by Julia London
Once they were outside, Nichol paused to blink, blinded by the sunlight after four days in that dank room. “You’ve no’ gone and done something irreparable, like marrying Miss Darby and bartering her necklace, have you?”
“No!” Dunnan said.
“Then how?” Nichol asked simply.
“Well, it was quite convoluted, that it was,” Dunnan said. “We cobbled together enough to sell.”
“We?”
“I mean Miss Darby and I.”
Nichol’s heart skipped. She hadn’t gone with the theatrical troupe. “Where is she?”
“Can you no’ see her, then?” Dunnan said, and nodded toward the water.
Nichol jerked his head up, trying to focus in the bright sun. He saw her. She was standing just feet away, wrapped in his plaid. She smiled uncertainly, as if she didn’t know how Nichol would receive her. How he would receive her was with his heart bursting through his chest, as it felt it would do at any moment. He reached for her and pulled her into his tight embrace. “You’re here.”
“Aye, that I am. I couldna let them harm you, Nichol.”
“Oh,” he heard Dunnan say. “Shall I wait at the inn, then?”
“Please,” came Maura’s muffled reply, as her face was crushed against Nichol’s chest.
“Diah,” Nichol said, and let her go before he suffocated her.
“You’re free, aye?” she said brightly, her eyes shining with delight. “I canna believe we managed it!”
“How?” he demanded. “Where did you get the money?”
“Oh, it’s quite a story, it is. I think I shall write a book about it.”
He groaned and kissed her, but Maura put her hand up between them and wrinkled her nose.
Nichol laughed. “I’ve quite a story, too, leannan. Now tell me, where did you get the money?”
“It doesna matter!” she said, laughing. “You’ll be astounded when you hear how I found Gavin, the poor lad. And Dunnan! He proved to be helpful after a day or two. He was rather pleased to know he’d no’ have to marry me after all. I think he was a wee bit intimidated.”
Bloody coward, he was. “The money came from Dunnan, then,” Nichol said.
“What? Oh aye, some of it, aye. He meant to sell his gold, but you’d no’ believe it,” she said, and linked her arm through his, pulling him away from the rooms of his captivity. “He and Mrs. Cockburn had quite a row, they did—Mr. Cockburn discovered that all that gold he’d spent a fortune to purchase at her behest was no’ gold at all, aye? It was gold plated.”
Nichol didn’t understand the significance of this and looked at her, trying to follow.
“I think the love of gambling runs in the family,” she whispered. “She tried desperately no’ to be discovered, but oh, he found her out.” She laughed.
Nichol didn’t laugh. “Then, how, Maura?”
She smiled. “You must be exhausted, then. I’ll tell you all. We’ve a room at the inn.”
Nichol knew how. He reached for the plaid she had wrapped around her. She tried to hold it in place, but he peeled her fingers from it and pulled one end from her shoulder, so that the plaid fell open. Her throat was bare.
A wave of something so powerful went through him and landed squarely in his knees. “Maura.”
“It was only a thing, aye?” she said with a flick of her wrist. “I should have given it to him in the beginning, but I am far too stubborn for my own good. What was I to do with it, really? Wear it every night to the theater?”
Nichol was overcome with a rush of gratitude at her sacrifice. For him. She had sacrificed something dear to her for him because she loved him. He’d never experienced this, had never understood how such overwhelming esteem and gratitude would fill a person’s heart and eyes. “Maura,” he said again, but words failed him. He was too dumbfounded, too moved to express that her sacrifice was as painful for him to accept as it was elating.
She calmly returned the end of the plaid to her shoulder. “Now that you are free, Mr. Bain, you undoubtedly will want to collect your things. Mr. Cockburn was kind enough to have them brought from Luncarty, as I could no’ bear to return there, given all that happened.”
He wasn’t listening. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, couldn’t believe he had almost let her escape. Julian Pepper was right—if a man were ever lucky enough to experience this sort of love, he’d be a fool to let it go.
“You need no’ worry after me,” she said. “I have discovered that I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I’ve decided I shall be off to Edinburra to meet Mr. Johnson and Susan. Unless...” She swallowed. Then nervously tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. She shrugged a little.
That small gesture was what tipped him over the edge of his astonishment. Nichol felt himself falling, both figuratively and literally, onto his knee before her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Marry me.”
Her eyes widened with surprise.
“Marry me, Maura.”
Her eyes moving wildly over his face.
“You love me,” he said. “No one could ever love me as you do, on my word. And I love you, aye? Mi Diah, do I love you. I canna give you a name or a home, but I swear to you, I will give you all that I am, every day that I draw a breath.”
She didn’t speak, and Nichol thought perhaps he’d misread the situation entirely.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
“I have nothing—”
“No’ that,” she said, and came down to her knees before him. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” he said, and stroked her face. “I love you in a manner that both frightens me and exhilarates me, aye? I love you for setting this all to rights. Until I met you, Maura, I couldna see the biggest problem before me. I couldna see that I needed to be set to rights. It took you to do it.”
She laughed. “I am astounded, Mr. Bain, that I have tolerated your pigheadedness for as long as I have.”
