The Highlander's Excellent Adventure (Survivors, #8)

by Galen, Shana

  Stratford shook his head. “Sir, you are mistaken. This is not what it seems.”

  “Really?” Draven stepped further inside. “It looks to me like Murray has taken advantage of my charge and now feels duty-bound to marry her.”

  “Nae, sir,” Duncan said. “I want tae marry her because I love her.”

  “So you did not bed her?” Draven asked.

  Duncan hesitated, eyeing the pistol at the colonel’s side. Then he noticed Ines tugging at his arm, trying to loosen his hold on her. Finally, she pushed herself forward. Duncan could see his former commander brace for some sort of dramatic scene, but Ines only gave him a short curtsy then smiled.

  “Benedict, I have missed you.”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed.

  “The truth is Duncan did not abduct me. It was all a mistake.” She looked at Duncan and smiled. “Except it was not a mistake, and I love him.”

  “Ines, move aside.”

  She held up a hand, turning a withering look on Draven. “And if you so much as hurt a hair on the head of my soon-to-be husband, I will tell Catarina and she will flay you alive.”

  “Your sister is home and worried sick about you.”

  Ines looked repentant at those words. “I am sorry about that. But she will forgive me when we tell her about the wedding.”

  “There will be no wedding!” Draven yelled.

  Jasper moved beside him. “Sir, I have met your wife, and she has something of a temper. I beg you not to act in haste. Perhaps if we send for her...”

  “Perhaps I can kill him and beg forgiveness later.”

  Ines moved toward him. “Benedict.”

  Quicker than Duncan thought a man of his age could move—but then Draven had always seemed as fit as any of the men, despite being fifteen years their senior—he caught Ines by the wrist and thrust her at Jasper. “Hold her.” And then he lunged forward, head down like a charging bull. Duncan didn’t even try to resist. He deserved this much, at least. The colonel slammed into his midsection, and Duncan stumbled back, crashing against a wall and sending a painting flying off its hook and clattering to the floor.

  Colonel Draven pulled his right fist back and plowed it into Duncan’s cheek. Duncan winced at the pain but didn’t fight back. The next punch brought the taste of blood. His ears were ringing, but he could hear Ines screaming and Stratford yelling and Jasper and Miss Wellesley somewhere in the midst of the fray.

  And then his mother’s voice rose above it all.

  “Cease this at once!” she demanded. She’d sat at the head of the table, watching the scene, but she’d obviously had enough.

  Draven, fist pulled back for another blow, paused and looked at Lady Charlotte. Duncan took a breath, which was not easy with the colonel’s hand clamped around his throat and his head pushed against the wall. Lady Charlotte pointed at Draven.

  “Release him.”

  The colonel hesitated, but he was a soldier first and Lady Charlotte had been born a commander. Draven released him and stepped back. Duncan almost slumped over but caught himself just in time. The punches had been harder than he’d expected. His cheek throbbed and one eye was swelling closed.

  “Now step away.”

  Draven did as ordered, and Duncan steadied himself against the wall. Jasper must have released Ines because a moment later she was at his side, supporting him. Of course, she was. The lass was one of the few genuinely kind, compassionate people he had ever met. She’d barely known him, yet when Nash had shot him, she’d never left his side. Duncan put his arm about her, pulling her tight against him. He’d come perilously close to losing her, and only now did he realize how close to the precipice he’d been standing. For once, he did not want to go over. He did not want to risk it. He wanted the assurance that the woman holding him up now would be at his side forever.

  It was the sort of predictability Duncan had never thought he’d want, but he now realized—almost too late—that it was what he’d needed all along.

  “I do believe you have forgotten yourself, sir,” Lady Charlotte said to Colonel Draven. “How else to explain why you have come into my house and begun a brawl as though you were in some sort of tavern.”

  “My apologies,” Draven said. “I was not myself.”

  She nodded. “None of us have been ourselves lately.” She surveyed the room with accusation in her eyes. “But we must maintain some semblance of order. Duncan, introduce your...friends, please.” Her gaze dipped to Ines at his side, but Duncan saw only resignation in her eyes.

