Traitor Or Temptress

by Helen Dickson

  She was lovely. By God, she was lovely, and he wanted her with a fierceness that almost shattered him. Even when they were not together there was something invisible and powerful flowing between them, drawing them together. Her gaze seemed to sap his will, throwing him off balance, but only for a moment before his iron control took over. He quickly recollected himself and gave her a hard look. She might look soft and fragile, but when he remembered how she had ridden away from Norwood and joined up with Galbraith and her brothers, becoming party to the scheming and plotting to free Edgar McBryde from his captivity and cheat the hangman, he knew her to be as strong as steel.

  ‘It will be perfectly obvious to everyone that our marriage is no love match,’ he stated with cynical indifference. ‘I might even say it makes for a forced marriage, and neither of us will be spared the humiliation.’

  ‘The humiliation will weigh more heavily on me, I think,’ Lorne whispered, averting her eyes so he would not see the pain and the sudden glimmer of tears that clouded them. ‘It would seem that the entire populace both here and in Scotland is aware of what transpired between us at Norwood. They will feed on it with malicious glee, and will not be content until I am shamed and brought to my knees by it. You are right, Iain,’ she said flatly. ‘Everyone will correctly conclude that ours is no love match.’

  Each unhappy word she uttered pricked Iain’s conscience, making him feel like the heartless churl he was often accused of being, but he deliberately hardened his attitude. He was not ready to be touched yet. ‘Where you are concerned, my feelings understandably cannot be defined,’ he said with cynical indifference. ‘In fact, the feelings you inspire in me, far from resembling those of a more tender nature, rather approach a feeling of anger and rage.’

  Lorne swallowed down the hurt, shrugging her shoulders in a way she hoped was casual. ‘Why should I care how you feel? I have already been subjected to gross indignities at your hands—made unhappy, even—but I have no intention of being so again, even if it is your aim to bind me to you, and in so doing inflict on me a lifetime of misery and scorn.’

  Turning from him with as much dignity as she could muster, she moved towards the door. ‘I don’t think we have anything further to say to each other—but my grandmother would like to speak to you. I advise you not to give offence. She has a formidable temper, you see.’ She paused and looked back at him. ‘Having behaved in a manner ill suited to recommend you, you have given her every reason to dislike you. She considers your conduct towards me utterly deplorable and less than infamous, so it’s up to you to vindicate yourself and placate her—although not even you will be able to persuade her you are entirely blameless. I hear you have acquired a certain reputation among the ladies of the Court, and that you have been credited with several resounding love affairs. Apparently you are capable of charming and melting the most reluctant and coldest heart, my lord. Now is your opportunity to test you skills to the full. I wish you luck.’

  The conversation between Lady Barton and the Earl of Norwood was conducted in a polite and civilised manner. Meeting a pair of cool grey eyes, Lady Barton came straight to the point and left Iain Monroe in no doubt of her displeasure over his treatment of Lorne. He was impeccably calm and she was vaguely intimidated by his aura of command. She listened to what he had to say, measuring his response to her questions and judging it for the truth. It was clear that Lorne had not told him about the child, which annoyed her, but she would not betray her confidence.

  When she got up to leave she knew there would be many obstacles to be overcome between Lorne and the Earl of Norwood, but she was confident that none of them were insurmountable. She smiled quietly to herself, feeling easier about Lorne’s future than she had in a long time, and she was satisfied that she would be well taken care of.

  She had not been long in Iain Monroe’s company, but it had been long enough for her to form an opinion that the man loved her granddaughter with an intensity that would astound him if he could but recognise it—if his mind wasn’t busy thinking of the reasons why he shouldn’t.

  Chapter Nine

  It was Lorne’s wedding day, but it was not as she had expected it to be. The mirror showed her looking graceful in a simple dress of ivory satin, its square-cut bodice hugging her firm breasts before tapering to a narrow waist. The skirt fell softly to her feet, and the sleeves were long and fitted and terminated in points over the backs of her slender hands. She sighed sadly on seeing her image, for neither rest nor Lady Billington’s potions could dispel the worried look in her eyes. Mercifully her morning discomfort had passed, but it had left her pale, and mauve shadows ringed her eyes.

