She flushed, but kept her eyes fixed on his.
‘Have I not already told you? That cannot happen now.’
Grant froze as he began to understand what she was telling him. Breathing suddenly became difficult. Could it be true?
She said, as if he had spoken aloud, ‘I love you, Grant Rathmore. There can be no one else for me now.’
His heart soared, but he must be cautious. He dared not give way to this happiness just yet. He chose his next words with care.
‘I have little save the clothes on my back, but I have a strong right arm. I can work, I can fight if necessary. I could become a mercenary—’
‘No. You have seen enough bloodshed. I will not allow you to do that. We will find another way to survive.’
She was smiling at him and the glow in her eyes set hope burgeoning within him. Suddenly the world was full of possibilities.
‘I might find work as a steward for some nobleman! That is something I can do and well. I have spent my life learning how to run my father’s lands.’
‘Or we could travel,’ she told him, smiling. ‘I have a little money; we need not stay in France.’
‘No, indeed, we might roam the world.’ He laughed and reached for her hands. ‘It would not be easy. We would have to work together, stand shoulder to shoulder against the world, but we would survive.’
‘Oh, Grant, I would ask no more than that, if I could be with you.’
‘Would you not?’ His eyes searched her face. ‘I can offer you no prospect of riches.’
‘I have had riches,’ she told him. ‘Papa and I have lived the life of the very rich, but we have also had times when there has not been a sou for bread. As long as we have each other, and enough to eat, I shall not complain.’
‘Then you will marry me.’
She blinked, her eyes misty with unshed tears.
‘Yes, my dearest, I will marry you, if you are sure it is what you want, too.’
Grant could wait no longer. He dragged her into his arms.
‘It is,’ he muttered. ‘I have never been surer of anything in my life!’
He captured her mouth, kissing her hard. She responded immediately and he deepened the kiss, teasing open her lips and tangling his tongue with hers as the blood raced through his veins.
There was a muttering from the oarsmen and a few lewd jokes about the lady’s unconventional dress, but neither of them paid any heed, until at last the closest man cleared his throat loudly.
‘We are approaching the jetty, sir. Ye’ll need to budge so we can tie up.’
Grant raised his head, smiling as Maddie hid her face in his shoulder.
‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘Come along, my dear.’
They shifted out of the way, but Grant kept his arm about Madeleine. Together they watched the oarsmen guide the skiff through a narrow stretch of water to a small wooden jetty. Minutes later they were clambering out of the boat. Following the sailors’ instructions, they made their way past the buildings clustered around the dock and were soon climbing into the low, ancient hills that separated the Golden Loch from Loch Tonnan. The track was difficult to see, but Grant knew the general direction and judged the walk should take them little more than an hour. Because of his injured arm, Madeleine had refused to allow him to carry her saddlebags and she was walking stoically ahead of him, her silent fortitude making his heart swell.
By heaven, how I love this woman!
His step faltered. He hadn’t actually told her yet. Not in so many words. He wanted to do so now, but although the land was shadowed with the gloom of the short, summer night, he knew as well as anyone how sound carried on the still air. He had no idea who might be in these hills and any noise could bring them dangerous and unwanted attention. Silence would serve them best now; the words would keep until a more suitable moment.
* * *
Maddie could see the faint gleam of water ahead. She felt as if she had been walking all night, but it could only have been an hour or so.
‘Loch Tonnan,’ murmured Grant. ‘Not long now.’
They soon found the small tavern and scratched upon the door. A thin, stooping figure appeared and ushered them inside. Maddie listened while Grant and the man conducted a hushed conversation in Gaelic. When they had finished, Grant explained to her that the French ship had been seen but had withdrawn, out of sight, for safety and would not return until evening. The exchange continued and she listened anxiously.
‘What is it?’ she asked Grant. ‘What is he saying now, is anything wrong?’
‘Not at all. You are expected. There is a room here for you until the French agent comes to take you to the ship.’
Somehow that did not tally with the length and tone of the interchange she had heard.
‘And what about you?’
He hesitated. ‘Only one room was bespoke, because that was the instruction received from your father. The landlord has no other rooms free. There is no need to fret, I shall find lodgings elsewhere.’
Madeleine heard his calm assurance, but did not believe it.
‘I doubt there is another hostelry in such a small place and, even if there is, we do not want to announce our presence here.’
She stopped and drew in a breath, summoning up her courage for her next words.
‘One room is all we would require. If we were man and wife.’
Grant was watching her closely. She went on with outward calm.
‘A simple handfasting or exchange of vows before witnesses is all that is required for a legal marriage in Scotland, is it not?’
‘Why, yes.’ Grant raked a hand through his hair. ‘But I—’
‘Then if we can find witnesses to hear our vows we can be wed. We will find a priest when we get to France, for a more conventional ceremony.’
He looked down at her, his eyes searching her face. ‘Are you sure about this, Madeleine?’
She nodded, saying frankly, ‘I have wanted it almost since the day I met you.’
‘Think, madam.’ He placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘There is no going back. The vows taken and signed before witnesses are binding for life.’
