They were scheduled to arrive in Scotland late the next morning. Their stops grew longer. They enjoyed a good dinner together when they changed horses and drivers for the evening.
This time, when they prepared to sleep, he reached for her to snuggle against him—and she didn’t hesitate.
Andres. His name was romantic. It rolled off her tongue. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of saying it.
And she liked the way he said her name—his accent harder on the first syllable. His palomita.
The next morning was much colder than the first. They’d reached Yorkshire. The Scottish border was only hours away. Over breakfast, Andres asked the innkeeper if he had ever heard of Stonemoor, adding, “It’s close to Newcastle.”
“No, can’t say I have,” the innkeeper answered, his broad North English accent almost harder for Abby to understand than Andres’s Spanish one. “Newcastle is a right far distance from here.” He hurried on with his duties of serving the other party of patrons at the table across the small room from them.
Andres leaned across the table toward Abby. “What did he say?”
She laughed and interpreted. “They say some Scots have accents so thick, their English is unintelligible.”
“Just so we understand the priest,” Andres commented.
The word “priest” caught her.“Are you Catholic?”
He shrugged. “There is only one religion in Spain.”
“Are you religious?” Abby had not thought about these things. She did know some Catholics. They seemed no different from herself.
“I believe in el buen Dios—the good Lord,” he said.
“As do I,” Abby agreed.
Their eyes met, their gazes held. He understood what she was thinking when he said, “We are not so different, are we?”
“I think not.”
“And we shall look at what is common between us instead of the differences.”
Abby nodded … and that was when she started to fall in love.
Her attraction to Andres, her growing feelings for him, were different from what she’d had for Freddie. Her love for him had been intense, frantic, uncertain.
What she felt for Andres was trust and a belief he meant the words he said to her.
A great weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. She’d had doubts. She knew she’d jumped rashly into this agreement between them … but it was a gamble that she was beginning to believe was the wisest of her life.
And she thought he felt the same. There was more warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. He’d started a habit of placing his hand not only on her arm but also resting it lightly on her waist, even in front of strangers.
“How much longer do we have until we reach Scotland?” she asked.
“The driver told me three, maybe four hours.”
“I suggest we should be going then,” she said.
His lips curved into a grin. “Yes, we must,” he agreed, rising from the table and offering his arm.
They put on their coats and hats and started for the door, but Abby stopped, hearing a gruff, demanding voice that sounded all too familiar.
“I say, innkeeper! Where are you?”
She pulled back, grabbing hold of Andres’s coat. “My father.”
Her warning came in enough time for them both to step back out of his view.
“Innkeeper!” her father called again. “I need a change of horses.” He muttered something to someone with him.
“Who is he with?” Andres wondered.
“Probably Mr. Vaughn, his secretary,” Abby whispered. “He often travels with him.”
The other patrons of the inn were looking up from their breakfasts with interest.
“I’m going to talk to him,” Andres decided.
Abby grabbed his arm. “No. He’s here to stop us.” And she didn’t want that.
Her life was now interesting. She understood that. Two days ago, she’d had nothing to look forward to, nothing that had piqued her curiosity or challenged her intellect.
Andres and his dreams had changed her. “If you talk to him, he will take me back to London,” she promised, speaking in a whisper because she didn’t want the other guests to overhear.
“Do you not want his blessing?” Andres asked.
“If I thought I could have it, I wouldn’t have eloped,” Abby answered. “Do you want Stonemoor or not?”
His response was to grab her hand and race over to the window near the fireplace. He threw it open. “Come along.”
Abby sat on the sill. Munching their sausages and toasted bread, the other guests watched with open curiosity as Abby ducked out the window and slipped out. The ground was cold and hard here, the window guarded by a holly bush. She stepped out of the way, seeing her father’s lightest traveling coach in front of the inn’s door.
Andres put his leg over the sill, his hat in one hand. But before he could pull his body through, there was a shout.
“Stop that man.”
Her father had discovered them.
Chapter Ten
AAndres didn’t waste time looking over his shoulder. He heard Banker Montross’s voice and he jumped through the window, landing on a damned difficult bush. His hat fell out of his hands. He didn’t care. He grabbed Abby’s arm and went running for their coach.
She was right in step beside him.
Their new driver had been leaning against the coach, talking to several other men in the inn yard. With a fresh team of horses, Andres believed they could make it to the border before her father could stop them.
He shouted to the driver. “Climb into the box. Drive out of here with haste, man.”
The driver had given a start when he saw them coming. When one of the men he was talking to said something to him, a look of confusion passed across his face.
Andres reached the coach. He threw open the door, letting Abby climbed in as he shot out a hand and grabbed his driver by the throat. “If he told you to ignore my order, you’d best not listen to him.”
The driver nodded, his eyes wide and his face red. Andres let go of his hold. “And I’ll double your price if we beat him to the Scottish border,” he added.
Those words performed magic. The driver swung up into the box even as the inn’s front door opened and Banker Montross came running out into the yard.
