love, but he was tied to her?
No. She wouldn’t do that to him.
She made to stand, desperately trying to stem the flood of tears that threatened. “Now excuse me, please. I must pack.” The task would take all of ten minutes, she’d brought so little with her.
But instead of releasing her, he pulled her onto his lap and framed her face with his big hands. “Och, woman. Ye’ll drive me mad. Ye’d have me tell ye what I havena even admitted to myself.”
“Tell me what,” she sniffled, disgusted at her display of tears.
He kissed her forehead then the tip of her nose. “I would make ye mine, no’ out of duty or honor or responsibility. I would protect ye, Berget, because ye’ve come to mean more to me than mortal words can say. The thought of ye leavin’ the keep—leavin’ me—is unbearable.”
She went perfectly immobile, afraid to blink or to breathe. She searched his eyes, seeing her own wonder and awe reflected there.
“Graeme…are ye sayin’ ye care for me?”
Hope flared, a minuscule spark, but that minute ember was enough to encourage her.
His gaze grew dark, intense, almost predatory, and a possessive gleam glimmered there. “I canna let ye leave, mo ghaol.”
His love. Could it be true?
“I canna bear no’ seein’ ye every day. Yer smile, the way yer lavender eyes light up at the smallest things. The tender way ye treat the lasses, and the kindness ye show everyone. My heart swells, causin’ a fierce ache whenever ye nuzzle the pups or kiss their downy heads. Or when I hear yer laugh, yer singin’, or when ye play the lute or harp. My food tastes better when we dine at the same table. The sun glows brighter, and the sky’s more vivid blue with ye by my side.”
That sounded very much like a man in love, and her pulse and breathing quickened.
He settled his lips atop hers, kissing her once. Twice. Three times. His mouth firm and warm and tasting of whisky.
“I’ve fallen in love with ye, Berget.”
With a cry of joy, she looped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Graeme. I dared not hope. I tried to fight my feelings. I so wanted you to admire me and respect me and not think ill of me after I said I would seduce you.” Her face burned at that admission. “You made me feel things that I never felt before and, with you, I was daring and bold and wanton.”
He arced a wicked brow, giving her a devilish smile.
“Och, lass, I mean to hold ye to that promise to seduce me.” Trailing a finger along the edge of her bodice, he rasped in her ear, “So, will ye marry me as soon as my brother returns with the priest? It will no’ be a fancy weddin’. Just ye, me, Camden, Marjorie, and the lasses.”
She didn’t care about all the folderol. She only wanted to be his. “Aye, I shall very happily marry you.”
He gave a little growl and captured her mouth with his, and she reveled in his embrace. He cradled one breast, teasing the nipple through her gown’s fabric and beneath her bum, his length swelled, hard and powerful.
This glorious man loved her.
She never dreamed it possible. That she could love someone so profoundly, so deeply, that his very spirit meshed with hers. That she desired to give herself to him in every way possible. She hungered for his touch with a ravenous craving she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t experienced it firsthand.
“Graeme! Berget!” Marjorie’s urgent summons doused Berget’s ardor.
With an embarrassed flush scorching her from waist to forehead, she scrambled off Graeme’s lap and promptly set to righting her rumpled clothing.
He gazed up at his sister-in-law hanging over the balustrade, her face pale and troubled. “Marjorie, yer timin’ is awful, but I’m honored to say, Berget has consented to be my wi
fe.”
Berget cast him a shy smile as she finished straightening her gown and moved to setting her hair in order.
“Never mind that.” Marjorie scowled and gestured for them to come quickly. “That dreadful man is here. Barged right into the house without an invitation or a by your leave. He gives me the shivers, I tell you.”
In the process of repinning a loose tendril of hair, Berget fumbled, her fingers gone suddenly stiff.
No’ Warrington. Please dinna let it be Warrington.
But even as she sent the frantic prayer skyward, he appeared beside Marjorie on the landing, still wearing his hat and, oddly enough, an elaborate cloak despite the mild weather.
He was every bit as disturbing and unsettling as she remembered.
Marjorie speared him a contemptuous glare. “You were instructed to wait in the drawing room, sir, and instead, you dared to follow me?”
