“Ye have dirt on your face,” he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “And, lass, ye did tell me.”
He chuckled at her frown of confusion.
“I never told you.”
“Aye, ye did. Last night. Ye talk in yer sleep.”
Mouth open, Yvette stared at him speechless.
Chuckling, Ewan pushed her mouth closed with his forefinger, then wrapped her in a woolen tartan.
Gregor led Shaidae to them. Ewan stepped into the stirrup, then slung his leg over the saddle. Gregor lifted Yvette and place her in front of Ewan.
She snuggled against him, feeling safer and more content than she’d ever been before.
“And I’ll be thanking ye not to be misplacing this again so soon.” He held the Luckenbooth brooch.
“Ewan.” Throwing her arms about his neck, she kissed him soundly. The laughter of his clansmen didn’t deter her in the least. “How can I ever thank you?”
The entire journey to the Keep, Ewan whispered an assortment of clever ways she could show her gratitude. Yvette was most grateful for the night’s darkness for she was sure her cheeks were in high color by the time they arrived home.
At the castle, Ewan ordered a bath for Yvette, and after kissing her, sent her to her chamber. He went straightaway to his study, Hugh and Gregor in his wake with Edgar secured between them. Requesting Clarendon be sent to his office at once, he sat at his desk, and penned two missives.
A single tap announced the earl’s arrival.
“Come.”
“You requested . . .” Clarendon’s voice trailed off when he glimpsed his brother standing stiffly, covered in drying filth. Cocking a brow, he quipped, “Ah, I see in addition to your wife, Sethwick, you’ve located my wayward sibling.”
“Clarendon, I have a request to make of you.”
Ewan stood with the two sealed letters in his hand. “First thing in the morning, will you depart for London and deliver these? Six of my men will accompany you. Your brother is under arrest.”
Leveling Ewan with his cool gaze, Clarendon asked, “May I ask on what charge?”
“Take your pick. Treason, murder, attempted murder, abduction, extortion.”
“Murder?” Clarendon faced his brother full on while speaking to Ewan. “Who did he murder?”
“Do you want to tell him, Marquardt, or shall I?”
Edgar sneered, “You should have let me die in the bog.”
Ewan cocked his head. “Aye, I should have. ‘Tis what you deserved. Alas, Evvy’s kind heart could not bear it. She would have been haunted with the image the rest of her days. I did it for her, not you.”
Clarendon asked again, “Who did you murder?” The deadly calmness of his voice made Ewan suspect the earl had already arrived at the truth.
His demeanor changing, Edgar sniveled, “It wasn’t my fault. She wasn’t supposed to drink . . . It was meant for . . .” He faltered, then mashed his lips together, refusing to speak further.
Ewan finished Edgar’s Sentence. “Yvette. The drink was meant for Yvette. He tried to kill her on more than one occasion.”
He heaved a sigh. “Roark, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. He,” Ewan’s gaze flicked to Edgar glaring daggers at him, “is suspected of poisoning your mother and stepfather. Yvette was his intended victim, not your mother.”
Clarendon responded not at all, except to turn his back to his brother. “I’ll take your letters. I presume they’re classified? Yes, I assumed as much. Rest assured, I’ll see he, is delivered to Newgate.”
“Rory, you can’t.”
Clarendon ignored Edgar’s plaintive whine. He shifted toward the door. “I shall leave at first light.”
Ewan’s gaze met Clarendon’s. Rampant agony reflected deep within the earl’s blue eyes. “Please return to Craiglocky when you’ve finished. Yvette expressed her desire to have you stay for an extended visit.”
Ewan reached to shake his hand. “‘Tis comforting to have family nearby in times such as these.”
Clarendon replied with a curt nod. He left the study without ever looking at his brother again.
A small gratified smile lingered on Ewan’s lip. Yes, it would be most enjoyable having the Earl as a houseguest. He was especially curious to see Adaira’s reaction.
Chapter 33
Yvette peered over Seonaid’s shoulder. “How is she?”
Seonaid glanced at Yvette. “Frail, but improving.”
On the straw was a bitty, days old calf, her mother dead of milk fever. The baby suckled the improvised bottle Seonaid had created for her. Squatting, Yvette rubbed the animal’s silky head. Large brown eyes, filled with trust, shifted to meet hers, though the calf never stopped her ravenous onslaught.