“Hold, I say,” the banker yelled. “Hold.”
But the driver obeyed Andres’s orders. Two fellows tried to grab hold of the horses, but with a hard crack of the whip, the animals jumped into action.
Fortunately, Andres still had hold of the door, or he would have been thrown to the ground and left behind. He swung inside the coach, slamming the door shut behind him.
The horses picked up speed. Both Andres and Abby were rocked and tossed by the racing coach. He put his arms around her, trying as much as he could to shield her from being thrown around. She responded by putting her arms around him.
The driver called down to them. “He’s following us, sir.”
“Outrun him,” Andres ordered.
“This mustn’t go on,” Abby said. She was extremely pale. “I didn’t think he’d follow this quickly. He had to have traveled harder and faster than we did.”
“He wants you back.”
She nodded, then tightened her hold. “I’m afraid,” she whispered. “If something happens to him because of my actions—”
“Don’t think on it,” Andres warned. “Our horses are fresh. His aren’t.”
“How can you be certain?”
“If he is this close to us, he didn’t take the time to change teams. We’ll outdistance him.”
“He won’t give up,” she predicted.
“Then we shall stay ahead of him,” Andres answered.
And they did. The road was good here and the traffic light at this time of year and this time of day. Their driver also had a skilled hand. It would cost Andres almost everything he owned to pay the man off, but he was worth it.
What pleased Andres most wa
s that Abby had not wavered in her loyalty to him. Many women had wanted him in their lives, but at little sacrifice to themselves.
Abby was offering all. Her trust, her belief in him, was humbling.
As they rode, heading madly for the border, he silently vowed she would not regret her decision. He would protect and keep her. It was his duty, a sacred obligation—
The coach slowed down.
Andres released Abby and threw down the window. “What is the matter?” he called to the driver.
“There is no need to race,” the man answered. “The lads following us had an accident.”
Abby heard his words and gave out a sharp cry. “Stop. We must stop.”
The driver was already coming to a halt by the side of the road. “Give me a second, my lady,” he said. “Have to let the horses walk.”
But Abby wasn’t having any of that. She crawled over Andres’s lap and was attempting to open the door even before the coach came to a halt. Andres put his arm around her waist, holding her back lest she fall out of the coach.
“Please,” she begged.
“A moment, a moment,” he whispered. Once it was safe, he opened the door.
She didn’t wait for him to help her out but tumbled forward. The coach was on a high knoll that overlooked a valley. They could see the road behind them to where her father’s coach lay on its side almost a mile behind them. His horses’ frightened screams carried through the air to them.
Abby started to charge down the road, but Andres placed his hands on her shoulder, holding her in place.
“Let go. I must help him,” she cried, trying to throw his hands free of her.
“He’s all right,” Andres said. “He’s fine.”
And he was. So were the horses. The coachman cut their traces and freed them. The frightened animals ran off into a wide circle, each urging the other on. Andres knew they would stop once they sensed they were safe.
Banker Montross and his associate had both climbed out of the coach. They dropped to the ground and took tentative steps, as if testing for injuries.
“Papa,” Abby cried, the sound echoing throughout the valley in the morning air.
Her father looked in her direction. He began walking up the road toward them. Abby shook off Andres’s hands and started down the hill, but she stopped after a few steps.
Her body stiffened; her chest heaved with anxiety.
She turned to Andres, her expression anguished, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He could have been killed,” she said. “Because of me.”
“But he is alive—” Andres pointed out. She cut him off with a sharp gesture of her hand, her attention already returned to the man moving up the hill toward them.
“If I go to him,” she said, her voice tense with indecision, “he will take me back. I’ll return to everything the way it was.”
Andres needed her. He needed her money, but he was also beginning to need her trust in him. He wanted to say something to call her back … but he couldn’t. She had to choose him on her own. He didn’t know why he felt this, when he would be completely ruined without her … and yet he stood silent, waiting, wanting—
“I can’t,” she whispered, as if horrified with herself. “I can’t return. I don’t want to. I’ve hurt them.” She looked to Andres for understanding. “I’ve hurt my parents and I didn’t want to. That was never my intent.”
She glanced back at her father. He’d obviously banged his leg up a bit, because he’d started to limp as he made his way toward them. His associate, Mr. Vaughn, had started to follow him. The coachman stayed with the horses, which had come to a halt as Andres had predicted.
“But I can’t return,” she said. “I’ve come too far.”
She walked toward Andres, her head down. He gathered her in his arms, leading her to the coach and helping her in. “Take us to Gretna,” he ordered the driver, who nodded his obedience. Gretna Green was the village located right across the Scottish border known for the number of quick marriages performed there.
The minute Andres seated himself and closed the door, Abby fell into his arms, sobbing.
He hadn’t comforted many people in his life. He hadn’t been the sort others had looked to for advice or support. He’d been the outsider, the loner.
But not now.
Her conflict, her pain in making her choice, tore at his heart.
Especially since she had chosen him. No one had ever done that.
He tightened his hold on her.
