There, she’d made the first tentative step forward to what was in her heart. She held her breath, waiting for his response.
“I want to believe,” he said softly.
“I do, too,” she confessed
His arms around her tightened. He held her close, then said, “Lyssa, we must return to London.”
She felt her heart drop.
“I must face your father,” he said.
“We must face him,” she corrected.
“Of course.”
“He won’t be happy.”
“No.”
Lyssa turned in his arms. She knew what he was saying. “Ian, what if he refuses us?”
“Then I’ll tell him the truth. That I debauched his daughter, stole her innocence, and will marry her in a heartbeat whether she likes it or not…although I would like his blessing.”
Joy surged through her. She threw her arms around him. “You love me!”
“Was there any doubt?”
She shook her head, even while admitting, “I couldn’t be certain.”
“My sweet, wonderful Cailín. I think I’ve loved you ever since you crashed that ironstone pitcher across the innkeeper’s head.”
“That was terrible of me.”
“Despicable,” he agreed, smiling, and her happiness knew no boundaries.
Putting her hand on his chest, right over his heart, she asked, “You will really ask my father for my hand?”
“Aye. That is, if you’ll have me.”
“Oh, Ian, such a stupid question.”
“It’s not, Lyssa, I have nothing—”
She cut him off with a kiss. “You have me,” she whispered. “You’ll always have me.”
“And can you live with the fact your father may not give us his blessing?” he asked, doubt in his voice.
“Yes,” she replied with conviction.
But Ian didn’t laugh this time. Instead his expression grew thoughtful. “Now, is this before or after we accuse his wife of attempting to murder you?”
“I don’t even care about that anymore,” she told him. And then she took the leap of faith. “Ian, I love you.”
Simple words, and yet they made all the difference to her world.
And to his. “You are everything to me,” he whispered to her, his voice fierce. “Everything.” He pulled back, holding her hands in his. “Lyssa Harrell, will you promise to be my wife, to love me, to be faithful to me all the days of my life?”
“Is this our church then?” she asked.
“Are we not before God?”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, her chest tightening with emotion. “And, yes, I will have you Ian Campion. I will love you and honor you—” She paused, and then an imp of mischief caused her to add, “And obey you.”
“I doubt that,” he said, half laughing. “And I don’t care, Lyssa, for I shall be strong enough and courageous enough to take care of you all my days. Even if I have nothing to offer right now.”
“You have me,” she corrected.
With a glad, wild Irish whoop, he picked her up in his arms and swung her around. He twirled until they were both laughing uncontrollably and they tumbled to the ground in each other’s arms.
Suddenly, they both went quiet. This was a sacred moment, one Lyssa wanted to capture and remember all her life. She never wanted to forget anything, not even the exact color of the blue sky behind white and silver clouds, or the feel of the light breeze on her cheek. And she wanted to burn in her mind forever the look of love in Ian’s eyes.
He kissed her…and she knew he was feeling the same. This moment was magic. It was the sealing of their troth. Their promise of commitment.
She held her hand up, palm out. He laced his fingers in hers and she drew him down upon the cool green grass.
They made love there, beneath the Scottish skies where God and all His kingdom served as witness. The act between them took on a different dimension than at anytime before. There was no lust—but love. Each kiss, each caress, each touch went beyond the mere physical. They were pledging their lives to each other.
And when Ian entered her, Lyssa silently offered thanks to God. She belonged in his arms. Could never leave them. He held her heart.
Later, her head on his chest, her legs entwined in his, Lyssa knew this was how it should be.
She only prayed her father would agree, but she did not speak doubts to Ian. She knew him well enough to know he harbored his own. She also believed they were both stubborn enough to live their lives as they pleased.
The next morning they left for London. Lyssa rode the chestnut. She was a good rider. Not as good in the saddle as Ian, but she could ride hard and well.
They would make the city in less than three days.
She didn’t know what the future held, but she trusted Ian enough to place her fate in his hands.