‘I am surer of this than anything I have done before,’ she told him, echoing his own earlier declaration. ‘But only if you are determined to leave Scotland. And only if you want to marry me,’ she ended shyly.
‘Want to marry you!’ A smile of pure delight lit up his face. ‘Madam, it is the dearest wish of my heart!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It took a few moments to explain to the landlord what was required and he immediately summoned his wife to join them. That good lady was at first shocked at the idea of a bride dressed in men’s clothes and although she was at last persuaded of the necessity, she insisted upon carrying Madeleine away to tidy herself before the ceremony, while their host went off in search of paper and ink to record the marriage.
Through the taproom window, Grant saw that the summer sun was already lightening the eastern sky, painting it a rich pink, shot with gold. Soon the world would be awake. Another hour or so and customers might start to arrive at the inn. The landlord came back carrying pens and an old broadsheet, which he apologetically explained was the only spare piece of paper he could put his hands on. Grant was about to send him off to hurry the womenfolk when they returned.
Madeleine came up to him. She had removed her tricorne and brushed out her hair so that the curls hung down her back in a lustrous black wave.
‘Well, sir,’ she said, smiling shyly, ‘shall we begin?’
* * *
They made their vows as the low morning sun filled the taproom with a golden light. The atmosphere was as hushed and reverent as any church, but when Madeleine thought they had finished the landlady spoke up.
‘And ye’ll be needin’ a ring for the bride,’ she declared, hold
ing one out to Grant. ‘I am sorry ’tis such a poor wee thing, just a pewter posy ring that belonged to my mother, God rest her soul, but ye can have it, with my blessing, until ye can buy a finer one for your lady.’
Grant thanked her and offered to pay for it, but the landlady resolutely refused, saying she would be glad to see it put to good use.
‘You are very kind,’ exclaimed Madeleine. ‘I assure you this means more to me than anything money can buy.’
‘With this ring, I thee wed.’
Grant murmured the words as he slipped the small pewter band on to her finger and she blinked rapidly as he carried her hand to his lips.
The landlord produced a sheet of paper, which Maddie noticed contained the words to a ribald ballad on the other side. This caused no little amusement, but they all duly signed their names and the landlord declared the marriage legal.
He then insisted they drink a glass of uisge beatha to toast the new bride before commanding his wife to mop up her tears and show the wedded couple to their room.
Alone at last with his bride, Grant glanced about at the sparsely furnished room.
‘Not quite what I would have wished for our wedding night,’ he remarked, hoping to ease the tension that was palpable in the stillness. He waved towards the canopied bed in the corner. ‘But at least we have somewhere to sleep.’
Madeleine was still standing just inside the door, nervously twisting the wedding band round and round on her finger. He went over and took her hands.
‘You are nervous, Maddie, but it is not too late, if you have changed your mind. I had never thought to aspire to your hand and even now I cannot let you make that sacrifice without asking you again if you are sure.’
‘I am, Grant. I am sure. I have always known that my only real value to Papa is as a bride, once he can find someone to pay his price. I am no longer willing to let that happen. I want to make my own choice.’ She slipped her hands around his neck. ‘I have made my choice.’
Grant’s breath caught in his throat as she pulled his head down towards her. Their lips met and she melted against him. It felt so natural, so right. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she responded to him, returning his kiss with a passion that sent the blood pounding around his body.
Madeleine was shy, but not coy, and Grant was determined not to rush her. They undressed each other, slowly, between long, languorous kisses, then he swept her up and carried her to the bed.
He measured his length against her, his hands caressing, exploring, revelling in her soft, smooth skin and luscious curves.
Maddie followed his lead, quickly learning that her touch could make him gasp or groan with pleasure. Growing bolder, she pushed him on to his back and sat up, gazing at his body, naked save for the bandage about his arm. She touched it gently and glanced towards him.
He smiled and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t hurt much now,’ he said, answering her unspoken question.
‘I am glad.’ Her eyes moved on, taking in the faint scars of older wounds, the toned muscles. He was strong, but sleek as a panther. And most evidently aroused. Her throat dried.
I have caused this, she thought, excitement pooling low in her body. I am his wife and he wants me.
She reached out and began to explore his naked skin, cautiously at first, her hands skimming over the hard contours of his chest, pushing her fingers through the shield of dark hair. She heard the hiss of his breath as her hand travelled lower.
‘Easy!’ He grabbed her wrist. ‘Too much of that and it will be over before I have even started!’
She gave a low laugh, revelling in her power over him. With a sudden twist he flipped her over and trapped her beneath him.
‘My turn,’ he murmured.
He trailed kisses over her face, her eyelids, cheeks, his lips moving along the line of her jaw and down her neck. Maddie closed her eyes, enjoying every sensation. Her skin tingled where his mouth had been, she felt on fire, her bones molten. His head moved down to her breasts which suddenly felt full and taut, aching for his kiss. He obliged, suckling first one hard nub and then the other, drawing a response from deep within her. She yearned for him, her insides felt as if they were unfurling as his roving fingers slipped between her thighs and the dual onslaught was almost more than she could bear. She groaned, her body shifting restlessly against his fingers. Then, suddenly, he was inside her, moving slowly, relentlessly and her body responded. Waves of pure pleasure rippled through her, building slowly. She began to move against him, tilting her hips as he plunged into her, faster, deeper. She arched her back and writhed beneath him as feelings so intense shuddered through her and she feared she would faint. She was out of control and even as he shouted aloud and made his final, hard thrust into her she was rocked by wave after wave of feelings so strong that her mind splintered. She was flying, soaring, falling, all conscious thought suspended.