He grabbed her arms and pulled her forward, kissing her. He stood up and helped her to her feet. “Where is this inn, then?” he muttered as he nuzzled her neck.
“Close by, thank the saints,” she said as he pulled her into his side. “Mi Diah, but you stink, Nichol.”
Nichol laughed. He laughed and laughed, loud and long, because he stank, because he’d almost made the worst mistake of his bloody life. Because he almost failed to fix himself.
Because he knew what love was.
* * *
AT THE INN, they ignored Mr. Cockburn who was tucked into a table with a pitcher of ale and ordered a bath. When they crawled under the covers of the small bed, Maura told him everything that had happened before she sank down onto his body.
He felt heartsick when she told him of the encounter with his brother. He should have gone home sooner, should have made a greater effort to stay in touch with Ivan. He felt nothing for the baron’s death. If anything, with the baron gone, Nichol felt new and reborn and brimming with optimism for the future.
He understood that this depth of emotion he shared with Maura was what he should have had all along. It was the thing that had been robbed from him at a very early age, and he meant to make up for all the years he’d spent keeping to himself. And when he entered her, and slid into that state of pure, pleasurable oblivion, he could think only that this was right, this was so right, that he’d finally put everything to rights.
The next morning, he awoke to her warm soft body pressed against his back, and God help him, he would never do without this again.
He kissed her eyes. “We need to go,” he murmured.
“Where?” she asked through a sleepy yawn.
“Wales.”
“I thought it was impossible that I should accompany you to Wales.”
He smiled. “I will think of something. I al
ways do.”
“What of Edinburra? I’ve been invited to join a theatrical troupe, aye?”
He rolled over, putting her on her back. “Is that what you mean to do, then, Miss Darby?” he asked.
She smiled up at him. “Perhaps I will. After all, I’m free now.”
He kissed her. “You never answered me yesterday when I asked you to marry me, Maura. I will have your answer now,” he said as his hand traveled down her body.
“I’ve no’ decided,” she said, and sighed contentedly when his hand slipped between her legs.
“No?”
“I’m still rather cross with you.”
“Are you?”
“Diah, Nichol, you meant to see me married to Dunnan Cockburn! What am I to think?”
“I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life atoning for it,” he said with a chuckle. “Will you marry me, then?” he asked, stroking her.
“You have me at an unfair advantage.”
“Do I?”
“Aye, you do,” she murmured. “But I will do it. I will marry you, Nichol Bain. You need me terribly.”
Aye, he needed her terribly and forever.
EPILOGUE
Balhaire, the Highlands
Scotland
Christmas 1760
CATRIONA GRAHAM, THE Duchess of Montrose, needed something fixed at her family’s estate of Balhaire. So she’d sent for the only person who could manage it: Mr. Nichol Bain.
“Donna smile at me as if I should be glad to see you, Bain,” she warned him when she met him in her father’s study. But she herself was smiling.
“Am I smiling? I am rather surprised, for I am no’ given to smiling,” he reminded her.
Catriona looked at her husband, Hamlin Graham, the Duke of Montrose. He gazed so fondly at his wife that Nichol felt as if he ought to turn away and let them have this moment. It was amazing to him that he once knew the duke to be a terribly aloof, distant man. He was wholly changed and now walked about looking besotted all the time. He wondered if he looked the same. He’d had Maura in his life for two years, and he was still just as besotted with her as he was the day she’d rescued him in Glasgow.
He was happy to be in Balhaire once more. Catriona had called him to help with Auchenard, a converted hunting lodge where she and women who needed shelter wove beautiful shawls, plaids and blankets. They had been so successful that they were beginning to send their wares to London, Dublin and Cardiff. There was a bit of a problem with Ireland, however, and Catriona needed Nichol to fix it.
Once she had explained it all, he had seen quite clearly how to set it all to rights.
“I’ll pay you of course,” she said.
“Aye, you certainly will,” he agreed with a slight smile.
“That’s quite a lot of cheek from a man who should be thanking me. Were it no’ for me, you’d no’ have found a woman who would tolerate you.”
“You will claim responsibility for my wife, then?” Nichol asked, amused.
“Aye, I will. My husband is the one who recommended you to those people, is he no’?”
“That he did. Therefore, I am beholden to the duke for my utter happiness.”
“And was it no’ my uncle who released you from service so that you might pursue that wee issue?”
“And I am beholden to the earl for my conjugal felicity,” he agreed with a smile.
“Bain! Do you no’ see what those two men have in common?” Catriona asked laughingly.
“That I do, and she is bonny, she is. But she is no’ responsible for my happiness. As I recall, she caused me quite a lot of despair.”
Catriona laughed. “Well, then, you must at least allow me to claim responsibility for the musicale we are to have tonight.”
“You are indeed, and for that wee bit of trickery, I am indebted to you.” He bowed gallantly. It had been no small feat to summon Mr. Johnson and his merry band of actors.
Catriona laughed with delight. “You are an impossible man, Bain. But I do wish you all the happiness in this life. All is at the ready, did you hear? The troupe is in the south wing of the castle, as unruly as children, waiting to be set free to sing and dance.”