  “Lady Charlotte,” Duncan said, taking a breath as his was short after the blows he’d taken. “Might I present Lieutenant-Colonel Draven and Lord Jasper Grantham. We served together in the war.”

  “You are heroes then,” Lady Charlotte said. “Four heroes at my dinner table.” She gestured to Stratford and then Duncan. “I am fortunate indeed. Please sit.” She gestured to the empty places at the table. “I will have two more place settings brought in.” The footman departed immediately without having to be told.

  “Thank you, my lady, but we would not wish to intrude,” Draven said.

  “Oh, nonsense,” Lady Charlotte said, taking her seat again. “I imagine you have been traveling day and night, tracking my son’s betrothed.” She glanced at Ines, and Duncan started at how easily she used the word betrothed for Ines. “And now you have found her.”

  “And we are anxious to take her home. My wife—her sister—is worried sick.”

  “Completely understandable. Do sit,” she said, ignoring Draven’s obvious desire to be gone. “After all, you cannot start back tonight and on an empty stomach.”

  Draven looked at Jasper, and Jasper shrugged then moved toward the table. The colonel gave Duncan one last menacing look and followed Jasper. Unwilling to relinquish Ines, Duncan held her tight as he hobbled back to the table then seated her in the chair beside his mother and stood behind her. He would not leave her side again.

  His mother gave her new guests her best hostess smile, and then looked at Duncan and sighed. “Colonel Draven,” she said.

  “My lady?” He had sipped from the glass of wine in front of him and still held the glass aloft.

  “How long will it take for Mrs. Draven to travel to Scotland?”

  “Mrs. Draven?” he asked. He’d removed his hat, and his red hair stuck up, mirroring the lift of his brows.

  “She will want to attend the wedding, yes?” Lady Charlotte looked at Miss Wellesley. “And your own mother? We should send to her first thing.”

  “My lady?” Miss Wellesley looked confused. “I am not sure I understand.”

  Lady Charlotte lifted her own wine glass and sipped, slowly as though she had all the time in the world to explain herself. “For the double wedding, my dear. I plan to hold it here.”

  Miss Wellesley stared; Stratford dropped the fork he’d been playing with. Jasper laughed, and Draven’s cheeks turned red before he nodded tightly. But Ines...Ines looked up at Duncan and smiled.

  That smile was like the sun in the warmth it brought. Duncan smiled back at her then looked at his mother, who was watching them. Duncan thought he saw a suspicious sign of moisture in her eyes. But that couldn’t be, because Lady Charlotte never did anything so human as cried.

  “Thank ye, Mother,” Duncan said.

  “Anything for you, dear boy,” she said. “I only wanted to know that you loved her, that you would fight for her.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I do as well.” She raised a hand. “You must promise me one thing, though. You won’t go running off to England or to war again. I want you and Ines to live here.”

  “You do?” Ines asked, her voice filled with shock.

  “I do,” Lady Charlotte lifted the lace cuffs from the wooden box still before her. “I want you to be here when I wear these.”

  Twenty-Three

  STRATFORD

  Baron Fortescue did not arrive at the Duke of Atholl’s castle, where the wedding parties were to
stay, with the rest of the wedding guests. The baroness said he was needed in Town and Scotland was simply too far to travel. Stratford did not think his mother would have come if he hadn’t been marrying her best friend’s daughter. Later Emmeline, Loftus trailing behind, had come to her betrothed, put her arms around Stratford, and simply held him. “I’m so sorry,” she had whispered in his hair.

  Stratford pulled back and looked at her lovely face—her blue eyes like the color of the Scottish sky on this sunny, summer day. “I wasted years trying to earn their love, and now I ask myself why. I never needed it. Everyone who matters is here.” He looked at her with a smile. “My friends are here—Jasper, Ewan, Colin, even Mayne forgave us and came.”

  Emmeline smiled. “The duke still will not accept any cup Murray hands him. He said he slept for almost two days the last time Mr. Murray gave him a drink.”

