To Wed an Heiress

by Karen Ranney

  The discomfort was gone, the pinch eased. He bent to kiss her as he entered her again. She raised her hips as he left her, then sighed at the feeling of him once more deep inside.

  Her body felt as if it was preparing for something. Her breath caught, her pulse was racing, her heart thundering in her chest. Pleasure began deep inside her like a tiny explosion, one that grew bigger with each movement Lennox made. She extended her arms around his shoulders, her hands flat against his back. She wanted to call out his name, ask him what was happening, but she remained silent as the sensations grew.

  When Lennox bent to tongue her nipple, the pleasure magnified like the fireworks she’d once seen in New York. In those seconds she lost her sense of herself. She wasn’t simply Mercy. She was part of Lennox and he was part of her.

  He murmured her name before collapsing on top of her. A moment later he kissed the area just in front of her ear. His breath was harsh; his heart beating as rapidly as hers. She closed her eyes tight, feeling the rhythmic beat inside her body where they were still joined.

  This was sin.

  This was bliss.

  Mercy woke because something tickled.

  She blinked open her eyes to find Lennox smiling down at her. He was using a lock of her hair to brush the end of her nose.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  She glanced away, embarrassed by the question. Still, she did a quick inventory. Her breasts ached a little and she was sore in other places. She pressed her fingers against her chin.

  “It’s a little red,” he said, brushing her hand away and replacing it with a kiss. “No doubt it was my beard.”

  He had always been clean-shaven before, but then she’d never seen him at dawn, either. He looked almost swarthy this morning, and when she said as much to him, he smiled.

  “I probably look like my ancestors,” he said.

  “Do you wear a kilt?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’d like to see you in a kilt,” she said.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to her. He had marks on his skin, faint red lines that made her wonder if she had gouged him with her nails. Should she apologize for that?

  “The storm has finally stopped,” he said, standing and finishing dressing.

  “Good.”

  “We should see about arrangements to Inverness.”

  She nodded. She shouldn’t be disappointed. Lennox wasn’t suddenly going to claim undying love for her simply because he had taken her virginity. No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t taken it as much as she’d given it to him.

  Draping her legs over the side of the bed, she reached for the bedspread. He must have retrieved it from in front of the fireplace early in the morning. She wound it around herself, shielding her nakedness, but not her vulnerability.

  He came to stand in front of her.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but remained silent.

  “I don’t regret last night,” she said when he turned and headed for the door. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “If you were wondering.”

  It was his turn to nod.

  She watched as he closed the door behind him. Her emotions were all jumbled up like yarn in a basket. She was afraid that if she started to pull on one piece, it would lead to another skein.

  All she felt was sadness. That was normal enough, she supposed, given the circumstances. She’d expected to feel sad leaving Lennox, but she hadn’t thought it would be this great, gaping hole where her heart used to be.

  She had to leave.

  The thought had occurred to her last night and time had only solidified the idea.

  She didn’t want to be guilty of behaving the same way she had for most of her life. She’d always been a coward. A coward who’d lived a privileged existence. Not once had she said anything to her parents about how she wanted to be treated. Instead, she’d taken their care and protection and secretly railed against it.

  Last night she’d been a coward again. Instead of fending for herself, she’d expected Lennox to save her. She wasn’t Lennox’s responsibility. If she wanted to get to Inverness she’d do it herself. Or maybe she wouldn’t run away again like she had a few weeks ago. Maybe this time she would face her problem.

  No one could force her to marry Gregory. Her grandmother held the sword of approval over her head. Do as she said or risk being shunned. She doubted there was anything she could do to gain Ailsa’s approval at this point. The same with her parents. She wasn’t without options. She had the ability to set up her own establishment. It would mean that she’d live on the fringes of society, something she would never have considered before coming here. Yet she would be able to live her own life as she wanted.

  Scotland had changed her.

  Or maybe it was Lennox.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Mercy made it down the stairs and through the Clan Hall without being seen. She hesitated at the kitchen door when she saw Irene at the stove.

  She couldn’t very well walk to the village or to Macrory House without her shoes.

  “You’ll be needing boots to cross the glen,” Irene said without turning.

  Mercy nearly jumped a foot.

  “Your shoes are ruined.” Irene pointed to the back door where a pair of boots sat. “Take those. You can give them to Jean.”

  Mercy entered the kitchen and grabbed the boots, then sat on one of the kitchen chairs to put them on.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Irene only shrugged in response.

  She turned and left the kitchen, walking through the corridor and into the Clan Hall. Here she slowed, looking around her, knowing that she’d never see this fascinating place again.

  When she made it to the iron door, Irene startled her by coming up behind her silently as if she walked on cat feet.

  “I’ll be seeing you to the glen,” Irene said.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It isn’t for you. I’m doing it for Lennox. He’d want to know that you were safely on your way.”

  Mercy stopped herself from asking where he was, suspecting that Irene wouldn’t answer her.

