To Wed an Heiress

by Karen Ranney

  She’d fallen in love, but love hadn’t been enough. How was that anything but a tragedy?

  Standing, she walked to the window, staring out at the sight of Ben Uaine in the distance. The mountain was a sentinel on the landscape. It had been there for eons and would be there long after she left.

  The beauty of Scotland had crept up on her, taking her unawares. Ben Uaine itself, the piney woods, the trails through the glen, the magnificent storms, and the wind that blew the scent of the loch to her—all these things would feature in her memories.

  As would Duddingston Castle, a monument to Scotland’s past and the fierceness of the people who’d built the fortress. And it’s owner, Lennox Caitheart, Earl of Morton.

  She welcomed the pain because at least it proved she could still feel something. Lennox was only a few miles away. How was she supposed to endure it with an ocean between them?

  She’d once thought that she should tell Ruthie that there was no sense involving herself in a romance with no future. How foolish that was. She could no more have stopped Ruthie from falling in love than she could alter her own emotions.

  Love shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t be almost physically painful. It shouldn’t alter your thoughts, your mood, and your outlook. She couldn’t imagine a future where she smiled or laughed or anticipated the start of another day.

  The knock on the door was an intrusion, but she had no choice but to answer it.

  Aunt Elizabeth stood there. “May I come in?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Mercy said, stepping aside.

  Her relationship with both her grandmother and her aunt had undergone a change since she’d arrived in Scotland. Ailsa obviously didn’t approve of her. As far as Elizabeth, she wasn’t sure what her aunt thought.

  She wasn’t in the mood to hear criticism right now. Yes, she’d acted shockingly. Yes, she’d been the object of scandal. Yes, she’d shamed the family. The truth, however, was even more appalling: she’d do everything again if given the opportunity. She’d stay with Lennox. She’d take him as her lover. She’d be with him at every possible opportunity.

  If pressed, she’d tell Elizabeth that.

  She motioned to the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, folding her arms in front of her.

  “How are you?” Elizabeth asked.

  She hadn’t expected the question or the genuine concern in Elizabeth’s expression.

  “I should probably say that I’m fine, but I’m not. I’m miserable.”

  “Of course you are.”

  That, too, was a surprise.

  “Must you leave?” Elizabeth asked. “Is there no way you could stay? You love him. That’s obvious to anyone who spares a moment to look.”

  “Yes,” Mercy said. “I love him.”

  He doesn’t love me, however. Or he’s never said. She didn’t want to talk about love right now. She didn’t think she could bear it.

  “Then don’t leave,” Elizabeth said. “Defy your father. Defy the world. Stay with him.”

  He doesn’t want me. The words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t tell that brutal truth to Elizabeth.

  “Love is not so easily found, Mercy, that you can afford to give it up.”

  How could Elizabeth think this was easy? This was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

  Elizabeth moved to stand in front of her.

  “I don’t want you to feel as I have this past year. My life is a burden, not a joy. Living is something I do because I don’t die.”

  She didn’t have a chance to answer. Three raps on the door made Mercy sigh. She knew it was her father because that’s how he always knocked at home.

  All she wanted was to be alone to grieve. She wanted to banish everyone, go to bed, and pull the covers over her. She might allow herself the first of her tears. How many years would it take to dispel her grief?

  “Yes, Father?” she said, opening the door.

  “Is Elizabeth with you?”

  She nodded.

  Elizabeth came to the door.

  “Your sister asked me to give this to you,” he said, holding out an envelope. “I apologize that it slipped my mind until just now.”

  Elizabeth took the envelope and thanked him.

  He nodded to Mercy, then left, heading for the stairs.

  She didn’t close the door. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” she said. “I know you want to go read your letter.”

  Perhaps her father was right and she was becoming rude, but she desperately wanted to be alone.

  Elizabeth tucked the letter into the pocket of her skirt. At the door she turned to Mercy. “You will think about what I said, won’t you?”

  Mercy nodded. Not that any good would come of it. You couldn’t beg someone to love you.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  No more than five minutes later, Mercy heard a woman scream.

  At first she wasn’t sure who it was, but when she emerged from her room it was to see Elizabeth standing in the corridor, holding the open letter in her hand.

  She was crying, and at first Mercy thought she’d received some terrible news, but her face was radiant with joy.

  “Mercy,” she said, her voice tremulous. “It’s a miracle! It’s a miracle!”

  Mercy went to her aunt’s side. “What is it, Elizabeth?”

  “Thomas. Thomas is alive. He’s alive!” She waved the letter in front of her. “He was in a prison camp all this time. He’s alive!”

  Mercy hugged her aunt, tears coming to her own eyes. It was a miracle. For a year Elizabeth had believed that Thomas had been killed in the war and now he’d been returned to her.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I’m going home,” she said. “I’m going to Thomas.”

  Everyone around her was being blessed and while she didn’t begrudge them their happiness, Mercy wished a little of it would spread to her.

  “I’ll have to ask James if I can travel with you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth. You’re going nowhere.”

  They both turned to see Ailsa standing at the head of the stairs.