“Indeed, I did.” His lewd gaze undressed her before he gave a dismissive sniff. “I wasn’t providing you the opportunity to warn my bride so that she could flee me once more. I’ve spent weeks searching for her.”
Berget could scarcely pull air into her lungs. The man had no compunction. To breeze into the keep uninvited and then to follow Marjorie. Did he have no scruples?
A smug closed-mouth smile tipping his thin lips upward a fraction, his coal-black eyes swung between Berget and Graeme.
“Laird Kennedy, I presume,” he intoned with frigid contempt.
Graeme curled his lip in response.
Warrington turned his wintery gaze upon Berget, and goosebumps raised from her wrists to her shoulders. He radiated evilness. “Please do explain why I find you disheveled and in the company of this man, Wife.”
Jerking as if slapped, Berget snapped her head up, and her mouth parted on an astonished gasp. Husbanding every ounce of poise she possessed, she returned his condescending stare straight on. “I am not your wife, nor shall I ever be.”
He smiled widely then, an eerie upward sweep of his too-thin lips. The remainder of his face remained steely and unyielding.
“But, my dear, this document says otherwise.” Brandishing a folded paper, he leaned casually against the balustrade. “’Tis a proxy marriage contract, you see. And it most assuredly deems we are married.” His focus trailed to her breasts then lower still before he licked those pale lips. “Except for the consummation, which will occur just as soon as I remove you from the premises.”
She wouldn’t put it past him to set upon her in the coach.
“Over my dead body.” Graeme surged to his feet, a dangerous growl reverberating deep in his chest. “There nae be proxy marriages in Scotland. Irregular marriages, aye, but no’ proxies. That bit of paper is nae more valuable than what I wipe my arse with.”
“Ah, but this proxy marriage wasn’t acquired in Scotland.” Warrington waved the rolled document. “’Twas authorized in England and is legally binding there,” he gloated. “My many high-level connections made it possible.”
High-level, indeed.
Likely he’d threatened some poor sot to draft the document or bribed an official or cleric to do so. How he acquired the proxy was irrelevant. What did matter was whether it was valid.
Berget clutched Graeme’s hand. She had no knowledge of such things, and terror worse than any she’d experienced pulsed unrelentingly through her, making her dizzy.
“Graeme, could he be telling the truth?”
He couldn’t. Oh, god, he couldn’t. It must be a lie. The desperate attempt of a madman. His obsession with her had crossed into lunacy.
A fierce scowl hardened Graeme’s face to granite. “I dinna think so, lass. I’m nae expert on proxy marriages, but they usually only take place between royalty, when one party is in another country. Then when they are on the same soil, an official ceremony is performed before any consummation occurs.”
“What are we to do?” She swallowed, edging nearer and fighting the fear clawing at her throat.
“Dinna fash yerself.” He possessively looped an arm about her waist, clearly staking his claim. “Ye ken I’ll nae let him take ye from here as long as I have breath in my lungs.”
Warrington narrowed his eyes to lethal slits.
“I’m warning you, Kennedy. Unhand my wife. We are leaving. Now. Berget, you belong to me. I paid the price your pathetic father asked, and the wretch already spent the funds. There is no denying my claim.”
“You made an arrangement with my father that I never agreed to. More fool you for doing so since you well knew his character and his weaknesses. I shall never willingly leave with you,” Berget vowed. “And I shall never consent to becoming your wife. You cannot force me.”
More commotion echoed behind Marjorie and Warrington as Camden and a kindly-faced, reed-thin priest joined them on the landing.
Marjorie elbowed Warrington hard in the ribs before seizing the priest’s hand. Practically dragging the startled clergyman down the stairs, she whispered in his ear all the while. He nodded and cast a harried glance over his shoulder, his tunic flapping against his legs in his hasty descent.
“What are you doing?” Suspicion contorting his countenance, Warrington lunged toward the stairs.
Marjorie swung around, pointing at him and shouted, “Camden, keep that cur there.”
“I don’t think so.” With a sharp gesture, Warrington yanked a flintlock from the folds of his cloak.
At once, Camden looped his massive arm around Warrington’s neck, and pulled the man’s arm behind his back, forcing the limb so unnaturally high, Warrington blanched and swore but dropped the weapon. He continued to struggle, and Camden tightened his grip.
