by L. L. Muir
She frowned. “A green light. And I am not your wife.”
“Must be the Northern Lights come down from Scotland to bid me back home again. And ye certainly will be my wife soon enough.”
She lifted a pretty brow along with the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t argue. So he took it as acceptance and pulled her over onto his lap. To his great joy, she didn’t resist that either, and peered into his eyes. “Why should I marry you, sir?”
“Because I’ve been thinking it over,” he said quietly, so she would need to remain close in order to hear him. “I’ve decided that no other lass will do for me.”
“Not because I’m ruined?”
He shook his head and kept his gaze steady.
“It’s not out of pity?”
He denied that too.
“You wouldn’t be offering out of obligation to the Four Kings?”
“Four Kings?”
“Lord Ashmoore and his friends.”
Connor snorted. “Sounds like something a bunch of English gits would call themselves.” When he saw the question still lingering on her brow, he spoke quickly. “I owe them nothing, my love. I’ve promised them nothing. And the only English citizen to whom I will make promises is a Miss Mercy Kellaway. For her loving spirit has won all the loyalty of my own, and I will hold her near until the day…until the day I die.
“She must be quite something, to have won you over in so little time.”
He nodded, closed his eyes, and reveled in the feeling of her gentle fingers as they caressed his forehead and pushed a straggling bit of hair away from his face, to tuck it behind his ear—an endearing move he’d never experienced before. And he held his breath, wishing he could force time to hold still for a wee while, worried he might forget the sensation of being cherished.
Imagine it. Connor Gray, cherished.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the worry had returned to her brow. “What ails ye, lass?”
She smiled sadly. “You act as if…”
“Worry not, Mercy. Just because I am new to love doesnae mean I’ll be bad at it, aye?”
“Love?”
“Auch, aye. I love ye.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “And if ye’ll accept a non-repentant smuggler to husband, I promise to find honorable means to support us.”
“And you won’t be gone tomorrow?”
“Those plans have changed.’
“And what inspired you to change them?”
“Those Northern Lights, lass. Those Northern lights.”
EPILOGUE
After a long and gloriously solitary winter, where it was best to stay inside by a warm fire with one’s handsome new husband, it was pleasant to head south again.
Connor laid a hand atop Mercy’s where it rested on her growing belly. “He won’t be surprised. Ye’ve already written to him enough. And yer belly’s not so large as he’ll notice, aye?”
“Still.” She blushed and turned to look out the window.
Her cousin had gushed with repentance and remorse when he’d learned of Denny’s murder. And he’d begged her to come home and let him see her again, to beg her forgiveness in person. He’d even offered to allow her and her new husband to live at Hedby, but Connor wanted to raise their family in Scotland, and she couldn’t blame him.
Thanks to the snow in the Highlands, travel hadn’t been wise until a week ago, especially for a woman in her condition.
As a husband and provider, Connor had already proven himself. And they expected to fare very well in the future. He predicted more trouble in France and had convinced some wealthy Scottish lairds to invest in a great deal of French wine. And when war did break out, prices would soar. As it happened, his smuggling skills had come in handy in his new ventures and the lairds trusted him.
And as they returned to England, it was in their own coach.
~
Mercy’s sense of smell had become so acute that she knew they were nearing Hedby long before she noticed familiar roads. She recognized numerous faces as they passed through the center of town, but her husband was eager to land, as he put it, and he promised her he would bring her back to the village the following day, after they had their land legs back. But he was eager to arrive at Bridie Manor and be done.
The road rose up before them and the carriage tilted. She suddenly wished she had eaten more, for the drink in her stomach was no longer content to stay put, especially with the mix of butterflies bounding around inside her.
She reached for her bonnet, to keep at the ready, but didn’t want to alarm Connor. The man had worried over her enough throughout the journey and she was slightly afraid he might change his mind and take her home to Scotland even though they were only a mile from their destination.
Home. She was nearly home!
But what might greet her was the worry. Though she’d asked him in half a dozen letters, her cousin had never told her what he’d done about the little old church, and she dreaded coming face to face with her sin and inviting a dark cloud to hover over their visit.
She also dreaded coming face to face with Father Gray
Denny’s grave, Condiff had told her, had been moved to the churchyard with the rest of the family. And that alone had alleviated most of the guilt that had driven her into Norleigh’s clutches.
“Is that the little church, then?” Connor pulled his head back inside the window and pointed.
Mercy took a bracing breath and looked for herself, expecting it to be halfway between the churchyard and the manor, but the little building had been returned to its original position, guarding over the graves of her ancestors, and Denny!
“He did it!”
Standing at the side of the road, in front of the old church, stood a familiar figure. She stared at the priest as the carriage rolled past. His head was bowed, though his eyes sought hers. And in those eyes, a look of gratitude? Contrition?
“Do ye want to stop now?” her husband asked, clearly willing if it would please her.
“Just for a moment.”
He knocked on the roof and the carriage rolled to a halt. But instead of reaching for the door, she opened the little window. After a moment, the priest appeared. His head bowed again.
“Welcome home, my lady.” His face was a bit more drawn than the last time she’d seen him. That haughty look was gone.
“Hello, Father. Are you well?”
“Quite well, my lady.”
“Then please dine with us at Bridie this evening, so I may introduce my husband.”
The priest looked up, surprised.
She offered a tender smile. “We’ll be serving forgiveness for supper.”
He nodded ever so slightly. “Then I will be happy to join you.”
Mercy’s heart was light as a feather as they neared Bridie Manor. And as she cast the contents of her stomach into the crown of her bonnet, she suspected, if Denny was looking down on her from Heaven, he would have laughed.
THE END
About the Author
L.L. Muir lives on the Utah side of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and rocking sleepy children.
A disturbing amount of fried chicken was consumed while writing CONNOR.
If you like her books, be a sport and leave a review on the book’s Amazon page. You can reach her personally through her website— www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.
Thank you for playing!
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