Chapter Eighteen
THEY reached London late in the afternoon.
Ian had been considering each of his options and decided it was best they not meet Harrell in his own home.
“You don’t trust my father there?” Lyssa asked.
“We have much to say to him. Neutral territory is best.”
She lowered her gaze to the reins in her hands. The frown line he was beginning to anticipate every time she worried formed between her eyes. He leaned over and covered her hand with his for reassurance. “All will be well,” he promised. “After all, you are already mine.” Every night on the road he’d held her in his arms. And last night, he’d dreamed she carried his child. Nothing could take her away from him now.
Her gaze met his. She nodded. “Must we tell him about my stepmother?”
“What do you wish?”
She pressed her lips together. “I wish that we did not, and yet, what choice is there? I’m happy to remove myself from her sphere but what happens if some day in the future—?” She didn’t finish the thought. “His life could be in danger.”
Ian nodded. Of course, he had no illusions as to what Pirate Harrell’s response would be to an accusation against his wife. Harrell didn’t strike him as someone who would appreciate having his judgment questioned. And no matter how much Lyssa talked in the positive, he also knew Harrell would not accept him.
The test of Lyssa’s love would be if, when confronted by her father, she still choose Ian. He believed in his heart she would.
And yet life had played far too many dirty tricks to not consider the possibility of betrayal.
“Where do you propose we ask him to meet?” she said.
“I have a friend who owns an inn down by the wharves. It’s a respectable place although not in the best of neighborhoods.”
“Let’s go there then.”
“All right.”
He started to urge Fortune on, but Lyssa reached out and placed her hand on her arm. “Ian, no matter what, I shall stay with you.”
Bringing her hand up to his lips, he kissed it and she smiled. Yes, yes, yes, he wanted to believe.
They arrived at the Scrolled Serpent an hour later. He and Roddy, the inn owner, went way back to his days in Ireland. His friend was happy to let them have a private room and wise enough not to ask too many questions. The room was located on the ground floor next to public room and had a window overlooking the street, perfect for Ian’s purposes.
While Lyssa wrote the letter telling her father she was home and begging him to come meet her alone, Ian stabled the horses. He had no money, so he offered the stable manager his pistol until payment could be made, knowing full well the gun might be pawned or sold before he returned.
That was just as well. In the future, he planned not to need it again.
Walking down the narrow alley back to the Serpent, he realized he was a changed man from the one who had left London mere weeks before. He stopped, looking around at his surroundings. Soon this would all be in his past. Before, he’d been a man who trusted no one. Now, he searched for the good and meaningful in life. The dream he’d had of finding freedom, of
building a new home for his family was now in his grasp—and all because of Lyssa.
He found her sitting by the window, waiting for him while enjoying a cup of tea. Dropping his knapsack on the floor, he took the chair opposite hers at the table and asked, “Do we need to send the note?”
“We need the money my father promised you for finding me,” she answered, a practical wife already. “Besides, it’s already gone. Roddy had his son take it. We have only to wait now.”
Wait. He didn’t know if he could. As if reading his mind, she reached over and squeezed his hand. “It won’t be long now.”
“It could be hours.”
“Ian, not with my father.”
She was right. Within the hour, Harrell’s fine carriage rolled up to the inn door.
Lyssa caught sight of it out the window and sat up straight. The carriage door opened and Parker climbed down. “He didn’t come alone,” she said, her voice tight. Ian didn’t answer. Parker’s appearance could mean anything.
They watched as Harrell climbed out of the coach and then turned. He held out his hand for his wife.
“He brought her,” Lyssa said as if betrayed.
The former duchess moved slowly because of her advanced stage of pregnancy. She seemed calm, but her expression was one of worry. Ian couldn’t judge whether her concern was for her stepdaughter—or because she was about to be found out.
