To Wed an Heiress

by Karen Ranney

  “Don’t be a fool, Gregory,” her father said. “And you, you need to leave.”

  Lennox nodded. “I shall, sir, in a moment.”

  Hostility permeated the air. Everyone hated everyone. Her grandmother hated Gregory and her father and her. Her father, Uncle Douglas, and Gregory hated Lennox. Elizabeth resented Gregory, and Flora no doubt sided with her grandfather.

  Ruthie, Connor, and Irene seemed exempt from the swirling emotions.

  Mercy didn’t care about old grudges or sizzling resentments. All she cared about was the way Lennox was looking at her.

  He loved her.

  Returning to stand in front of her once more he asked again, “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” she said. Now the tears came, the same ones she’d held back for so long.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

  She shook her head, shrugged, then laughed through her tears.

  “I don’t know, Lennox. I don’t know.”

  “I refuse to allow the marriage,” her father said.

  She glanced at him. “Oh, Father, you can’t. Don’t you see? I would live in sin with Lennox if he asked me.”

  She thought her grandmother gasped, but she wasn’t sure. What did scandal matter when she was suddenly blissfully happy?

  Irene, Ruthie, and Connor came to stand behind Mercy. She was so glad to see all of them.

  “We have a way of marrying in Scotland, Mercy. It will garner me a fine, but it’s as official as if a bishop was marrying us.”

  “Do something, Macrory,” her father said, addressing Douglas.

  “What the hell do you want me to do, man?”

  She heard her grandmother in the background, as well as Elizabeth. Everyone was speaking, but Mercy ignored all of them.

  Lennox glanced at Connor who moved to stand beside him. At the same time Irene came to Mercy’s side.

  “Mercy, it is my intention that we shall live as man and wife. That you will be known as the Countess of Morton. That we shall live at Duddingston for the whole of our lives and that our children will be my heirs.”

  She couldn’t stop the tears.

  “Will you, Hortense Abigail Paula Sarah Gramercy Rutherford be my wife and my countess?”

  “Yes,” she said, almost before he finished the question. “Yes, Lennox. Yes.”

  He glanced at Connor. “Are you witness to the same?”

  Connor nodded. “I am.”

  “And I am as well,” Irene said.

  Lennox bent forward and kissed her softly. “That’s it,” he said. “We’re married.”

  “Is that all?” she asked when he pulled back.

  “That’s all.”

  “That can’t be right,” her father said. He glanced over at Douglas. “He isn’t right, is he? You can’t have such stupid laws in this country.”

  Douglas drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height and frowned at her father. Her great-uncle might be up in years, but right now he looked capable of engaging in a fight of his own. She sincerely hoped her father realized how insulting his comment had been. James Rutherford’s character was not steeped in tact.

  “It’s right, he is,” Douglas said, not looking all that pleased at the admission. Her grandmother looked as if she’d just eaten something sour.

  “It can’t be. They can’t be married.”

  “I’m afraid it can,” Irene said, sending him a smile. “It’s our way.”

  “My father isn’t happy,” Mercy said, looking up at Lennox.

  “I’d wager none of the Macrorys are, either.”

  She didn’t care.

  “We’ll have a more proper ceremony later if you want.”

  “Do we need one?” she asked. “Will this one count?”

  He grinned at her. “It’ll count.”

  Uncaring about their audience, she stood on tiptoe, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

  “How did you know all my names?” she asked a moment later.

  He glanced toward Ruthie, smiling. “I got help.”

  Mercy turned to her friend and the two of them hugged.

  “Oh, Miss Mercy, I’m so happy for you.” Ruthie stole at glance at Mercy’s father. “I’m sorry about Mr. Rutherford, though.”

  So was Mercy. She loved her father. She always had. He wasn’t a bad man. Everything he’d done was for the right reason: to protect and guard her. Perhaps if she’d been a different type of person she would have enjoyed her life thoroughly, never seeing it as limited.

  She wanted to go to him, but his expression indicated that he wouldn’t be receptive to any of her overtures.

  Her aunt surprised her by leaving her grandmother’s side and going to stand in front of her father.

  “May I travel with you back to America, James?”

  “You won’t leave Scotland, Elizabeth,” her grandmother said, her voice strong and filled with fury.

  Elizabeth ignored Ailsa.

  Her father nodded. “I would be pleased, Elizabeth.”

  Mercy smiled at her aunt, delighted. Yes, Ailsa was going to be enraged, but Ailsa was often unhappy about the actions of other people. Perhaps she could restrict herself to controlling her own life and leaving other people alone.

  Lennox took her hand and the five of them left before the simmering tensions gave way to outright warfare.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Mercy, Lennox, Irene, and Ruthie sat inside the carriage while Connor drove. Mercy held tight to Lennox’s hand, half believing that she was imagining things and that the previous hour hadn’t really happened. Any moment now she would come back to herself. Or wake up. But whenever she glanced to her left, there he was, smiling at her.

  If they had been alone she would have snuggled up next to him. Or perhaps they could have talked about the one subject they hadn’t mentioned: her wealth. But with the others in the carriage, it didn’t feel appropriate.

