Highlander in Love

by Julia London

  “It occurred to me that our betrothal had been arranged under less than romantic circumstances. I never asked for yer hand properly, lass—I should have thought to do so long ago,” he said and withdrew a ring.

  “No!” Mared cried out, and panicking, she fell to her knees before him. “No, no,” she said, grabbing his hands in hers and closing his fingers over the ring, squeezing them tightly. “Donna do this, Payton, I beg of ye!” she cried and pressed her forehead to the knuckles of his hands which she was holding.

  “What…” He did not finish his question.

  Mared looked up—his mouth gaped open and raw emotion shone in his eyes. Tears welled in her eyes as he glanced down at their hands, as if he did not know whose hands they were.

  But his humiliation swiftly turned to anger, and the emotion in his eyes turned to steel. He jerked his hands away from hers and quickly gained his feet, then reached down and grabbed Mared by the arm, bringing her roughly to her feet.

  “Mared,” he said, obviously working to keep his emotions in check, “I am asking ye to come home with me. I’ve missed ye, and I…” He paused to groan with frustration. “Bloody hell, I love ye, Mared! I still love ye! Come home with me, aye? Ye donna belong in Edinburra. Ye are a Highlander, and ye belong in the Highlands—no’ among snakes and wolves as ye are now.”

  “Oh, Payton,” she said, and reached for his face, but he shoved her hand away.

  “I donna want yer bloody pity!” he spat acidly. “I want ye to be the woman I made love to, the woman who loved me back with such great passion!”

  Mared swiped unsteadily at the tears on her face. “I do love ye, Payton. More than ye know.” It was true—she did love him. But she loved her freedom, too, and she was only now discovering who she was without the curse. Her distress and confusion came out in a groan. “But I canna come with ye.”

  Payton’s hands fisted at his sides. He abruptly whirled around and struck out at an unlit lamp, toppling it over, unmindful of Mared’s cry of alarm. “Is it so bloody wonderful here, then?” he demanded angrily. “Ye find this a bonnier place than the Highlands ye love?”

  “I am finally living!” she insisted. “Can ye no’ understand? I’ve no’ had a life ’til now!”

  “That is where ye are wrong,” he said, and suddenly whirled around, catching her face between his big hands. “If it is life that ye want, I’ll give it to ye, Mared,” he argued heatedly. “I’ll give ye whatever yer heart desires. Do ye want to see the world? We’ll see it all. Do ye want gowns and jewels and fancy trappings? I’ll give ye whatever ye might imagine. Just…just be with me.”

  His plea was heartfelt. She knew, because her heart had tilted dangerously toward him again, even deeper this time, and it pained her to say no. She did love this man, with all her heart, she did love him. But she was afraid of going back, of being what she’d been before. “Will ye no’ come to Edinburra, then?” she asked weakly.

  He groaned painfully, pressed his forehead to hers. “I canna leave Eilean Ros.”

  Mared swallowed a lump of despair. “But I…I canna go back,” she whispered tearfully. “I canna be who I was then.”

  Payton sucked in a breath as if he’d been physically hit. He dropped his hands from her face and with a weary sigh, he pocketed the ring he had intended to give her. The bewilderment in his eyes was devastating.

  “Very well then,” he said, sounding completely dejected. He glanced up at her, and she could see how deep his hurt ran. “This is the last time I will impose on ye, leannan,” he said quietly. “I have loved ye, aye, I’ve loved ye all my life. But it seems I’ve been a bloody fool….” He sighed again, and turned partially toward the window. “Aye, but I’ll no’ be a fool again, for I donna believe,” he said, his voice getting hoarse with emotion, “that I can love ye any longer.”

  He might as well have kicked her in the gut, and in fact, Mared felt her knees begin to buckle. She grabbed on to his arm, but he shook her off and moved out of her reach. Payton, the man who had been the constant in her life, the man who had adored her, wooed her, courted her, enslaved her, seduced her…he wouldn’t love her any longer? The very notion shook her to her core. “Please donna say that,” she pleaded.

  “’Tis too late, Mared,” he said wearily. “Whatever I have felt for ye all these years has died with yer refusal. Go then. Live yer life. Leave no stone unturned.” He started to walk past her.