Nichol had arranged this surprise at a considerable cost. He was fortunate that his work for the Welshman had been lucrative. He and Maura now had a small town house in Edinburgh, which young Gavin had been enticed to care for. They were rarely in Edinburgh, really, as his work—their work—had taken them all over England and Scotland. Maura had proved to be a great asset to him. She was clever—she had an amazing ability to see angles of an issue he’d failed to see.
He loved her more every day. He wanted to show her how much she meant to him, so he’d arranged this surprise for her. Catriona had been very helpful, delighting in a wee bit of subterfuge. All of the Mackenzies were happy to participate. Captain Aulay Mackenzie had brought the troupe from London on his ship and would return them to England. Aulay’s beautiful wife, Lottie Mackenzie, had taken Maura to the island where she’d been raised on the day the troupe was to arrive so they could be properly hidden away before Maura returned to Balhaire.
Rabbie Mackenzie and his wife, Bernadette, had insisted that Nichol and Maura stay with them at Arrandale so that the troupe could rehearse. Vivienne and Marcas Mackenzie, and Cailean and Daisy Mackenzie had all descended on Balhaire, as well. They said they had come for Hogmanay, the celebration of the New Year. But tonight’s surprise, on Christmas Eve, was the true reason they’d all come.
The laird and his wife, Margot, were also included, and pretended as if nothing was amiss at all, that they expected all their children and grandchildren at Balhaire for Christmas and the New Year.
Maura suspected nothing, which Nichol wasn’t certain he trusted. Her instincts were, at times, uncanny. If she did indeed suspect, she was a fine actress. She was in a room at the castle now, having her hair dressed and donning the gown she’d had made for her in France. Och, but she was a vision in that gown. It was sky blue silk, the very color of her eyes, with a gold petticoat, embroidered with gold leaf, fashioned in the same vein as the dresses at the French court. He’d never seen anything as fine.
But there was one thing missing from her ensemble.
He dressed carefully that evening. All the gentlemen were wearing plaid, the ladies in their finest gowns. “You are the bonniest of them all, Maura,” he said to her as she helped him with his neckcloth.
She laughed. “You would say that if I were wearing nothing at all.”
“I certainly would,” he said, and kissed her.
They went down to the great hall, where the Mackenzie clan had gathered for Christmas Eve dinner. Nichol poured his wife wine and handed it to her. “Are you happy, then, Maura?”
“Oh aye, it’s bonny, is it no’?” she remarked, looking around at the wreaths that had been hung to mark the season.
“I mean, lass, with me.”
She laughed with surprise. “Diah, Mr. Bain, I thank the saints for you every day. To think I might be at Luncarty just now, prepared to attend service with Mr. Cockburn and his mother.” She laughed again. “You have made me happier than I deserve.” She rose up on her toes to kiss him.
“Under the mistletoe!” Lottie Mackenzie said laughingly as she passed them on her way to her seat.
“Are you happy, then, Nichol?” Maura asked.
“Leannan, I will never find the words to express my utter contentment and love for you.” He would have to show her instead.
Maura giggled. “You just did.”
They took their seats for the meal, but before the first course was served, Arran Mackenzie, the laird, stood. “Before we begin, a bit of entertainment, aye?”
Maura leaned against Nichol. “The children, I should think. I heard them singing yesterday morning when I went out to walk.”
&n
bsp; But when the adult voices began to filter into the great hall, and the troupe proceeded to enter, all of them in green velvet and wreaths on their heads, all of them carrying candles. Maura gasped. She sat up, leaned forward, her eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” she whispered, then looked at Nichol. “It canna be! That’s Miss Fabernet!”
He smiled.
“And there is Mr. Johnson! Nichol!” she squealed, and threw her arms around him and showered a dozen kisses on his cheek before eagerly turning to hear the performance.
The evening was everything Nichol had hoped it would be. There was much merrymaking and singing, a happy reunion between Maura and the troupe, quite a lot of dancing and laughter and more dancing. It was the embodiment of what Nichol believed he and Maura had missed in their lives before finding each other. Warmth. Family. Love.
Later, when the candles had burned down, Nichol and Maura held on to each other as they took themselves off to bed. In their chamber, she said, “It’s Christmas! I have a gift for you.” She went to the wardrobe and pulled out a package wrapped with a bow and handed it to him proudly.
“What is this?” Nichol asked, and untied the bow and removed the silk wrapping. He stared at the book in his hand, recognizing it instantly. It was Treatise of Human Nature by David Hume. His father’s book. The book that he’d read as a young man and had found so enlightening.
“There’s more,” she said, nodding at a smaller box that had been wrapped with the book. Nichol opened it and stared at the contents. He knew it immediately—it was his grandfather’s pocket watch. The same pocket watch his father had taken from him and given to Ivan before sending Nichol out of his sight.
So many emotions swirled in Nichol. Surprise and gratitude, the two constants he felt with Maura. Love. Deep affection. And hope. “I donna understand,” he said.
“Look inside the book,” she said.
He opened to the first page, and inside, there was a letter addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting straightaway as Ivan’s.
He dropped the things and looked at Maura. “How?” he asked again.