  She explained Elizabeth’s news to the other women.

  “I saw the letter, didn’t I, Miss Mercy?”

  She nodded. “Indeed you did, Ruthie.”

  “You will have to call her something else from now on, Ruthie,” Lennox said. “She’s no longer a miss.”

  Ruthie began to smile. “It’s right, you are. Shall I call you Countess?”

  Mercy shook her head. “Mercy will do just fine, Ruthie.”

  “Or Her Ladyship whenever you’re annoyed with her,” Lennox said. At Irene’s look, he smiled. “It’s what you do to me.”

  Although she had left her father without a farewell and there were, no doubt, hurt feelings there, Mercy was overjoyed. She didn’t have a stitch of clothing to her name. Or any of her toiletries. She didn’t care. She’d done without before and it hadn’t mattered. Garments could always be purchased and she didn’t need most of what she’d brought to Scotland anyway.

  She had never realized that she could easily walk away from everything, but she had. Everything that really hadn’t mattered, that is. Lennox was who mattered. Living at Duddingston Castle was what mattered.

  The future stretched out before her, unwritten and unplanned. It was both frightening and exhilarating.

  Soon enough, they were back at the castle. Instead of going around to the front, Connor drove into the stable. Lennox helped them all out of the carriage. Irene was the first to disappear, citing a need to get home to her little cottage. Before she left, however, she came to both of them, put one hand on Lennox’s arm and the other on Mercy’s.

  “I thought the two of you would suit from the first moment I saw you together. May God grant you joy, wisdom, and long life.” With that, she kissed both of them on the cheek, then turned to leave, but stopped before she made it to the stable doorway.

  “I didn’t tell him about the money, Mercy. It’s still where you left it.” And then she was gone, vanishing into the Highland summer night, now only gradually succumbing to darkness.

  Lennox turned to look at her. “The money?”<
br />
  She shook her head. She would tell him later.

  As Connor was removing the harness from the horses, aided by Ruthie, Lennox thanked them both, then grabbed Mercy’s hand, and pulled her from the stable.

  If they had been married in a formal ceremony, followed by a dinner, it would have been hours until they were alone. She wanted, very much, to be alone with Lennox. Her husband. Lennox was her husband.

  “I just realized I’ve added one more name,” she said and recited all of them. She stopped on the path and kissed him. “Caitheart, the best name of them all.”

  “Wife,” he said.

  “Husband,” she countered, then kissed him again.

  A moment later she asked, “Are we terribly rude? Should we have offered them all tea? Or whiskey?”

  “Let them get their own,” he said. “I want to be alone with my wife.”

  She felt exactly the same way.

  She hadn’t given it any thought, but when he led her through the Clan Hall, down one corridor door and then to another, she realized that he was headed for the tower.

  “We’re going to your bedroom,” she said.

  “It’s not just mine, Mercy. It’s ours from now on.”

  So many different emotions cascaded through her at once. Gratitude, that this wasn’t a dream or her imagination. Joy, that they were married. Excitement, that she would soon be in his arms.

  They slowly climbed the curving tower steps. Once in the tower room, Mercy moved away from the staircase and looked around. The bed, double the size of hers in New York, sat against one curved wall. A screen concealed the bathing and dressing area while an armoire and bureau made up the rest of the furnishings. Two windows faced the loch, revealing a view of the water and beyond, to Ben Uaine.

  She stood there marveling at the sight. Just think, she’d wake to this view every morning. The thought brought a smile to her face.

  “Will you mind being disinherited?” Lennox asked, coming up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned back against him. This moment couldn’t be any more perfect—except for one thing.

  “I have a confession,” she said, turning in his arms. “I don’t think you’re going to be happy about it.”

  One of his eyebrows arched upward. “A confession? Are you already married?”

  She shook her head.

  “That’s the only thing that matters, isn’t it?”

  “I hope you feel that way after I tell you,” she said.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It doesn’t matter if my father disowns me.”

  “I concur,” he said, bending to kiss her.

  A minute later she shook her head. “No, I mean it really doesn’t matter. My grandfather already left me a fortune.”

  He pulled back and stared at her.

  “I could give it all up, but wouldn’t that be foolish, especially since the chapel needs a roof? Wouldn’t it be better to use it to repair the castle?”

  “Just how large is this fortune?”

  When she told him, he actually flinched.

  “I didn’t marry you for your money, Mercy.”

  “Oh, everyone knows that, Lennox. If anything, you married me despite my fortune. But it seems a shame not to use it, don’t you agree?”

  Before he could answer, she continued. “And Lennox, another thing.”

  “What now?”

  “You should always wear a kilt,” she said. “You have spectacular legs.”

  If she didn’t know better, she would think that Lennox was embarrassed. He glanced away and then back again, his face deepening in color.

  “I’ve been outmaneuvered,” he said. “Outfoxed. I had all these grand plans about how I was going to support you.”

  “You could consider it my dowry. After all, you’re an earl and I’m just a commoner.”

  “I’ve never met anyone less common than you,” he said. “Very well, Your Ladyship, I will accept your fortune and do with it as you wish.”