  Mared tried to catch his arm, to make him turn around, to make him take it back, but he shrugged out of her grip, opened the door, and strode into the brightly lit corridor.

  She did not see him again.

  Twenty-seven

  I t was Ellie who informed Mared that Payton had left Edinburgh. When she and Duncan came in from their afternoon stroll around Charlotte Square, Ellie handed her bonnet to the footman and said excitedly, “You did not tell me that Laird Douglas had come to town!”

  Mared froze at the writing desk where she was reading the post. “Douglas?” she echoed weakly. “In Edinburra?”

  “Yes, of course! I encountered Miss Douglas, and she told me that he’d come and gone in two days’ time. But he attended the Aitkin ball last evening—surely you saw him there.”

  “No,” Mared said, looking up. “No, I didna see him.”

  Ellie looked quite surprised. And even more skeptical.

  “It was horribly crowded,” Mared quickly added.

  “Hmm,” Ellie said, looking at her curiously. “I would think that the laird would seek you out, what with his regard for you.”

  “Oh,” Mared said airily, turning back to the morning post, “he’s not had any regard for me in months. No’ since I ruined his neckcloths.”

  “Really,” Ellie said.

  “No’ the slightest,” Mared insisted and nonchalantly picked up an invitation and stared blindly at it as the heat of her lie crept up her neck.

  “Well then, I suppose I shall inquire why he didn’t call when I see him next,” Ellie said pertly.

  Mared jerked her gaze up. “When you see him next?”

  “At Loch Chon. We’re to go home soon, you know.”

  “No, I didna know.”

  “Anna’s time is near, and the winter weather will be setting in soon. Didn’t Liam tell you?”

  “No,” Mared said, frowning. “He didna, for I would have told him that I canna go back to Talla Dileas.”

  Ellie’s gasp of surprise was nothing compared to Liam’s roar of disapproval over supper. They argued well into the night, Liam insisting that she could not remain behind, unchaperoned, without at least a companion, for it would not do for an unmarried lass to cavort about Edinburgh without escort.

  Mared argued just as vehemently that she was a grown woman, and she’d lived her entire life at Talla Dileas wasting away under that curse, and now she was determined to live life fully and become the person she was meant to be. Not a spinster. Not a woman stuffed away in some dreary rotting castle in the Highlands.

  Liam took great offense at that comment and he reminded her rather loudly—so loudly that Ellie ran from window to window, ensuring they were all soundly shut—that she was a Highlander born and bred, and he’d never let her forget it. Mared swore she’d never forget it, how could she? But that did not mean she was destined to be tucked away in the Highlands all her life. She reminded Liam that he and Grif had had their share of travel and adventure before the family fortune had turned, and now it was only fair that she had hers.

  “No’ without a companion or escort, no’ over my bloody body!” Liam shouted.

  Mared shrugged. “I donna care for a companion. But if that means ye’ll leave me in peace, then I shall have one. But I am no’ going back!” Especially not now that Payton hates me.

  The next morning, as a light snow dusted the streets of Edinburgh, Liam stormed out of their apartments. He returned several hours later accompanied by a plump gray-haired woman who was dressed in black bombazine. “Mared, leannan,” Liam said politel
y, “please meet yer chaperone, Mrs. MacGillicutty.”

  “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Miss Lockhart,” the woman said brightly. “Won’t we have a bonny time of it until yer brother can return for ye, aye?”

  “Oh, aye,” Mared said, and shooting a look at Liam, she took the woman in hand and showed her about their apartments.

  Liam, Ellie, and baby Duncan left a week after Mrs. MacGillicutty’s arrival, once Liam was satisfied that the old woman knew her business and would keep a watchful eye on Mared. As they loaded the ornate traveling chaise, Liam reviewed Mrs. MacGillicutty’s duties, which were, concisely, to ensure that Mared was never left alone in the company of a man of any sort. Gentleman or pauper, Liam cared not.

  “She’s rather popular at the moment,” he said. “She’ll be even more popular when the gentlemen learn I’ve gone, aye?”

  “Oh, indeed,” Mrs. MacGillicutty said, her lips pursed disapprovingly.