Grossett followed her out of the carriage but instead of moving on, he held out his hand and another woman came out of the coach. She was some twenty years older than Mrs. Harrell and dressed expensively, although her clothing appeared gaudy next to Mrs. Harrell’s simple elegance. She and Grossett bore an uncomfortable resemblance in their bulldog jowls and squinty eyes.
Lyssa looked to Ian. “That is Robert’s mother. A more unpleasant person you could never hope to meet, and she despises me. I don’t know why she is here. Ian, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be,” he ordered. “I’ll not let any harm come to you, and we might as well face them all. Come, let’s get this over with.” He stood, inviting her to do the same. Together they faced the door, her hand in his.
There was a moment of silence where the footfalls and sounds from the rest of the inn masked the opening of the front door, and then she said, “I wonder if Father will notice that I’ve changed?”
“That you are well loved?” he asked.
She laughed, not mistaking his meaning, but then sobered. “I feel I left London a child and I now return a woman. I’ve grown up so much, Ian. Let us pray Father can see beyond my worn clothes and wild hair and see what it is I have.” She gave his hand a squeeze for meaning.
Her words mirrored his own recent revelation. But before he could speak, Harrell’s voice came from out in the hall, demanding Roddy take him to his daughter.
The door opened without a knock and Lyssa pulled her hand from Ian’s. Her fists clenched…and Ian took a step back, trying to understand.
Pirate Harrell marched into the room. He was an imposing figured dressed in his black superfine down to his polished boots.
For a second, he and Lyssa faced off. “Father,” she said, acknowledging him.
“Daughter,” Harrell answered. His green gaze, so much like his daughter’s, swept her person from head to toe.
The tension stretched taut—and then Lyssa broke it by stepping forward. “I am so sorry.”
Her words seemed to linger in the air for a second before her father reached for her. They fell into each other’s arms, and he hugged her as if he’d never let her go.
And Ian feared the worst.
The others crowded in, Roddy shutting the door behind them. Grossett appeared as pompous as ever with his expensive hat and artfully combed hair. Ian was too conscious of their contrasts, of the fact he wore no coat, having left his off because of the torn sleeves. His fortunes seemed to have been halved over the past weeks while everyone else had prospered.
Mrs. Harrell glided over to her husband and stepdaughter while Parker made arrangements for more chairs and drink.
She still didn’t strike Ian as a murderess.
At last, Harrell and Lyssa parted. “I was so afraid for you.”
“I was safe, Papa,” she said.
“How was I to know that?” he demanded. “I feared the worst, you know! I thought you might have been kidnapped.”
“But there was no ransom,” she answered.
“Who helped you? Who was behind this!”
“Me. I did it all myself,” she confessed.
Her words were a shock to her father. “But why? Why would you endanger yourself in such a manner?”
“Because I had to go to Amleth Hall,” she told softly. “I had to.”
Harrell made an exasperated sound. “For what purpose? And why could you not have asked me instead going off on some wild escapade?”
Her gaze grew sad. “I did ask you, and you ignored me. You were busy.”
“Lyssa, when have I refused you anything?” he countered.
Her gaze strayed to her stepmother. Ian braced himself, but instead, Lyssa said, “It was something you didn’t want to do. I’ve met the Davidsons. I understand why you would wish to never see them again. And, I think, too, there would be sad memories.”
Her father sat in the chair Parker had arranged, bringing her down to sit in the one beside his. “You could have talked to me. I would have made arrangements and given you protection.”
“I know that now…but at the time—” She released her breath and admitted, “At the time, I was not thinking clearly.”
“Absolutely right. I’ve had Runners out looking for you.”
“I was camping with Gypsies,” she confessed.
“Gypsies!” The word exploded out of her father. The others in the room were as shocked as he.
Lyssa plunged on, saying all, “But they weren’t really Gypsies or else I might have been in terrible trouble. Mr. Campion made me understand my foolishness.”
“If they weren’t Gypsies, who were they—?” Harrell turned horrified eyes to his wife. “She ran off with strange people?”