  “Perhaps we could build a dock next to the tower,” she suggested. “And add on to the kitchen.”

  She wasn’t able to tell him any further ideas because he was kissing her. Every thought flew out of her head, replaced by pleasure.

  She had been thirsty before. Or hungry for food. She had never craved touch like she did now. For a week she’d wanted Lennox to touch her, to stroke his hands over her skin, and explore her intimately.

  It was a race to see who could get their clothes off first.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  “You cheated,” she said when Lennox simply pulled a few folds loose and the kilt fell to the floor.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Never ask a Scot what he wears beneath the kilt,” he said with a grin.

  His jacket was next, followed by his shirt and there he was, standing naked but for his shoes and socks.

  The Highland night had not yet fallen which meant that there was ample light to see him.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said.

  “You’ve got to stop saying things like that, Mercy,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I think not. You are beautiful, in a masculine sort of way, of course.”

  “You’re the one who’s beautiful.” He came and stood in front of her, his fingers working her buttons so much faster than she could.

  She stood motionless as he stripped her, dropping her garments on the chair beside the bed.

  “I’ll have to borrow your shirt,” she said. “I’ve none of my baggage.”

  He stopped what he was doing. “An heiress with no clothing. You’re a continual paradox, Your Ladyship.”

  “That sounds so odd,” she said. “I think I like wife better.”

  “What about my love?”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. “That’s even better.”

  He bent to remove her stockings and a minute later she was completely naked. He took her hand, but instead of leading her to the bed, he twirled her in front of him.

  “You’re beautiful everywhere, my love.”

  “As are you.”

  She had no idea if other couples divested themselves of their modesty along with their clothing. It seemed so natural for her to allow Lennox to look his fill. They were husband and wife. He had already labeled her his love and that’s exactly what he was to her. Why should there be any reticence between people who loved each other?

  He still held her hand as he walked to the four-poster. Instead of using the small set of steps, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up to the mattress.

  As she sat in front of him, she reached down and touched him, her curiosity growing as he did.

  “I’ve seen naked men before,” she said, “but only in statue form.” Her lips quirked. “Most of the time they had fig leaves in strategic places. Except once. One day my parents took me to a museum. We walked into a large room with a soaring arched ceiling. The space was filled with three rows of Grecian and Roman statues. The third statue I saw was a man who’d been depicted standing, legs apart, holding a discus. My mother took one look at the statue and whisked me out of the room.”

  “I take it there was no fig leaf in evidence?”

  “Exactly,” she said, smiling at him. “I was, however, able to get a good look, which was very educational. Although I have to say, Lennox, that it wasn’t sufficient preparation for you.”

  She wrapped both hands around Lennox.

  “Mercy.” His voice sounded different, almost strained.

  “Am I doing something wrong?” she asked, her gaze fixed on her hands.

  “I’ve wanted you to touch me for a week, but perhaps it would be better if you didn’t do that right now.”

  She looked up at him. “A week, Lennox?”

  He nodded.

  “We could’ve eased each other,” she said. “I wanted you to come to my room, but you were too honorable.”

  “But there’s no restriction now, my love. You and I can stay in this b
ed for a week if we wish.”

  “Wouldn’t that be lovely?” She reluctantly released him, scooted back on the bed, and lay down.

  He was instantly there, covering her. She reached up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and smiled in welcome.

  “I was so miserable,” she said. “I was trying to figure out how I could possibly live without you.”

  “Now you don’t have to.”

  “I know. It’s my miracle. Elizabeth has hers and I have mine. You’re my miracle.”

  “I love you, Mercy Caitheart. I don’t think I expected to love anyone, but there you were, glaring up at me, giving me all sorts of orders.”

  “I thought you were exceedingly handsome,” she said. “Too handsome. All the exceedingly handsome men I had met in the past were so filled with their own consequence. Not you, though. You were interested in things other than yourself. I was fascinated by you from the beginning.”

  “Then I thank your parents for protecting you too much,” he said. “Because if you hadn’t wanted your freedom you would never have come to Scotland.”

  “And if you hadn’t been flying your airship, you would never have crashed into us.”

  “Fate,” he said.

  “Destiny,” she countered.

  He kissed her then and all thoughts of how they met vanished from her mind. All she knew was that it was Lennox, her love, and life was suddenly special and exciting.

  He palmed her breasts and found her nipples. With each touch, her body thrummed, the sensations building. The core of her was an inferno, a fire that he effortlessly stroked. She wanted him with her, in her, but every time she urged him, he kissed her lightly and whispered, “Soon.”

  “Don’t tease,” she said.

  He only kissed her again and she could feel his lips curving in a smile.

  What she was feeling wasn’t quite pain, but it was more than pleasure. Need soared through her, making every inch of skin ache. Her nipples grew harder, seeming to summon his lips.

  She stroked her hands from his shoulders, down his arms, loving the feel of him, savoring each flexed muscle as he hovered over her. Even his back was beautiful, and she discovered that his buttocks were soft pillows for her hands.

  “Now who’s teasing?” he asked.