  Lady Billington, who knew little of the facts surrounding Lorne’s abduction, was delighted with the news that Lorne was to wed the Earl of Norwood. She pronounced him to be a handsome, fine figure of a man, who was esteemed and valued among his own connections. Although she was puzzled, since his name had been linked with that of Maria Fraser, and it was rumoured among court circles that he was on the point of offering for her. Maria Fraser was the daughter of a nobleman whose ancestors had come south on King James the First’s accession to the English throne.

  Lorne had been devastated by what Lady Billington had told her and there was no room in her heart, her mind or her vision, but this one vast disappointment. It was as if a ghost had stepped out from the dark shadows of the night to shatter all her hopes and dreams. She wondered if this other woman loved Iain as much as she did, and if so she could imagine the torment she would feel when she was told he was to wed another.

  ‘Smile, my dear. A bride should look happy on her wedding day,’ chirruped Lady Billington, happy over the occasion, but saddened that it wasn’t to be the large, grand affair she would have liked.

  ‘I know,’ Lorne acknowledged as Agnes put the finishing touches to her hair, which she had brushed until it gleamed like molten gold, and tumbled to below her waist. It was drawn off her face and held with diamond and pearl clips at the crown. ‘But I can’t help feeling apprehensive.’

  Hearing the emotion that clogged her throat, Agnes embraced her. Initially Agnes had received the news that Lorne was to wed the Earl of Norwood with disbelief and horror. She had listened with disappointment as with a good many tears and hesitation Lorne had acquainted her cousin of the meeting with the Earl and quietly disclosed that she was to have his child, but when Lorne had told her how deeply she loved the Earl—indeed, was there not the proof of it shining in her eyes?—then she was happy for her.

  Agnes handed her cousin a small prayer book and watched as she turned and walked towards their grandmother, accepting the imminence of her fate without protest.

  A fitful grey light struggled through the windows and lit St James’s Church in Piccadilly where the marriage ceremony was to be held according to the Protestant rite. With one hand on Lord Billington’s arm and the other clutching her prayer book, through a mist Lorne saw the black-clad priest ahead of her, facing her. A gold crucifix stood on the handsomely adorned altar, and she tried to combat her mounting alarm by focusing her eyes on that single object hallowed on account of its religious association, and hoping to gain strength from its holiness.

  Apart from Lady Billington, her grandmother, Aunt Pauline and Agnes, no other guests were present.

  Attired in stark black, Iain presented a daunting figure. Standing to one side with Hugh, he turned and saw his bride enter, and he couldn’t define the mixed emotions he felt as he watched her move gracefully down the nave. A ray of light fell on her, giving her an almost ethereal beauty that belonged to another world and stole his breath. She was pale, slender and utterly breathtaking. He remembered how she had felt to hold, loving and warm, and his heart ached. When she stood by his side her eyes touched on him, but she turned her head and stared blindly at the priest.

  They stood before the altar, the priest’s words echoing in the quiet church. Lorne watched in fascination as Iain took her hand in a substantial grasp, and she was surprised to f
eel his hand was as cold as her own as he slipped the wedding band on her finger. In an assured voice she heard him plight his troth from somewhere far away, undertaking to love, comfort, honour and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, to keep himself only unto her, so long as they both shall live. When he fell silent, she felt an emotion almost too great to be borne.

  Feeling his silver-grey eyes burning down on her like the heat of a flame, she undertook to obey and serve him, the responses linking her with the man still grasping her hand—Iain Monroe, Earl of Norwood, sworn enemy of her kin—father of her unborn child. At the moment of acceptance when she uttered the final ‘I will’, her fate was sealed.