“Give me a reason to snap yer arm or yer neck,” Camden sneered, low and dangerous. “Because I have nae qualms about doin’ either and confessin’ my sin to Father Phillip afterward.”
Father Phillip mopped his moist forehead, then folded his hands serenely before him. “I believe an abbreviated version of the weddin’ ceremony would be most appropriate.”
“I forbid it,” Warrington roared. “I’m her husband.”
Camden flexed his jaw and yanked Warrington’s arm, producing a furious howl of pain.
Uneasiness flitted across Father Phillip’s angular face. “I must ask ye, lass, does he speak the truth? I shall no’ be a party to bigamy.”
“No.” Berget vehemently shook her head. “I have never exchanged vows with that man, and I never will. I am unwed.”
“He claims to have a proxy contract, executed in England,” Graeme explained.
“Does he now?” Father Phillip winked before casting a dismissive glance over his shoulder to where Camden held Warrington in a punishing embrace.
Berget liked the cleric at once.
“I think it is safe to assume ’tis forged,” Father Phillip said, his eyes twinkling as if he were enjoying this fiasco. “I ken of nae instances of commoners joinin’ by proxy, but just in case it isna a counterfeit, lass, ye’ll want to stay in Scotland.”
She turned an adoring glance on Graeme. “For the rest of my life.”
Warrington continued to curse and threaten.
At some point, Peigi and another wide-eyed maid appeared on either side of Camden.
Good, the more witnesses, the better. The next thing Berget knew, Peigi’s bobcap had been stuffed inside Warrington’s mouth, and the chipper little maid wore an extremely pleased expression.
Berget was of a mind to promote her to her lady’s maid. “Do carry on, Father Phillip,” she said, waving her hand.
In short order, Berget and Graeme exchanged vows, in what was quite likely the swiftest and most abbreviated wedding ceremony in the history of Scotland. With another mischievous grin, Father Phillip announced, “I now pronounce ye man and wife. Ye may kiss yer bride, Laird.”
Chapter Sixteen
Four hours later, after Camden and three other clansmen had escorted Warrington from Killeaggian Tower lands with threats to do him bodily harm if he eve
r returned, and after explaining to an overjoyed Cora and Elena that Berget had become their aunt, and Graeme had announced to the staff that Berget was now mistress of the keep, Berget entered her chamber.
Butterfly wings whisked around her middle about what the evening would bring. A mere fortnight ago, she’d entered this pleasant room for the first time, uncertain if she’d be permitted to stay.
Now, she was married to the laird. Her heart surged with uncontrollable joy.
A bath waited for her before the hearth where a roaring fire blazed. Several vases of colorful flowers had been placed about the chamber, and pale pink petals lay sprinkled atop the turned down bed. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat prominently on the table beside a covered tray Berget had yet to explore but which likely contained dainties and other tasty morsels.
Graeme was always hungry.
Marjorie’s doing no doubt.
Instead of becoming jealous or shrewish that Berget had won Graeme’s affection, Marjorie seemed genuinely happy for them and had gone out of her way to be kind.
A light rap echoed on Berget’s door, and her attention flashed to the bedside clock. Was Graeme that eager to bed her? Scarcely fifteen minutes had passed since she’d left the great hall.
“Come,” she called, though her new husband would have to wait until she’d enjoyed her bath. Maidenly shyness aside, she wanted to be at her best when she laid with him.
Marjorie glided into the room, a delicate night rail slung over one slender arm. She smiled in approval as she glanced about the chamber. “Ah, good. The maids have done as I asked. Here, I brought you this.” She extended the filmy fabric, thin as gossamer. “There wasn’t any time to purchase you a proper gift given how rushed everything was. But this will do for tonight, until I decide on something more appropriate and long-lasting for you and Graeme.”
Accepting the beautiful nightgown, Berget’s eyes blurred with tears. “Thank you. I owe you much.”
Marjorie enveloped her in a warm hug. “You’ve made Graeme happy, and I’ve already come to think of you as a sister. I knew the minute I saw the two of you together in the drawing room something sparked betwixt you.” Her expression turned melancholy as she fingered the ring on her hand. “He reminds me so much of Sion. I cannot bear to look at him sometimes.”
To Seduce a Highland Scoundrel Page 12