Yvette stepped from the stall, Seonaid behind her.
One of the Keep’s many dogs was barking. The barking grew louder, more frantic, somehow familiar. Yvette lifted her head and cocked it to the side. Could it be?
Hurrying to the shed door, she threw it open. Hastening outside, she skidded to a standstill at the wondrous sight meeting her eyes. God in heaven, it was.
Two carriages were in the courtyard, and descending from one was a rotund woman dressed in a vivid red traveling ensemble. She resembled a great ladybird beetle.
“Pippa!”
Yvette tore across the courtyard, tears streaming from her eyes. Apollo and Artemis spotted her and began yapping, running in frenzied circles about their mistress’s skirts.
Pippa bustled over to her. “My child, my dearest.” The women clung to one another, tears of joy flowing freely.
Yvette pulled away first, laughing and wiping her face with her hands. “Pippa, I’ve missed you so.”
“What about me, minx?”
“Siah!” Yvette launched herself into his arms.
Yvette clasped sapphire earrings onto her ears, and then the matching choker. Taking one last look in the mirror her lips curved into a half-smile. Pippa had outdone herself. Her hair was elaborately coiffed, jewels sparkling throughout.
Her cobalt gown hugged her bosom, falling away in numerous layers. A glittering beaded overskirt, the intricate lace, as delicate as a spider’s web, split at the middle and was secured on each side, hip high with blue ribbon roses. The Luckenbooth brooch, nestled at the lace between her breasts, proclaimed her allegiance to Ewan.
He sat on the divan, watching her finish her toilette. My but he did look splendid in his formal attire. He approached from behind, and her eyes met his sultry ones in the mirror. Lowering his head, he placed a kiss on her shoulder. A finger trailed to touch the mole on her breast.
“Mon amour, I’m not sure I approve of the current fashion.” His eyes dipped to the generous portion of her breasts exposed above her bodice.
“You’ve not objected before, my lord,” Yvette teased, a smile curling her lips.
“Aye, but I find I’ve become much more possessive of certain charms now we are wed.”
She turned in his arms. Running her hands over his chest, she grasped his broad shoulders, and rose onto her tiptoes. Pulling his head toward hers, she whispered against his lips,
“That may be, my lord, but remember, those charms are reserved for your exclusive use.” She gifted him with passionate reassurance lasting several luscious moments.
Ewan wiggled his eyebrows, slanting his head toward the bed. “Perhaps we could delay supper?”
Yvette swatted him on the arm. “Heavens no. I promised the twins a full accounting since I saw them last, and Pippa worked so hard on my hair. She’d have an apoplectic fit if I disturbed so much as a curl.”
Sauntering to the door, she tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Besides, husband, anticipation makes the prize more desirable.” She loved the way his eyes da
rkened and his nostrils flared when he was aroused.
Dinner was a lengthy affair, boasting twelve courses. Yvette looked down the length of the table. Her heart skipped a happy beat. This gathering was quite different from her first in the Hall. Tonight she was surrounded by people she loved and she knew loved her. She slanted a sideways glance toward Ewan. He watched her.
“Mon amour, you’re not eating very much.”
She smiled at him. “‘Tis impossible to eat a large portion of each course, and honestly, Ewan, I’m not fond of trout. It tastes of weeds.” Yvette laid her hand on his arm. “And, I intend to dance until the wee hours. If I’m stuffed like a goose it will be nigh impossible.”
Running his hand along the top of her thigh, he whispered “Nae, not ‘til the wee hours, ma belle. I’ve other plans.”
Yvette dipped her head to hide the blush she was sure flared across her cheeks. Good Lord. Delicious sensations spiraled from where his fingers brushed her leg. There was something to be said for seeking one’s bed early on.
The instrumentalist struck the first notes. Ewan stood. “Would you honor me with this dance?”
“Of course.”
They danced alone for several moments, the eyes of the assembled trained on them. Twirling onto the floor, Yvette forgot everything but the feel of her husband’s arms, this waltz a reminder of a fortuitous day long ago. Unlike their first dance, this time, their eyes met and held in an unspoken pledge. Other couples began making their way onto the floor, and soon it was a swirling mass of color.
The waltz ended and he led her to the dais.