  They knelt, heads bowed as the priest uttered the solemn blessing, and then it was over and he pronounced them man and wife in the eyes of God. Iain put out his hand to help her rise and together, with the witnesses and the priest, they retired to the vestry to sign the register. It was with a trembling hand that Lorne wrote her new name for the first time—Lorne Monroe, Countess of Norwood. So far she had kept her eyes lowered, but now she glanced up to find Iain staring down at her, his face wiped clean of any expression. Formalities over, they left the vestry and walked down the aisle side by side, surprised to see the King at the back of the church.

  Lorne immediately sank into a low curtsy.

  Taking her hand, the King raised her to her feet, moved by the way she was gazing at him with her entrancing bright green eyes, and he agreed with the assertions that Lorne McBryde was indeed an exceedingly beautiful young woman. ‘I have come to wish you well and much happiness.’

  ‘Thank you, Sire. We are deeply honoured,’ she murmured.

  He studied her serene face. When he spoke his smile was kindly, lighting his hazel eyes. ‘Be a good wife to the Earl, and forget the circumstances that brought you together. Let the past be laid to rest.’

  ‘I will try, Sire,’ she whispered.

  The King glanced up at the bridegroom and raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips turning up in the ghost of a smile. ‘You haven’t kissed your bride, Monroe. It is custom. Not like you to be so remiss.’

  Iain stiffened, his jaw tightening. Clearly he didn’t like being reminded of his duty, not even by his sovereign, but he could feel the collective eyes of all those present anticipating his next move. ‘That can be amended, Sire.’

  Sweeping Lorne into his arms Iain kissed her slowly, deliberately, feeling her lips open under his own. In that instant he felt the suppleness of her body, her breasts pressed against his black velvet coat, and when he felt her surrender, a melting sweetness flowed through his veins. When he finally raised his head her eyes lifted to his, and the gentle yielding he saw in their green depths almost melted the ice encasing his heart. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but instead he looked away and stepped back.

  ‘Are there to be celebrations among the courtiers?’ asked the King.

  ‘No, Sire. Just a private wedding breakfast at Billington House with my wife’s family,’ Iain informed him. He would have preferred to forgo any kind of festivity to mark his marriage, but Lady Barton had insisted on it. ‘Considering the circumstances that have brought about this union, I hardly think celebrations on the scale you suggest to be appropriate.’

  ‘Aye, well, perhaps you’re right. But I sincerely hope—in all our interests—that your union will be a success and you do not neglect your conjugal duties. Who knows what the future holds north of the border? History may owe you a debt of gratitude.’

  With a slight inclination of his head and a well-satisfied smile that his wishes had been obeyed, the King and his liveried escort left the church.

  Iain turned towards Lorne who, along with all the other ladies, had sunk into a curtsy. During the conversation she had remained impassive, but the King’s final words had brought a wave of crimson to her cheeks. Livid that the King had felt he must remind him of his conjugal duty, taking her hand, he raised her to her feet. ‘Shall we go?’

  Assisting his wife out of the carriage and entering Billington House, Iain stifled his annoyance when he found the house packed to capacity. Apart from Hugh, Iain had invited no one. All the people close to him were in Scotland, and would have had no stomach to be present at this particular wedding.

  Iain stayed by Lorne’s side throughout, each putting on a convincing performance of accepting well-meant congratulations and participating in the light-hearted conversation while they sipped their sparkling wine, but he did not address her directly or even glance at her. Despite the lavishness of the table, a sombre tone prevailed over the wedding breakfast.

  Afterwards, when Iain left Lorne’s side to converse with Lord Billington, Hugh came to speak to her. She was glad he at least showed some semblance of courtesy and friendliness.

  Hugh had been looking forward to meeting this young woman he had met in very different circumstances. In Scotland he had taken in every detail of her appearance, and she was just as lovely as he remembered. He envied Iain his wedding night, although he fully understood why his friend had reluctantly agreed to make her his wife.