  The causeway was flooded, making her grateful for the loan of Irene’s boots. The older woman wore a pair of sturdy black shoes. If she felt any discomfort from the water seeping in through the leather she didn’t mention it.

  “You’ve not said goodbye to him. Was that your plan, then? Sneaking out like a mouse who’d got her cheese?”

  She glanced at Irene. In the past few hours Mercy had ceased to be a friend, or even an amusing visitor from New York. Now she was the enemy.

  “It was easier,” she said, giving the older woman the truth. She hadn’t wanted to say goodbye to Lennox. She’d never come back here. She’d never see him again. She had wanted to spare herself a little pain.

  The older woman merely glanced at her and then away, her gaze fixed on the wet path before them.

  “That grandmother of yours is a harridan,” Irene said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she banishes you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. One way or another I’m leaving today.”

  “No doubt the Macrorys would loan you a carriage. They have three of them.”

  She exchanged a glance with Irene. “You think that’s what I should’ve done last night.”

  “No one would have gone anywhere last night with that storm.”

  Mercy remained silent.

  “They can put two and two together at the house just like I did,” Irene continued. “But I’ll not have the judgment come down on Lennox’s head. You’re the one responsible. You’re the one who showed up at the castle. He didn’t come after you.”

  Irene’s mouth was thin with anger and there was a look in her eyes that said she wouldn’t believe anything Mercy said.

  “I’ll make sure they don’t blame him.”

  “Now t
hat would be impossible. You know they’re going to regardless.”

  “They shouldn’t.”

  Irene sent her a glance that ridiculed her comment. “What do you feel for my earl?”

  Mercy didn’t say anything for a moment. It wasn’t that she was trying to find the right words to speak. She didn’t know the answer to Irene’s question. She didn’t feel the same around Lennox. She felt different, special, better. She liked herself more in his company. He made her want to be a better person, kinder, more thoughtful, and understanding.

  She felt like smiling around him and regardless of the weather, it always felt like a sunny day.

  Yet she knew that every ounce of emotion she felt for Lennox Caitheart was going to demand a pound of grief. She could almost envision herself in New York, thinking back to this time. If given the same opportunity again, she would do exactly what she’d done last night. She would love Lennox regardless of the consequences. Even if it was unwise. Even if she did pay a price.

  “Well?” Irene asked. “Were you playing him for a fool? You’re not the first Macrory woman to stay the night and that didn’t end well, either.”

  She stopped in the middle of the path and stared at the older woman. The look Irene returned was one of acute dislike, no doubt born out of her loyalty to Lennox.

  The question wasn’t unfair. Nor was the look.

  “No,” she said. “I wasn’t. Nor was he treating me badly. It simply happened.”

  She felt her face flame; the embarrassment was practice for what she was about to endure at Macrory House.

  Irene folded her arms and studied her. “Things like that happen when people feel a certain way about each other.”

  “Thank you for the loan of the boots,” Mercy said. “I’ll leave them with Jean.” She walked away from the older woman, unwilling to get into a discussion of her feelings. There was only one thing to do—continue as she’d planned and endure everything that she’d brought upon herself with courage.

  She prayed she had enough.

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?” Lennox said, staring at Irene.

  “Exactly that. She’s left. Gone back to Macrory House.”

  He’d been checking on the damage the storm had caused to the chapel and the stable. The stable was in better condition than the chapel; it looked like the storm had melted another section of the roof. He would need to remove the rest of the pews and bring them into the Clan Hall to protect them.

  “Why?”

  Irene shrugged. “To get a carriage to take her to Inverness. To mend fences. To marry that fool man from America. What do I know?”

  “Did she say anything?” he asked, knowing that he sounded like an idiot for asking. Did she impart some information that might mitigate this odd and unwelcome feeling of abandonment?

  “Did she leave word for you? That she didn’t. She was all for getting to Macrory House as quickly as her feet could carry her.”

  He knew. In that instant he knew what she’d done.

  Without another word he left the kitchen, walked quickly down the corridor, and took the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Irene. He wanted to see for himself.

  He pushed open the door so hard that it bounced against the wall and stood staring at the tangled covers of the bed.

  Marry me. If you won’t marry me will you take me to your bed?

  He should have seen it then, but he’d been shocked by her words, then overcome with desire, passion, lust—any word was acceptable. He should have known, but he hadn’t, only seeing what he’d wanted to see.

  He’d been manipulated. She hadn’t wanted to marry Gregory so what was the easiest way to escape that marriage? Bed another man. Ruin herself. Lose her virginity. Gregory wouldn’t want her then. In addition, she’d amused herself by bedding a Scot.

  Why the hell hadn’t he seen it?

  Perhaps he should give orders that this room be locked, the door barred. An ax should be taken to the bed, regardless of its history. If nothing else, he should drag the mattress down to the courtyard, torch it, and watch it burn until it was nothing more than ash.