  Stratford chuckled. “Duncan forgets that what would put him out is enough to flatten another man.” He pulled Emmeline into an embrace. “I love you, Emmie.”

  “I love you.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Do you believe you are worthy of it yet? All this love?”

  “I’m gradually accustoming myself to the idea,” he said. He pulled back and took her hand. “But I wouldn’t mind being shown just one more time.” He led her toward a hidden entrance Duncan had shown him was the perfect way to sneak into the keep, unseen. He knew he could have her in his bed chamber within minutes.

  But Emmeline tugged at him. “The wedding is in the morning. I have to go hide from you. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Besides, my mother and sisters will come looking for me soon. They brought an entire coach of dresses, ribbons, and lace. I imagine they mean to drape me with it until I teeter under the weight.”

  “You will look beautiful no matter what you wear. In fact, the less the better.”

  She swatted him playfully. “Tomorrow,” she said, and it was a promise.

  The wedding day had dawned rainy and overcast. Lady Charlotte had declared it good luck, but everyone else had declared it typical Scotland. Duncan and Stratford had managed to make it to the church in Kirkmoray. Like the Duke of Atholl’s castle, it was old and crumbling, but when Emmeline had said it had charm, he’d agreed. The church had been built overlooking a loch and, in the distance, the Highlands. With the low-lying clouds, neither could be seen at half past seven in the morning, but if the weather ever cleared, the view was spectacular. The stone church looked a bit uneven in places, but the circular stained-glass window and the vaulted ceilings made the inside airier than the squat outside would have led him to believe.

  He and Duncan stood nervously at the chancel. The priest, Anglican (though Stratford had a suspicion that Duncan’s village might still harbor any number of Catholics), cleared his throat and looked at the papers before him. His hands shook and he muttered to himself, seemingly more nervous than the bridegrooms.

  “Do ye think he will make it through the service?” Duncan whispered to Stratford as the guests continued filing in.

  “He’d better,” Stratford said. “I’m not doing this again.”

  “Mrs. Wellesley looks happy,” Duncan said as his soon-to-be mother-in-law entered with three of her daughters and took a seat at the front beside his own mother. Emmeline’s mother was beaming.

  “Thinking of all the blunt she’ll save not having to send Emmeline to Town for another Season.”

  Duncan elbowed him, almost causing Stratford to topple over. “She’s pleased tae have ye for a son.”

  “Yes, well.” Stratford felt his neck warm at the compliment. “I need to thank your mother again for arranging all of this.”

  Duncan waved a hand. “She’s in her element.” It was true. Lady Charlotte stood with the Duke of Atholl, presiding over everything like a queen.

  And then as if by some invisible cue, the guests quieted and took their seats, and Stratford realized the brides must have arrived. His belly fluttered as the doors to the narthex opened, and the two women started forward.

  Certainly, there were two—Stratford knew this—but he could only see Emmeline. She wore a pale blue gown adorned with ribbons of sapphire. Instead of a bonnet, she wore those same ribbons threaded through her hair. Drops of rain glittered in the dark curls, making a stark contrast beside her pale face and her large blue eyes.

  Duncan gripped Stratford’s shoulder, and Stratford was not sure if it was to support him or because the Scotsman needed shoring up. Emmeline was finally beside him, and the priest spoke, but Stratford barely heard a word. Emmeline smiled at him and mouthed the words, I love you. And Stratford knew he would spend the rest of his life proving just how much he loved her too.

  EMMELINE

  When they’d emerged from the old church, the sun had deigned to peak through the clouds and rays of light streaked across the Highlands beyond the loch. Loftus had been relegated to waiting outside the church, and he jumped up to greet them. Emmeline petted him and looked about her. The scene was so pretty Emmeline could have painted a picture—if she had any talent for painting. Instead, they’d all returned to the duke’s castle for the wedding breakfast, held in the keep, which with its tapestries and trestle tables, made her feel as though she had stepped into the Middle Ages.

