To Love a Scottish Lord

by Karen Ranney

  A man comes to know a woman he admires. A better voice to remember, a revelation that had made her heart stutter. Hamish hadn’t glanced away, but met her gaze unflinchingly, his courage in evidence again. Dearest Hamish.

  If she cried, it would be because she’d never see him again, because her life would never again be enlivened by his presence. He’d never make her smile again, or touch her in tenderness and passion. They wouldn’t have hours to talk or laugh or plumb each other’s minds.

  Murderess.

  Voices outside her cell made her stop and listen. A few moments later, a burst of laughter split the silence. She began to walk again, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come tonight. Should she count the hours until dawn, measure the time until she was taken to the coach that would take her to Edinburgh? How many days were left to her?

  Thank God for Castle Gloom. Thank God that she’d ignored every tenet of her upbringing to lust and love. Thank God for those weeks of hedonism and laughter. She would cling to those memories until the moment death came to her.

  She was cold, but not from the wintry winds. Tonight, she wore the cloak Hamish had left for her, but it was no comfort against the chill that started deep inside, accompanied by one word. Murderess.

  Would he come again tonight? Would it be wrong to pray for such a thing? She wanted desperately to see him again.

  “You’ll wear a path in the stone, Mary.”

  Turning, she stared at him. She’d wanted Hamish to be real so fervently that for a moment she didn’t comprehend that he was actually standing in the doorway, attired in a dark greatcoat.

  “God granted my prayer,” she said softly. “I so wanted to see you one more time.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “I’ve come to take you out of here,” he said.

  “It’s much too dangerous,” she said, feeling a bite of regret. “I won’t have you hurt.”

  “It might well be,” he said, nodding. “But I prefer it to the alternative. I haven’t a taste for Edinburgh, Mary. Do you?”

  “I’ve never been,” she said, feeling an absurd wish to giggle.

  “Then let’s see other places in the world instead. I’ve been charting a few in my mind.”

  Her heart seemed to stop and then race ahead.

  “Where are we going?”

  “For now, out of here. We’ll choose our destination later.”

  Gently, he placed his hand on the small of her back and urged her toward the door.

  “What did you do to the guards?” she asked as they left the cell. Two men were sprawled facedown over the table.

  “I didn’t poison them, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “A little of Mr. Grant’s excellent whiskey, laced with a sleeping draught.”

  “Will they be all right?”

  “In the morning,” Hamish assured her.

  They slipped down the hall, following a labyrinth of corridors Hamish seemed to know quite well. When she would have said as much, he shook his head and put his finger to his lips. She remained silent.

  Finally, they were out a door, but instead of taking the path to the road, he pulled her into the bushes outside the building.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispered.

  “Scream.”

  “What?” She wished there was enough light to see his face.

  “Scream, Mary. We need to attract attention.”

  Aghast, she stared at him. “Shouldn’t we be more concerned about escaping?”

  “Do you trust me?” He held her hand in his, brought it to his mouth, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

  “Of course I do,” she answered softly.

  “Then scream.”

  Her first effort was a puny sound. She tried again, and this sound was less of a warble. The third scream was loud and strong, summoning the guards to the front door. In a matter of moments, it seemed that all the magistrate’s men were pouring out of the building.

  “They’ll find us,” she said, panic making her want to turn and run.

  “Wait,” Hamish answered, a thread of amusement in his voice. Before she could tell him that now was not the time for such lighthearted emotion, two riders came out of the darkness.

  The lanterns in front of the building were not bright enough to illuminate their faces. The woman’s hood was drawn down over her face and hair; her companion’s cloak was equally as concealing. They circled the square, chased by three guards on foot. They easily outstripped the runners and disappeared into the darkness again, the echo of their horses’ hooves a goad to the sheriff’s men.

  Hamish placed the back of his arm over Mary’s chest, keeping her pinned against the building. A whisper was enough to silence her when she would have asked another question.

  Commands were yelled, horses were saddled, and a force of ten or more guards soon followed the duo into the darkness.

  “Who were they?” Mary asked when Hamish released her. They waited for several minutes in the silence before slipping to the edge of the building, and crossing the road.

  “A couple you know,” he said, surprisingly. “Micah and Hester.”

  “Hester is masquerading as me? Does she know the danger of her ruse, Hamish? The sheriff will not rest until he’s found me.” Sir John’s zeal for justice had been adequately proven these past days.

  “He’ll have to find her first,” Hamish answered. “They’re on their way to Nova Scotia, a journey I doubt Sir John will make in search of you.”

  “Have you been planning this for long?” she asked, stopping at a corner. He placed his hand around her elbow and urged her forward. The hour was late, the night streets nearly deserted, but he was evidently not taking any chances that they might be seen. They kept to the shadows, away from the light emitted by doorways and windows.

  “Did you expect me to leave you there, Mary?”

  “You might have been wiser to do so.”

  “When have we been wise with each other?” The shadows seemed to accentuate the boyish charm of his smile.

  Never. Not from the beginning, and certainly not now, slipping through the silent streets of Inverness hand-in-hand, his cloak around her shoulders.