What is he about? She was conscious of the gazes that followed them as the room settled into a hush of anticipation. The musicians stopped playing. Conversations ceased. A suspenseful lull descended on the Hall. Whatever is going on? Yvette tilted her head and searched his eyes. “Ewan?”
“Trust me, petite amie.”
Holding her hand, Ewan turned to face the crowd.
“Kin and kith, I’m a man blessed beyond measure.” He looked at Yvette and kissed her fingertips, smiling into her confused eyes before addressing the guests again. “Yvette has honored me these past weeks in her role as my wife. However, I promised her a proper proposal, one she has never received.”
His gaze swept her face. She stared at him, her eyes wide and wondering. He scanned the faces of those assembled. Pippa was wiping tears from her eyes. The twins were grinning like buffoons. Adaira and Isobel were hugging each other. Dugall winked, and his mother and Hugh were nodding their approval.
Drawing a deep breath, he swallowed before plowing on. “I never asked Yvette to be my wife. My viscountess. My Chieftainess. My life’s partner. Circumstances, destiny, fate, divine providence, whatever you wish to call it, compelled us into marriage.”
Ewan turned to look straight into Yvette’s stunned eyes, burrowing into their luminous depths. Taking a knee, in the presence of those whom he had authority over, he raised her hand, and removed her elbow-length glove. “I want to give you your proper proposal, and the wedding you always wanted. Yvette Alexandra Clarisse Stapleton McTavish, will you marry me?”
Stealing a glance at those watching, she whispered, “Ewan, you don’t have to do this.”
“Nae, love, I need to.”
It was as if it were only he and Yvette, alone, the world closing in on them, erasing everything else. It became the pair of them, in this public place, their two souls reaching across a chasm, meshing, joining.
“Will you marry me, Evvy? With all the ceremony and fuss? With dozens, hundreds, I don’t care, thousands in attendance? With clergy and bells, flowers and veils. Will you pledge yourself to me, for now and always? I want to give you a choice, because, mon seul amour, you were never given it.”
Head bowed he said, “Will you chose to marry me?”
Yvette tugged at him until he stood facing her. Tears loomed in her eyes. “Aye, Ewan, Laird McTavish, Viscount Sethwick, keeper of my heart. I will wed you.”
Lifting her left hand, he slipped a ring onto her finger. Four sapphires framed a ruby. “The sapphires reminded me of your eyes, chérie, one for each corner of the earth, and the ruby is my heart. There’s nowhere on earth you may go, you’ll not carry my heart with you. ‘Tis wholly, now, forever and always, yours.
Epilogue
On a glorious September afternoon, Yvette and Ewan exchanged wedding vows in Craiglocky Castle’s private chapel. With only their closest family and friends present, the wedding was intimate and private. Vangie was indeed the matron of honor, and Ian acted as the best man.
The celebration afterward was a lavish affair, and would’ve been considered garish if not so tastefully done. As the newlyweds stood on the dais, the Great Hall resounded with cheers from the hundreds of well-wishers. The grand ball that followed was unequaled in Craiglocky’s history. Not only were the guests celebrating the laird’s wedding day, it was Yvette’s first-and-twentieth birthday.
Even the scandalous arrest and imprisonment of Edgar could not dampen the extravagant festivities. The Earl of Rothingham, at last exposed as the War Office traitor, was summarily arrested for high treason. Within a matter of hours, less than twelve to be precise, he’d bribed his way out of Newgate and was reported to have fled to the Caribbean.
Edgar was spared the hanging he deserved as it was impossible to prove he had murdered his mother and stepfather. With Rothingham’s disappearance, and the deaths of Fielding and the Italians, there was no one to testify to his treasonous behavior. Rothingham’s systematic elimination of every witness and accomplice spared Edgar the most extreme consequence of his actions. He departed England in disgrace.
True to his word, the Earl of Clarendon returned for an extensive holiday. Adaira’s reaction to the Earl’s presence was confounding at best.
That night as Yvette lay satiated in Ewan’s arms, she revealed a secret she had kept as a hidden treasure, in the deepest recesses of her heart. In late spring, she and Ewan would welcome their own bairn into the world.
Yes, she reflected as she drifted off to sleep, when a heart is filled with love, there hope abides, and one can embrace love fearlessly.
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