Her crying was soon spent. She brought it to a close, sniffing and trying to put herself back together. She moved, as if needing her freedom, and he released his hold. Abby tilted her face toward him. Their lips were inches from each other. He wanted to kiss her but sensed now was not the time. Not when she was so fragile.
“I love them,” she said.
His throat tightened. “They know that,” he murmured.
“I hope they do.”
“The child must leave the parent.”
She lifted her shoulders as if not wanting to believe him, but then let them relax with a resigned nod of her head. “I wish it was less painful.”
“I think you are blessed to have a father who cares so much.”
Abby had heard what he hadn’t said, what he hadn’t completely realized he’d admitted—and he realized he was the fragile one. She was strong compared to him.
Brave. Courageous.
He’d asked so much of her.
“I promise you will see them soon,” he said. “And this is not a bad choice, Abby. I feel it is the right one.”
Those clear blue eyes of hers studied him a moment as if they could see all the way to his mind, his heart, his soul. Slowly, she nodded her head. “That’s what makes this so painful. I am doing what I choose to do. But I hate hurting those who love me so well and whom I love deeply in return.”
Andres tasted panic. How could he measure up to what she’d just said? He’d never had anyone love him. Not the way her parents cared for her.
And then she smiled. There was nothing in the world more loving, more beautiful, than Abby’s smile. It carried such trust, such belief. It swelled his chest with pride … because she was now including him in her life.
His arm still rested around her waist. He pulled her closer to her. “You will not be sorry,” he promised. “You will not be sorry.”
She nodded, his jacket held in her fists.
In this manner, holding each other tight, they pulled into the village of Gretna Green.
The coach came to a halt. A moment later, their driver opened the door. “We’re here, my lord.” He all but held out his hand for the promised double payment.
Andres climbed out. Abby busied herself putting on her bonnet, giving him a moment to settle with the driver.
Andres’s coin purse was growing lighter. He didn’t have much left and prayed he had enough money to pay the clergy.
“The anvil priest I’d recommend is over in that guesthouse there,” the driver said. “They can do the ceremony in a blink, and for an extra guinea they’ll give you a room to finish the job, if’n you know what I mean.” He winked in case Andres had any doubts. “David Laing’s his name. His wife keeps the room. Nice and clean. You can have a good breakfast in the morning, too. Man needs that, doesn’t he?”
“Anvil priest?” Andres repeated, not understanding.
“Up here, the blacksmiths are the best at marriages. Anyone can tell you so.”
Abby had come to the coach door. She had her bonnet and coat on and carried the bag she’d hadsince she’d met Andres at the circulating library. Andres helped her down. Her face was still too pale, but sheseemed at peace.
“In Scotland, you don’t need clergy,” Abby explained. “All that is asked for is a witness.”
Seeing Andres’s surprise at her knowledge, she smiled. “I learned this from the stories my parents told of when they eloped. The old duke was not about to give the hand of his favorite daughter in marriag
e to a poor banker.”
“And so they ran away,” Andres said, taking her hand and placing it on his arm.
“Yes, and had no regrets,” she answered. “I plan to feel the same.”
The house that the driver had directed them to was a white cottage. The overcast day had grown darker. It was afternoon, but one would think it evening. This was what Andres had assumed Scotland would be. Dreary and dull. Not exactly his choice for a wedding.
The driver fell into step behind them. Andres learned why when they reached the cottage gate and the woman who greeted them called to the driver by name. “Hey, there now, John Whitacre. Who have you brought to us?”
Whitacre mugged a face at Andres’s raised eyebrows. “A man has to make a living, my lord. Besides, you need more than one witness, don’t you?” Whitacre said.
“Aye, John’s a good witness,” the woman said. “And he won’t cost you much.”
Andres could have told her he’d already cost him plenty, but he held his tongue in front of Abby.
David Laing turned out to be a former soldier who worked as a blacksmith and performed marriages. Andres thought it an odd combination, but apparently it was the way things were done here.
Laing was happy to marry them for what he assured them was a very good price. “To be honest,” he said in his roguish brogue, “business has been a wee bit slow since the days have been shorter. After Christmas they will start marrying again. You know, once they can smell spring.”
“I’ll ready the chamber,” the woman Andres assumed to be Mrs. Laing said. Her words brought color to Abby’s cheeks, which was not such a bad thing.
Within the half hour, Andres found himself standing with Abby before Laing in the front room of Laing’s low-ceilinged cottage. Both Andres and Abby had removed their coats and freshened up the best they could. A fire burned in the grate, and lanterns had been lit against the gloom.
Abby placed her gloved hand in Andres’s. Mr. Laing began the ceremony. He started by asking for their names and addresses and if they were both single.
“Are you here of your own free will, miss?” Laing asked Abby.
“I am.”
“Go ahead now and pay me then,” Laing said. “Have her make the payment,” he instructed Andres. Seeing Andres’s frown at the suggestion, he explained, “If she pays, no one can come back later and claim she was married against her will.”
His Christmas Pleasure Page 12