  “How can anyone become a criminal?” she asked breathlessly, as they slowed a few streets away. They began to walk, more sedate now that they encountered a few late-night citizens of Inverness. “I haven’t the nerves for it. I’m terrified that someone will see us and know what we’ve done.”

  “I doubt anyone would think you lacking in courage, Mary,” Hamish said.

  She didn’t tell him that there were plenty of times when she’d emulated him, hoping for the same type of stoicism that Hamish demonstrated.

  A few minutes later, they entered the back of the Grants’ property. There a carriage, lamps extinguished, stood waiting.

  “Where are we going? To Castle Gloom?”

  “No, they’ll look for us there. To Gilmuir,” he said. “We’ll go there first.”

  She grabbed his hand again and entwined her fingers with his.

  “You shouldn’t be burdened with the responsibility of my future.”

  Whatever he might have said in response was interrupted by the scullery door suddenly opening. Mr. and Mrs. Grant emerged from the house, followed by Elspeth and Brendan. Mary was immediately enfolded in a series of hugs, while Hamish stood apart.

  “We have to leave,” he said a few minutes later, his voice sounding loud in the darkness. “Any delay will only jeopardize all of you.”

  Hamish went to the carriage and opened the door. He was pulling down the steps when another voice rang out, his orator’s tone startling all of them.

  “No.”

  Mary turned, staring at Matthew Marshall. He stood at the head of the horses, his face illuminated by the lantern he held. He raised it high and stared at them.

  “I’m afraid I cannot let you leave.”

  Chapter 23

  F or a terrifying moment, Mary expected t
he sheriff’s men to appear out of the shadows.

  “It’s one thing to live together as man and wife without benefit of clergy, but quite another to expect me to condone it. Although you’ve done so once, I can’t allow you to do so again.”

  Brendan looked startled. Elspeth, surprisingly, looked fascinated by the discussion, while Mr. and Mrs. Grant were edging both of them closer to the scullery door, leaving Mary and Hamish alone with Mr. Marshall.

  “Who told you?” Hamish asked, staring at Brendan’s back.

  “No one,” Mr. Marshall said. “I am, however, an observant man, and I simply added the various pieces together to make a whole.”

  Hamish didn’t respond, and Mary felt too dumbstruck to comment.

  “While I have taken it upon myself,” Mr. Marshall continued, “to look the other way in certain proceedings, Mr. MacRae, I cannot countenance sin.” He fixed a long and penetrating look at Mary. She didn’t flinch when returning his stare, but inwardly she was more than a little cowed. Matthew Marshall, incensed, could be very intimidating. “I cannot allow you to continue living in harlotry.” Now he stared at Hamish. “You must marry.”

  From not far away a dog barked, and one of the horses stamped its feet in response, as if the animals were having a laugh over the idea of Hamish MacRae and Mary Gilly married.

  “I’d never thought to marry again, Mr. Marshall,” she said calmly.

  “It seems to me,” Marshall said, his voice sounding kind, “that you should have given some thought to it, especially in view of your actions.”

  “You think marriage is the answer for our sins?” Hamish asked dryly.

  “I think that you both need to cease irritating God,” Marshall said firmly.

  He turned once more to Mary. “Can you say with some certainty that, given the opportunity, you would not lie with Hamish again, Mary?”

  Mary felt the heat rise to her face. She looked at Hamish and smiled faintly.

  “Or you, Hamish?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at Mr. Marshall, his anger banked but still evident.

  “I’ll give you a moment to talk between yourselves,” Mr. Marshall said, looking smug. “I’ll be waiting in the parlor to conduct the ceremony.”

  “And if we decide to simply leave Inverness as we’d planned?” Hamish asked in a clipped voice.

  “Then I shall have no choice but to report the Grants’ participation in your escape.”

  He left them alone. Mary walked some distance away and then returned, folding her arms around herself inside Hamish’s cloak.

  “I don’t believe for a moment that he’ll turn the Grants over to the sheriff,” she said.

  “I myself am not willing to test him,” Hamish said easily. A milder response than she’d expected. She glanced at him, wishing she could see his expression more clearly.

  “Marriage seems a harsh punishment for a few weeks of pleasure,” she said carefully.

  “You’ve not looked at this in the proper manner, Mary. We’ve proven we can share pleasure, and have some measure of regard for each other. Most couples don’t have such an auspicious beginning. Didn’t you once tell me that your married patients are happier than those who are not?”

  “Hermits aren’t married.”

  “My hermitage was of short duration in any event, Mary,” he said, his voice again sounding amused. “I was finding it difficult to be without the sound of conversation or the presence of other people.”

  “We can simply ignore Mr. Marshall and leave Inverness,” she suggested. “There isn’t any reason for our marriage, other than that of propriety. Let them call me a harlot. They’ve already labeled me a murderer.”

  “But he’s right, you know. The two of us have enough in our past that we should be trying to get into the Almighty’s good graces.”

  He came toward her and drew her into the light. The better to see the truth of her expression? Or to witness the peppering of tears in her eyes?

  “So you would marry me to make me proper, Hamish?” she asked, smiling slightly.