They were both breathing hard. Grant held her close until she had stopped trembling, then he rolled off to lie beside her.
‘I am sorry if I hurt you,’ he said, reaching for her hand. ‘I know, the first time, it can be painful.’
‘I barely felt it.’
She smiled up into the shadowed bed canopy above them. It was true. Pleasure had quite eclipsed any slight discomfort. She felt sated, peaceful. They slipped between the covers and when she woke some time later she found his body curled around hers. She closed her eyes again, smiling. Surely, there could be no greater pleasure on this earth.
* * *
It was shortly after noon when they were woken by a sharp knocking on the door of their bedchamber. Grant slipped out of bed and threw on his shirt. Maddie heard the innkeeper’s voice, low and urgent. She sat up, pulling the sheets up to her chin and waiting nervously for Grant to explain.
‘What is it?’ she asked him, as he closed the door upon their host. ‘What has happened?’
‘Dragoons, approaching through the glen. They are searching the houses and farms as they go. It will not be long before they reach here. We must move quickly.’
They dressed hurriedly and were soon ready to leave. The innkeeper hustled them out of the door, pointing out their route.
‘Quickly now,’ he said. ‘Follow the loch for about a mile until you come to a small bothy close to the shore. Your man will be waiting there for ye. He will row you out to the French ship as soon as she arrives. Go now. If anyone asks me, I have never seen ye!’
He waved them away and they hurried off along a rough track, the hot sun shining down upon them from a cloudless blue sky. The inn was soon lost to sight, but Maddie kept glancing back, fearing at any moment to see the colourful uniforms of soldiers behind them.
* * *
At last they came upon a small stone-built hut with a turf roof and two shuttered windows, one each side of a wooden door. Grant approached cautiously and knocked softly on the door. They heard the click of a latch being lifted and a deep, gruff voice sounded from the darkness within.
‘Get in quickly, both of ye, and shut the door.’
Grant went first, but as he stepped into the shuttered room some presentiment of danger made him reach for his sword. It was already too late, the light from the doorway was glinting off the barrels of two deadly pistols, both pointing at his chest. He reached back to push Maddie behind him, shielding her with his body, then he looked at the stocky figure holding the weapons and his lip curled.
‘Ewan Cowie. I thought I recognised that voice.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ewan Cowie waved them away from the door and locked it, imprisoning them in a murky twilight. Grant kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, even though it would be little use against the pistols aimed at him.
‘My dear,’ he drawled, ‘allow me to present to you my neighbour, Ewan Cowie of Contullach.’ He added, his tone dripping with derision, ‘By heaven, the Prince’s cause is desper
ate if he must employ the likes of you.’
‘Be damned to you, Grant Rathmore!’
Cowie’s bearded face had contorted with hatred. He controlled himself, but the smile that succeeded the snarl was even more chilling. ‘When I heard who was escorting the Frenchwoman, I knew my prayers had been answered. Now I shall be avenged for my Jamie’s death.’
‘He died in battle, not by my hand.’
‘Aye, but who encouraged him to go, eh, Rathmore? Who persuaded him to skulk away in the night, with never a word to me?’
‘Jamie was the one who persuaded me,’ snapped Grant. ‘I wanted no part in the business and thought I could turn him back. Did his friends not tell you when they returned?’ He lip curled even more. ‘No, they would be too afraid to defend a Rathmore against you, Ewan Cowie, isn’t that so?’
‘Not that I should have believed them, whatever they said. Damned traitors.’
‘Yes, you handed them over to the army, I hear. They were not only Jacobite soldiers, but your own people. How will that sit with your French paymasters?’
‘That need not worry you, Rathmore. Your fate was sealed when you persuaded Jamie to fight.’
‘That’s a lie and you know it, Cowie. Deep down you know Jamie was the headstrong one, not I.’
‘You were too frightened to go alone! Pshaw! You have too much of your father’s cowardly Sassenach blood in you to make a soldier!’
Grant held on to his temper by a thread.
‘I stayed and fought,’ he bit out. ‘Even after bloody Culloden, I stayed until word came that it was every man for himself.’
‘But why should you live,’ Cowie shouted at him, ‘why should you live when my Jamie is dead?’
‘He was my friend. Do you not think I grieve for him, too?’ Grant added bitterly, ‘Is it not enough for you that I can never go back to Ardvarrick?’
‘But your father will know you are alive in the world whereas I—’ For a brief moment Grant saw something akin to real grief flicker across Ewan Cowie’s bewhiskered face. ‘No, Grant Rathmore. You shall die, then your damned father will feel the same pain I do. He will feel it even more, once he knows how you disgraced his name.’
Harlequin Historical May 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 20