Mrs. Harrell leaned across her husband to place her hand on Lyssa’s arm. “You were all right, weren’t you?”
Lyssa’s gaze dropped to her stepmother’s gloved hand. Then, for the first time since her father had entered the room, she looked to Ian. In her eyes was a plea for guidance.
He stepped forward. “She was safe and unharmed in any fashion when I found her.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about, Dunmore,” Mrs. Harrell said. “We have Lyssa home safe and that is all that matters, isn’t it, my lord?” She addressed this last to Grossett.”
“Yes, it is,” the bull-nosed viscount agreed. He still stood by the door. His gaze met Ian’s, and narrowed. He moved forward territorially, but his mother reached to hold him back. He ignored her. Putting his hands on the back of Lyssa’s chair, he said, “We’ve very glad to have you back, my dear.”
Ian heard the unspoken challenge. Grossett didn’t really believe nothing had happened to the woman he planned to marry and his narrowed eyes told Ian so.
Harrell didn’t miss a thing. His sharp gaze went from one man to the other before settling shrewdly on his daughter. He stood. “Well, Campion,” he said, “you were true to your word and I am grateful to you for fetching my Lyssa back. I never would have thought she’d head toward Scotland. Fancy that, because it does make sense. Perhaps I should have talked to my daughter more about her past. Then she wouldn’t have romanticized it. Here, Parker, pay the man so he can be on his way.”
Considering Ian dismissed, he turned back to his daughter. “You’ve had quite an adventure, Lyssa, although you don’t look too much the worse for wear.” He ran a critical eye over her person and added, “Well, you could be cleaned up some. And this costume you have on? Where the devil was your maid?”
“Missing,” Ian answered for her. Parker had taken a purse of coins from his jacket and
held it out to Ian, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he said, “I found your daughter a day over the Scottish border about ten days ago—”
“Ten days ago?” Harrell asked. “Why did it take you so long to return her?” There was a father’s steel in his voice.
“Because I discovered I’d been trailed by a party of men who attempted to kill your daughter by shooting at her twice, setting the wagon she was in on fire, and chasing us through the woods. Later, one of those same men nearly did us in at Amleth Hall.”
Ian watched Mrs. Harrell’s face as he spoke. She registered shock and then concern. He could have sworn all of this was news to her.
“The man leading the villains was named Fielder,” Lyssa said, finding her voice. She stood. “He knew a great deal about us, Papa. Mr. Campion protected me and we decided it was best we continue on to Amleth Hall with the hopes the Davidsons would help us.”
“They are the devil’s own kin,” Harrell said.
“I know that now, Papa,” she agreed quietly. “Ramsey, my cousin, gave Fielder shelter. His plan was to marry me for my fortune and then let Fielder kill me and Mr. Campion.”
“Dear God,” Harrell said. “Who would have wanted to murder you?”
Lyssa pressed her lips together. The frown line formed between her eyes and Ian took another step forward, ready to say all—but she held up her hand to stave him off, a signal that this was hers.
“My stepmother,” she said. There was no victory in her voice, only sadness.
“Frances?” Harrell said in disbelief.
“Not I!” she quickly objected, rising to her feet. “Lyssa, I would not hurt you!”
Lyssa shook her head. “I don’t accuse you lightly. I heard the truth of those words from Fielder’s mouth.”
“But why would I do such a thing, Lyssa?” her stepmother demanded.
“I don’t know,” Lyssa admitted. “Not any longer. I thought at first you would do it for your child so he would inherit all. Or perhaps you were jealous of my father and I. Whatever, I don’t know anymore.”
Mrs. Harrell turned to her husband. “Dunmore, I had nothing to do with a plot to kill Lyssa. I have no reason to.”
And Ian believed her. Harrell wasn’t certain. The information was too new, too fresh for him to accept or deny.
Adventures of a Scottish Heiress Page 22