  At the breakfast, Stratford’s mother had taken her hand and welcomed her to the family. “I’ve always thought of you as a daughter,” she said. “Now you are one in truth.” She’d kissed her cheek, and Emmeline had felt true warmth. She and Stratford were to live at the estate his uncle had gifted Stratford, but she would not mind inviting his mother to visit. Her own mother...

  Well, her own mother had not been quite as insufferable as usual. She’d limited her comments on Emmeline’s appearance and had only tried to prevent Emmeline from eating cake once. When Emmeline had given her a hard stare, she had withdrawn and murmured, “Well, you are Mr. Fortescue’s problem now, I dare say.”

  “Do you hear that?” Emmeline whispered to her new husband. Husband—she liked the sound of that.

  “You are my problem?” he said, giving her a wink. “You’re a good problem to have.”

  “Do you think you might take your problem upstairs for a little while? I think I should like to lie down.”

  His expression turned to one of concern. “Do you have a headache?”

  “No, but I’ll say that if it means we can have time alone.”

  He smiled, relieved. “You go first. I’ll join you shortly.”

  She excused herself and left the breakfast, which took a good twenty minutes as everyone wanted to wish her happy and hug her and tell her how lovely she looked. Finally, she escaped up a narrow, winding stone staircase to the bedchamber she’d been given. Stratford’s things had already been moved to it, in preparation for the wedding night. She was ready now. Once she had put her mind to it, Lady Charlotte had proved an adept chaperone and ensured she and Stratford had very little time alone. They’d barely been able to steal a kiss under Lady Charlotte’s watchful eye.

  Now, they no longer needed a chaperone. Emmeline removed what she could—shoes and stockings, ribbons and lace, but she could not manage the dress on her own. She couldn’t reach the pins in the back. When Stratford knocked, the bodice hung down and the skirts sagged. She opened the door. “Come in and unwrap me,” she’d said, pulling him inside.

  “Gladly.”

  She gave him her back before he could act on any of the other ideas she saw formulating in his mind, and he began to remove pins and untie laces. “Did anyone see you sneak away?” she asked.

  “I would have gotten away without notice,” he said, “but Duncan yelled out across the room, Where are ye off tae, Stratford? And then everyone looked at me and clapped.”

  Emmeline laughed. “Were you terribly embarrassed?”

  “Not so embarrassed that I didn’t salute and come here to join you. There. That’s all of them I think.”

  Her skirts slid to the floor, and she removed her bodi
ce and stays, standing in just her chemise. “Now it’s your turn,” she said, turning to him. She took her time undressing him. First, she stripped off the tight coat, then the neckcloth and waistcoat, and finally the linen shirt.

  He had to sit on the bed to remove his shoes and stockings, and when he reached for his breeches, she reached for the tie of her chemise. He eased his trousers over his slim hips as she slid the linen over her breasts and down to her waist.

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he whispered as the chemise fell to the ground and she stood naked before him. “You’re perfect.”

  “No,” she said, looking at his broad shoulders, muscled chest, and slim hips. She could not miss his erection jutting proudly either. “You are perfect.”

  “Turn around,” he said, twirling one finger. “I want to see that arse I have been dreaming about.”

  Normally shy, Emmeline turned around and wiggled her hips.

  “You will be the death of me,” he all but groaned as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. His hands slid down over her bottom, squeezed it, then slid back up again to rub her arms, cup her breasts, and then brush over her sex. She moaned as he touched her and turned in his arms to kiss him fully.

  He pulled her to the bed, coming down next to her and gazing at her with undisguised admiration. They both took their time exploring the other. She was particularly fond of the feel of his hip under her leg when she threw it over him. He seemed to want to kiss every part of her, twice. When they were both panting and dizzy with want, he entered her. It didn’t hurt this time, and Emmeline had to bite her lip to stop a cry of pleasure from the feel of him deep inside her. He moved slowly, locking his hands with hers, watching her face, and murmuring how beautiful she was and how he loved her.

  When the pleasure had built to a peak and she was mewling with need, he suddenly rolled her over so that she straddled him.

  “What is this?” she asked, breathless. But he nudged his hips, and she could see exactly what he wanted her to do. She took him inside her and moved her own hips tentatively.