  Hamish was willing to sacrifice himself for her, but she didn’t want a martyr for a husband. She wanted them to be companions who could discuss any subject, friends who could share laughter, lovers. In Hamish’s company at Castle Gloom, she’d allowed herself to feel vulnerable. With him, she didn’t have to be strong all the time.

  He continued looking at her with that expressionless gaze, the night darkening his eyes until they were no more than two coals in his face. She reached up and touched his cheek, her fingers smoothing over the stubble on his face. How beloved he was to her.

  When had she known that she’d loved him? From that first moment, or later, when he introduced her to a world she’d never known? One of passion, freedom of thought, action, and will.

  She wanted to be loved, not because it was the right thing to do or because Hamish was concerned about his immortal soul, but because he couldn’t help himself. She wanted him to marry her because of all the women in the entire world, he would be the happiest with her.

  “There’s no way you can go back to your former life, Mary,” he said gently. “You can’t remain here.”

  She only nodded. Until today, she’d never before been faced with the dilemma of having to hide how she felt. Sitting in the accused’s box had been excruciating. All those hours, she’d endeavored not to show her anger, and certainly not her fear. She’d made a mask of her face until not one emotion shone through. Could she hide her love for Hamish for an entire lifetime?

  In exchange for a life with him? Oh yes.

  “We must give some consideration to the causes for which matrimony was ordained,” Mr. Marshall solemnly intoned. “One was for the procreation of children. Secondly, it was ordained for remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication, that such persons as have not the gift of restraint might marry.” He stared fixedly at Mary before looking at Hamish. They were both being chastised, but it didn’t disturb Mary one whit.

  “Thirdly, for the mutual society, help, and comfort that one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.” He hesitated for a minute, as if to recognize the fact that they were facing adversity, especially since she and Hamish would be fleeing this cozy home in a matter of moments.

  She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Hamish smiling slightly. He caught her look, and slowly and deliberately winked at her, catching her off-guard. The room in which they stood was very familiar to her. Here, in the Grants’ parlor, there were lovely velvet draperies on the window, a wing chair sitting by the fire with the iron surround. Beside the settee was a knitting table, a thread of wool peeping out from the hole on the side. It was a homey room, one where strangers were welcome as well as friends. How many times had she sat in this room, talking with the Grants? None of those times, however, had been as poignant or as meaningful as now.

  The window revealed her like a black mirror. She’d been bathed, powdered, and buttoned into a dress of Elspeth’s in less than fifteen minutes. She looked entirely too pale, but that was due to fatigue rather than her mood. Hamish, standing straight and tall beside her, looked both determined and impatient.

  He had a look in his eyes that she’d never seen in another man. Perhaps it was an understanding of himself. He’d been tested by life, the evidence there in his gaze. There was a sharpness to his jaw that warned he was stubborn and determined. Yet, no matter how tumultuous the world might become, she suspected that Hamish would always remain upright in the middle of it.

  At the conclusion of the vows, Hamish extended his arm around her, holding her against him. She leaned her head against his shoulder, extending her arms around his back. He bent and kissed her lightly, a proper kiss in front of her friends.

  “Later,” he whispered against her ear before pulling back. He smiled at the flush mounting on her cheeks, tracing its passage with his thumb.

  Mr. Marshall gave them his felicitations, and together they accepted the good wis
hes of those who witnessed their wedding. She and Elspeth hugged, and then she was enfolded in Mrs. Grant’s arms, feeling as if the older woman stood proxy for her own long-dead mother at that moment. Jack hugged her next before Mr. Grant kissed her on the cheek.

  “I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me, Mary. Be happy.”

  She nodded, realizing that she would never be able to return to Inverness. She’d never see the Grants again, or the River Ness, the goldsmith’s shop, or a hundred other sights she’d grown to love. Everything she’d been, known, and seen would need to be put aside. Her very identity had changed.

  She glanced at Hamish. She was no longer a widow, but a wife. Not a healer as much as a helpmate. They exchanged a somber look that seemed even more poignant than their vows.

  Finally, she looked at Brendan. She’d traveled with him, shared numerous conversations with him, and was now related by marriage. Yet in so many ways, he seemed almost a stranger. Unspoken constraint still stretched between them as she remembered his disapproval of her actions. He’d not wanted her to remain with Hamish. She’d been a harlot in his eyes. What did he think now?

  “Welcome to the family, Mary,” he said gruffly, opening his arms.

  She walked into them, hugging him in return, and feeling tears welling in her eyes. How strange, that after so many days of being stoic, she now felt like weeping incessantly.

  “We should be going,” Hamish said. She nodded, understanding that they’d wasted too much time already. She needed to be away from the city before Sir John and his men returned to Inverness. Every moment she delayed was another moment that she brought danger to her friends.

  Together, they left by the rear door, followed by the Grants, Mr. Marshall, and Brendan. The only belongings she’d take with her were those given her by Elspeth and Mrs. Grant. There was no time, and it was too unsafe to return to the home she’d known for eleven years.

  “Will we ever see each other again?” Elspeth asked as Hamish opened the door, unfurled the steps.