  She’d used him. For a few hours he’d forgotten everything but her. He’d held her in his arms as she slept and marveled at her beauty. He’d loved her again in the dawn light, knowing he’d never forget those moments. In the morning he wanted to tell her things he’d never told anyone, show her the new plans he’d drawn for a few inventions, and share his thoughts.

  He’d spent too many damn hours thinking about the woman and wondering about her. He should have seen who she truly was rather than who she’d portrayed herself to be.

  What a fool he’d been.

  She’d left him. Easily, simply, without a backward glance or an apology of any sort. She’d used him, then she left him.

  Something in the corner caught his attention. He strode to the opposite side of the room and stood staring down at Mercy’s valise. The valise filled with money. Had she thought to pay him for last night’s services? He’d never felt anything like the rage that suddenly consumed him.

  Bending, he grabbed the valise and made for the stairs, emotion blinding him to any thought but reaching Mercy.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Things like that happen when people feel a certain way about each other.

  Mercy thought about Irene’s words all the way back to Macrory House. A certain way. What did she feel for Lennox? Was it love? If so, it didn’t match any of the poetry or the novels she had read. There was nothing calming or sweet about this emotion. It swept all her thoughts away, made her act in ways she’d never envisioned, rendered her temporarily senseless. If this was love, then it needed another name, something violent and awe-inspiring.

  She hesitated at the kitchen door. She didn’t fool herself that she was going to be welcome inside Macrory House. She wouldn’t be staying. Instead, she and Ruthie would leave today. If her relatives wouldn’t agree to loan her a carriage, she’d ask directions to the village and walk there. Somehow, she’d find a way to Inverness.

  Finally, she opened the door and walked through the kitchen, trying to ignore the looks from all the maids. Whispers followed her. They weren’t unkind, merely speculative.

  She glanced at the clock over the door. Nearly ten. She’d wanted to get an earlier start, but it really didn’t matter what time she returned to Macrory House. Her absence would no doubt have been noted regardless of the time.

  She’d barely made it to the corridor when she heard Ailsa’s voice.

  “You must put a guard on the doors at night,” she was saying. “Behavior of this sort will not be tolerated.”

  No doubt her grandmother was talking to McNaughton, who must have alerted Ailsa to the fact that Mercy hadn’t been in the house last night. Why else would she be out of her room at this hour?

  Mercy stopped and steadied herself, her hands at her waist. Her dress was nearly ruined from the rain and from being dried over the screen. Her petticoats were still limp and she hadn’t laced her corset very tight. Her hair was a disaster since she hadn’t had a brush or comb with her.

  She was as reputable looking as she possibly could be, but she would certainly fail any inspection. Rather than delay, however, she squared her shoulders, reminded herself about courage, and followed Ailsa’s voice.

  Her grandmother was standing on one of the lower steps of the impressive staircase, attired in a scarlet quilted dressing gown. Her white hair was arranged in the usual coronet atop her head. She stood as straight as one of the balusters, her right hand on the banister. When she caught sight of Mercy, she nodded crisply at McNaughton who bowed slightly and turned.

  Both of them frowned at Mercy.

  “Where have you been?” her grandmother asked.

  She didn’t answer that question. Instead, she asked one of her own.

  “May I borrow one of the Macrory carriages? I need to travel to Inverness.”

  At her grandmother’s silence she continu
ed. “I won’t annoy you with my presence any further, Seanmhair. Ruthie and I will return to New York.”

  “Not until you’re married.”

  Mercy took a deep breath, tilted her chin up, and kept her gaze fixed on her grandmother.

  “I have no intention of marrying Gregory. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in an eternity. You can yell at me. You can threaten me, but I will not say the words that bind me to that man. Nor will I allow you to dictate my life.”

  “Your parents have raised an incorrigible child.”

  She couldn’t say that she was incorrigible. Perhaps determined was a better word. But she was most definitely not a child.

  “It may surprise you to hear that I do not care about your opinion of me,” Mercy said. “From the very moment I arrived here you’ve made it abundantly clear that you loathe and detest me. I can only admit that, regrettably, the feeling is mutual.”

  Ailsa’s mouth was open in a perfect O. Had no one ever stood up to this woman before?

  “You were with him, weren’t you?”

  She wasn’t going to answer that question, either.

  “You’ve been sniffing around Caitheart like a bitch in heat ever since you arrived in Scotland. We’ll see what your fiancé has to say about that.”

  “Gregory is no longer my fiancé. Why are you so determined to marry me off to him? He’s a Yankee, Seanmhair. You know, like my father? You’ve made your opinion of him well known, too.”

  “Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?”

  “Someone without any respect for you, unfortunately. At the very least, I should value you because of your age. I find that I can’t even do that. You’ve criticized my mother, my father, and me. You’re determined to make me bend to your dictates. You’ll pardon me if I don’t participate.”

  “You’re a whore and we don’t associate with whores in this house. You’ll stay in your room until your father arrives.”

  Mercy stared at her grandmother.