  “But it’s Thomas, Mother. He’s alive.”

  The news should have been greeted with joy. Instead, Ailsa merely continued to look at her daughter without emotion, her eyes flat.

  “You’re not going anywhere, Elizabeth. Don’t be a fool.”

  Elizabeth didn’t say anything, merely folded the letter carefully and tucked it once again into her pocket.

  Mercy glanced at her grandmother again. Why didn’t she remember Ailsa as being so heartless? Had losing her farm and her house to the war changed her so drastically? Or had she always been this way and clung to those setbacks as a reason to be even more bitter? Even so, she had no right to deny Elizabeth happiness.

  A few minutes earlier her aunt had given her advice. Now she turned to the older woman and said, “You must go to him, Elizabeth. You both have suffered so much. You deserve to be happy now.”

  “Don’t interfere, Hortense.”

  “I have always hated that name,” Mercy told her grandmother. “My name is Mercy. If you don’t address me by that, I will not answer you.”

  “What an impudent little trollop you are.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Mercy said, turning back to Elizabeth. “I’ll repeat the same words you said to me. Love is not so easily found that you can afford to give it up. Go to him.”

  Elizabeth didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look at Mercy. It was as if all the life had suddenly left her.

  Ailsa had won.

  A hundred years earlier Lennox would have arrived at Macrory House armed with a cudgel, spear, and a hundred clansmen behind him. Or maybe he would have simply ridden in through the enemy’s gates and made off with the daughter of the house riding pillion. For good measure he would have stolen a number of cattle as well.

  Now he was accompanied by only three people, but he was in a reiver�
��s mood. He was all for pillaging the house and laying waste to the whole of the ostentatious structure the Macrorys had built.

  Perhaps there was something showing in his face, because McNaughton’s expression changed when he opened one of the double doors. For a second there was real fear there before the man’s expression shifted to his usual sneer.

  He’d disliked McNaughton from the day the man had arrived in Edinburgh to bring him news of Robert’s death. Douglas hadn’t come himself, but Lennox had excused the man due to his age. However, he could have sent someone other than McNaughton, a dour man who’d made himself disliked in the village and beyond.

  Lennox didn’t bother asking for permission to enter. He gained admittance simply by pushing the other man out of the way and making his way into the house.

  Connor, behind him, didn’t utter a conciliatory word. A good thing, because Lennox wasn’t concerned about making friends here. He was a Caitheart and this was a Macrory establishment.

  In the annals of Scottish history, the Macrorys were newcomers.

  He strode through the house, the others silently following. McNaughton trailed behind, continually talking.

  “This is a breach, Your Lordship. You cannot enter without the Macrorys’ permission. You do not have the right.”

  “You should save your breath,” Lennox finally said, turning and addressing the older man. “Words aren’t going to stop me.”

  McNaughton’s face was as red as the tassels on the nearby curtains.

  “Send for Douglas if you wish. I don’t care.”

  The last time he was here, only a week or so ago, he hadn’t paid any attention to his surroundings. Now he made note of the soaring majesty of the staircase, the shiny marble floor, and the tapestry hanging above the landing. The castle there looked too much like Duddingston. No doubt it had been commissioned to make the upstart Macrorys feel a little better about their lack of history.

  Stopping in the middle of the foyer, he looked up at the second floor. He didn’t know which room was Mercy’s. He doubted McNaughton would tell him. Jean probably would, but he didn’t want to get her in trouble.

  He looked over his shoulder at Irene on the off chance that she knew, but she only shook her head.

  Two maids poked their heads into the foyer, took one look at him, and disappeared. No doubt they went to announce his appearance to all and sundry.

  When he’d been here last, he’d provided the staff with enough gossip for years. This visit was going to be even more entertaining. He wouldn’t be surprised if news of his actions reached Edinburgh.

  If necessary, he’d start knocking on every door in the house. It wasn’t time to retire, so he wouldn’t be guilty of rousting the Macrorys from their beds.

  There was a faster way, however.

  He shouted for her. “Mercy!”

  Douglas walked out of a corridor to his left. “What are you doing here, Caitheart?”

  Lennox didn’t answer him. Nor did he say anything to the gorgon grandmother who suddenly appeared at the head of the stairs. Her expression revealed not one hint of human warmth, like she was the Cailleach Bheur, the old hag of winter. Was she going to order him out of the house again?

  “Caitheart, what are you about?”

  Most of their communication since Robert’s death had been in tersely worded letters. Rather, Macrory had informed him of all the contracts he’d canceled in writing. Lennox hadn’t bothered responding.

  He turned and addressed Douglas. “I’m here to claim my life, Macrory.”

  He didn’t care if the man didn’t understand. It wasn’t something he needed to explain.

  Suddenly there she was, standing with another woman, one he didn’t recognize.

  Mercy was dressed as she’d been the last time he’d seen her, but somehow she looked different. As if more time had passed than a few hours. He’d never seen her so subdued, as if her emotions had been drained out of her and only the shell of the woman existed.