  “I canna be plainer than this, Mrs. MacGillicutty,” Liam said and put his arm around Mared, yanking her to his side and pointing his finger at her. “Ye canna trust this one, aye? Our Mared is right charming when she’s of a mind and wants ye to behave in a certain manner, but ye canna allow yerself to be fooled, woman. Do ye quite understand?” he asked as Mared groaned and huffed toward the gray sky.

  “Quite, Captain Lockhart.”

  He let Mared go. “I’ll expect ye to write at least weekly if no’ more frequently.”

  “It will be me pleasure!” the old bat swore and smiled sweetly at Mared.

  And with a lot of farewells and Godspeeds, Liam and his family departed for Talla Dileas as Mrs. MacGillicutty waved good-bye with one hand and snaked the other around Mared’s elbow, holding it in an ironclad grip as if she expected Mared to bolt then and there.

  Mared did not bolt then and there. She fancied herself more clever than that…but Mrs. MacGillicutty proved to be a worthy opponent. If a gentleman called—and several did—Mrs. MacGillicutty sat on the settee with Mared and read a book while the gentleman tried to make polite conversation with his mouth and love with his eyes and steal a touch of Mared’s hand when he could.

  When the gentleman left, Mrs. MacGillicutty would invariably make a comment or two about him. “Rather surprising Lord Tavish has time to make so many social calls, what with his wife and six children needing him at home, aye?” Or “Mr. Anderson seems to be a frequent caller all around the square, does he no’? He seems to have placed ye right between Miss Williams there,” she said, pointing to one side of the square, “and Miss Bristol just there,” she’d say, pointing to the opposite side of the square.

  Mared ignored the old woman, for she didn’t know what was really happening between Mared and her gentleman callers. She did not attend Mared at night, when she was afforded a modicum of freedom to attend all the fashionable supper parties and routs.

  At these events, she flirted with abandon with all the gentlemen who paid her heed and chatted and gossiped with all the women who were kind to her. She avoided Miss Douglas, for that one rarely acknowledged Mared when they chanced to meet.

  There were two gentlemen among several who seemed to be uncommonly interested in her. Mr. David Anderson, the son of Viscount Aitkin, had made it perfectly clear in both word and deed—whispered desires in her ear, stolen kisses under the cloak of darkness—that he would like their friendship to expand beyond its current boundaries, which, of course, she took to mean an offer of marriage. And Lord Tavish, the married earl, had also made it abundantly clear that he enjoyed Mared’s witty repartee. And her bosom.

  Mared did not care for Lord Tavish in the least, really, and she’d never consider any sort of relationship with him beyond the innocent banter at supper parties, as he was quite married and quite old. And frankly, Mr. Anderson did not suit her entirely, either, in that he wasn’t Payton. He seemed neither as strong nor as intelligent nor even as witty as Payton. But he was the son of a viscount, the sort of match her family had always wanted for her, but believed she’d never have.

  Shouldn’t she want it for herself? She had recently begun to think that perhaps she should be happy to marry a man of Anderson’s stature, and the fact that he wasn’t Payton—couldn’t hold a candle to Payton, really—she just ignored, pushing it down inside her, where all her feelings for Payton resided. Very deep. Dead and buried, as it were. He didn’t love her anymore—it seemed she should look to marriage elsewhere.

  While she found him pleasant enough, Mared knew she’d never feel love for Mr. Anderson. She simply thought him a proper match. Love rarely entered into these arrangements, she’d learned. It was a matter of properly aligning fortunes and mutual expectations.

  Having thus convinced herself, it wasn’t until the wedding of Miss Clara Ellis to Mr. Fabian MacBride that the thought of Payton dug its way out of its grave and rose up from the dead to torment her like a bloody nightmare.

  On that occasion, Mared arrived at the kirk, all smiles in the ice blue gown Anna had given her. She walked down the aisle to take her place among the other guests, smiling and greeting—Good afternoon, Mr. MacBain. How lovely yer bonnet, Miss Caraway.

  The wedding ceremony was rather boring, Mared thought. There was no lively crowd, not like in the Highlands. This was a very stilted affair, in which people nodded approvingly, but no one sang out their heartfelt congratulations to the couple.