  ‘May I say that I am happy to meet you again in less traumatic circumstances,’ Hugh said amiably, inclining his fair head politely. ‘You look enchanting. Iain is a lucky man.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Hugh, but I think Iain is feeling anything but lucky on finding himself wed to the daughter of his sworn enemy.’ Lorne smiled engagingly into his bright blue eyes, thinking how handsome he was and how fine he looked in his gold jacket, cream breeches and white lace cravat. ‘I do remember you, and I too am glad the situation is somewhat altered. Although I confess to being extremely apprehensive about going to Norwood. I shall feel like a trespasser. Everyone will hate me even more than they did before after what I’ve done—depriving them of seeing Edgar McBryde hanged. Nor am I looking forward to meeting John Ferguson once more. When he sees what Iain has done, he will no doubt refuse to set foot over the threshold of Castle Norwood ever again, and cut Iain from his life completely.’

  Hugh chuckled at her words. ‘Come now, John is not as bad as you would imagine, or Iain would not be so close to him. No doubt he’ll rant and rave for a while, but when he cools down he will see Iain had no alternative but to obey the King’s order. Besides, let us not forget that he has brought this upon his own head. He was the one that abducted you in the first place. If he’d gone about his business in the normal way, none of us would be here today.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. I—understand that Iain is staying with you, Sir Hugh.’

  ‘Yes. My house is in Kensington. Iain is reluctant to buy a property in town. He says it would be an unnecessary burden as well as an expense he can do without. He’s not a frequent visitor to London, so I suppose you can understand that. So—I always place my house at his disposal whenever he feels inclined to travel south. Of course, you will be staying there tonight—and since I value my friendship with Iain, I intend making myself scarce.’

  Lorne’s eyes widened with bewilderment, then grew huge with understanding. A crimson flush mantled her cheeks. ‘But—not on my account, surely.’

  ‘Tonight is your wedding night,’ he said firmly, but with a roguish grin, ‘and I would not wish to intrude.’

  ‘Oh—but—you wouldn’t be, I mean—’

  ‘Yes, I would.’ He chuckled.

  ‘But—we can’t possibly turn you out of your own house.’

  ‘Believe me, Countess, there are no shortage of beds at Court.’

  Not so naïve as to mistake his meaning, Lorne’s flush deepened, and she thought it prudent not to say any more on the subject.

  Taking two glasses of wine from the salver of a passing footman, Hugh handed one to her, and, after drinking deeply of his own, he looked at her with quizzical puzzlement. ‘So—you are not a Catholic like the rest of the McBrydes,’ he said, thinking back to the ceremony. ‘Why is that?’

  She shrugged, sipping her wine. ‘When my father sent me to li
ve with my grandmother, she insisted that I be brought up in her faith and adhere to the Protestant religion.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘And your father and brothers were not disturbed by this?’

  ‘No, not at the time. Although I think my father came to regret it afterwards.’ She glanced towards her husband, who was still in conversation with Lord Billington. ‘Iain will no doubt bless the fact that I am not a Catholic. The last thing he would want beneath his roof is a wife who might by sympathetic to the Jacobite cause. It would be just one more reason for him to resent me,’ she blurted out, and then looked quite stricken for speaking without thinking.

  ‘Iain wouldn’t do that,’ Hugh said quietly, ‘but I know how you must be feeling right now.’ He understood just how hard it would be for her to adjust to life in Scotland, surrounded by people hostile towards her because of who she was. She raised grateful green eyes to his and smiled tremulously, and in that moment Hugh thought Iain was a fool for antagonising this beautiful young wife of his. ‘He is tolerant of all faiths—Christian and non-Christian. He is of the opinion that a man’s religion is his own concern and God’s. And I must point out that he has Roman Catholic friends—I, for one,’ he informed her with a twinkle in his eye.

  Lorne looked at him in amazement. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, me.’ He laughed. ‘And let me assure you that I am quite happy with King William sitting on the throne and have no Jacobite tendencies. I have no wish to see James restored, who in my opinion was both foolish and arrogant, and I sincerely hope he remains in exile for the rest of his days.’ He paused when Agnes came to speak to Lorne. Having already been introduced to her by Lady Barton, Hugh was quite enchanted by this young woman, with her delicate, heart-shaped face and auburn hair.