  His heart leaped. His pulse raced. He wanted to jump over the space between them and enfold her in his arms and keep her safe. If nothing else, apologize for the hours that had passed since she left Duddingston.

  Somehow, he should have known from the beginning how important she was to him. He should have kept her at Duddingston, a prisoner of love, refusing to let the world interfere.

  What an idiot he’d been, thinking that pride mattered more than Mercy.

  For a long stretch of time, minutes that might have been hours, they looked at each other. He didn’t know what she saw, but he was facing his future. Life made whole by Mercy.

  “Get back in your room, Hortense.”

  He glanced toward the gorgon who was evidently determined to interfere.

  Mercy came to the railing and gripped it with both her hands. “Why are you here, Lennox?”

  It had been only a few hours since he’d heard her voice, but it affected him in a surprising way. The sorrow in it tugged at his heart and at the same time angered him. He never wanted her to be sad. If it was within his power, he would prevent her from ever feeling anything but happiness.

  He wanted to hear her laughter, see her smile at the beginning of the day and its end.

  She looked past him to the bottom of the stairs where Irene, Ruthie, and Connor stood beside Douglas.

  “Why are you here, Lennox?” she asked again.

  “It does not matter, Hortense,” the grandmother said. “McNaughton, see this . . . person out.”

  “Try it, McNaughton,” Lennox said, not bothering to turn and look at the man. His gaze was on Mercy who was still looking at him quizzically.

  Slowly, he walked up the stairs. When he came to the head, the grandmother blocked his way.

  What a fool woman.

  He grinned, grabbed her around the waist, and simply moved her.

  She retaliated by slapping him.

  He ignored her and stretched out his hand to Mercy.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  “What is going on?”

  Her father came to the foot of the stairs, followed by Flora and Gregory. They were certainly attracting attention. All they were missing was the rest of the staff.

  “Mercy, get back inside your room,” her father said.

  For the first time in her life, she disobeyed him. Instead, she walked toward Lennox. She didn’t know why he was here, but she was going to take advantage of any extra time she had with him. He took her hand and she looked up at him.

  “You’re wearing a kilt,” she said. What a magnificent sight he was.

  “That I am.”

  He gripped her hand as if he never wanted to let go. If only that was true. If only that was real.

  “Caitheart, explain yourself,” Douglas said.

  She looked down at Uncle Douglas, then back at Lennox. He was smiling at her, and there was an expression in his eyes she’d seen in the forest just before he kissed her.

  “Lennox?”

  She held tight to his hand as he turned and headed for the stairs. Her grandmother scowled at Lennox, but didn’t try to stand in his way. They descended the steps followed by Ailsa. At the base of the stairs Lennox walked around her father and the others, ignoring them. He led her to the center of the foyer, just below the rotunda.

  “I hadn’t planned where to do this, Mercy, only that it had to happen.”

  “What must happen?”

  He stood in front of her, taking her other hand and holding both in his.

  “Just what are you about?” her father said. “You march in here like you own the place. You act like a barbarian and now you refuse to answer any questions.”

  Her father grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away from Lennox.

  “Mr. Rutherford,” Lennox said. “I mean you no disrespect, but this is between Mercy and me.”

  “My daughter wants nothing more to do with you.”

  “Is that right, Mercy?” Lennox asked.

  She shook her head. “No, it
isn’t,” she said.

  “Then I’ll ask you not to interfere, sir,” Lennox said to her father before turning back to her and taking her hands once more.

  No one ever spoke to James Rutherford in such a fashion. Mercy couldn’t tell if it was rage or surprise that was keeping her father silent.

  “I love you, Mercy. I have probably loved you from the moment you accused me of riding a dragon.”

  Time slowed until it didn’t move at all. She stared up at Lennox, feeling as if her heart had stopped as well.

  “No one has ever occupied my thoughts as much as you. I can’t think. I can’t concentrate. I can’t devote myself to my calculations. Your face is always there.”

  “Oh?” She couldn’t think of a thing to say, but what did words matter right at this moment?

  “You’re in my dreams. I stand at the top of the tower and stare toward Macrory House like a lovesick boy. I replay every conversation we’ve had. I touch things you’ve touched, wondering if I can feel you on them.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I can’t let you go back to America.”

  “You can’t?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t belong there anymore. You belong at Duddingston with me.”

  Words left her. All she could do was look at him. Lennox, blessed Lennox, her Scot, her earl, her love.

  “I love you,” she said, uncaring that everyone heard. She wanted to shout it from the top of Ben Uaine. “I thought my heart would break leaving you.”

  “Will you marry me, Mercy? Marry me. Live with me at Duddingston. Share my life.”

  “I’ll disown her,” her father said.

  Lennox glanced at him. “Thank you. That would be a grand favor.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t want your money. I love Mercy for Mercy, not your damn money.”

  “Would you like me to throw him out, sir?” Gregory asked her father.

  Lennox shook his head and smiled down at Mercy. “If you’ll wait a minute, Mercy, someone wants a skelping.”

  He dropped her hands and started to walk toward Gregory, who took a few cautionary steps back.