  Afterward, at the wedding breakfast, which was served in a hall on Princes Street, Mared sat alone. The gentlemen she knew were in the company of their families or wives and were not free to flirt with her. As the breakfast ended and a celebration of sorts began, Mared spied Mr. Anderson, who had been quite solicitous and charming the night before. She made her way to him, but he seemed oddly shocked that she was in attendance when she met him. “Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” she said.

  “Miss Lockhart?” He looked around, smiling nervously.

  “Wasn’t the wedding bonny?” Mared asked. “I thought the bride particularly so.”

  “Aye, she was indeed.” He licked his lips, his gaze scanning the crowd around them.

  Mared smiled, cocked her head to one side, and tapped him on the arm with her fan. “Are ye quite all right, Mr. Anderson?”

  “Ah…very well,” he said, seeming startled she would even ask. “Grand to see ye, Miss Lockhart, but if ye will excuse me, I must attend my grandmother.”

  “Oh. Of course.” How odd, she thought. Mr. Anderson was always so hotly in pursuit of her, but now he nodded curtly and walked away.

  Mared’s smile faded completely when he did not attend his grandmother, but a young woman Mared had seen a few times before. She suddenly had the very old and familiarly uncomfortable feeling that people were whispering about her. The hair stood up on the back of her neck as it used to do in the lochs when people would close their doors as she walked by.

  So it was with great relief that she spied a familiar and friendly, albeit roguish, face in Hugh MacAlister, standing near the entrance in the company of two men. Mared walked across the room to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Here I am, sir, the object of yer desire,” she teased him.

  “What?” Hugh said sharply, turning around. His frown instantly turned to a smile when he saw Mared before him. “Ah then, look at ye, Miss Lockhart! How bonny ye are! I’d wager ye are the object of more than one man’s desire, aye?”

  Mared laughed. “I’m very happy to see ye, Hugh. I could use a friend just now.”

  “Ah,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “I would that I might stay behind and lend an ear, leannan, but I’ve another engagement and several ah…persons awaiting me there.”

  “Ye are a scoundrel, sir!”

  “That, lass, is quite well established,” he said with a wink. “Very well, then, good—”

  “Wait!” she cried, realizing that he was indeed leaving her. “Ye donna truly intend to walk away just now? Please stay, Hugh. I am alone and feeling rather strangely reviled by a man I tho
ught rather keen on me.”

  “A pity,” he said, his smile gone. “But I canna stay. I am wanted elsewhere.”

  She frowned petulantly at him. “I thought ye adored me. I thought ye came all the way back from Ireland just for me.”

  Hugh surprised her by laughing. “Ach, lass, how naïve ye are! Ye believed that?”

  Mared blinked. Of course she didn’t believe Hugh had come back from Ireland for her, but she did believe he held her in some regard. Why else would he say all the things he’d said? Of course she didn’t believe he loved her, but certainly he held her in some esteem, for he’d said so, many times.

  When Hugh saw in her expression that she did believe he esteemed her, he leaned forward and said bluntly, “Donna be a fool, Mared. That is what men and women do, aye? They flatter and they flirt, and they dance around the point of it all until one or the other is successful in taking the other to their bed.”

  She blushed and snapped open her fan. “Perhaps that is yer manner of operation, but it’s no’ the way of a gentleman. I’ve had several gentleman callers in Edinburra, and no’ one of them has suggested such a thing!”

  “Indeed?” Hugh asked and looked across the room to where Mr. Anderson was still speaking with the young woman. “And do ye think, then, that Mr. Anderson’s attentions to ye were in the course of building to an offer of marriage?”

  “How would ye know of that!” she demanded.

  “Poor lass,” Hugh said and laughed roundly. “Everyone knows of his interest in ye. Everyone knows that Anderson would have ye as his mistress. Really, then, did ye think he’d marry ye? A woman of yer age and situation?” He laughed again and patted her on the arm. “Ye really are a lamb, leannan. Run back to the Highlands, aye? Ye’re too good for the likes of Edinburra, and ye are far too naïve to play the games that amuse people here.”

  Mared bristled at the condescension in his tone. How dare he speak to her as if she were an ignorant child! She glared at him icily. “I beg yer pardon, Mr. MacAlister, but I should have thought twice before renewing my acquaintance with a roué!”