The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  “Nay, ’tis only a pair o’ lovers, going tae the next floor, but them others will be along. I must hear what Sir Patrick says tae her afore then.”

  “Aye, sure,” Lucy said, flitting ahead of him and swooping under the door.

  The only light in the room came from glowing embers in the fireplace and from the pale light of a quarter moon high outside the uncurtained window.

  “Unhand me,” Beth said furiously, jerking away from Patrick’s grasp. “You may think you can do as you like with me, but this is too—”

  “Hush, lass,” he said gently, shutting the door and standing in her way when she tried to reach the latch. “We must talk.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, but released her instantly, knowing from his body’s powerful reaction that it was a mistake even to stand too close. Alone with her, he recognized yet again how strongly she affected him.

  When his loins stirred again, he knew he could not trust himself. Patience was hard to come by at the best of times, and with his body and soul aching for her, he had no patience. Only distance might serve and that for a short time. The room was too small. He stepped away from her and knelt to put another log on the fire.

  She moved toward the door.

  “Don’t,” he said sharply. “You are safe here for now, but—”

  “Am I?”

  He grinned despite himself as he got to his feet again. “As long as I can keep my hands off you, you are, mo chridhe, but do not trust me farther than that.”

  “I should go. No good can come of this.” She reached toward the door latch.

  Lunging, he smacked a hand hard against the door so she could not open it. With his other hand, he threw the bolt into place.

  Hands on her hips, she said indignantly, “Stand aside, sir.”

  “By heaven, you will listen to me first, and you will answer my questions, too, so that I can see where we stand.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because unless I am mistaken, you are as wellborn as I am. Your father—”

  “We will leave my father out of this,” she snapped, raising her chin. “He may be an earl, but since my mother was only—”

  “I believe your mother is a lady, Beth, and she still lives.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened, and even in the dim light, he could see the color draining from her face.

  “Easy, mo chridhe,” he said. “If I am right, I saw her the day I met you, and without meaning harm, she was nearly my undoing. I believe you are the younger daughter of Lord Gordon of Dunsithe. Thus, Angus is your uncle, not your father.”

  She stared at him. “Her ladyship is right. You are mad.”

  “Not mad, but a blind fool not to have seen the resemblance between you before tonight.”

  “I bear no resemblance whatsoever to Lady Farnsworth!”

  “Nay, but you do look like Lady Mackenzie. I see now that your eyes are very like Molly’s, and your countenance is similar, too.”

  “Doubtless you imagine such a resemblance because, having so impulsively declared marriage to me, you want to see one,” she said quietly. “If such a resemblance truly existed, surely you would have noted it before now.”

  “I did,” he said. “I just did not realize I had. From the beginning of our acquaintance, I have experienced a strange sense of familiarity for which I could not account. Tonight is the first time I have seen you with your hair covered.”

  “What has that to do with anything?”

  “Molly’s hair is red-gold and very thick—a vast, unmanageable mass of curls. She covers it only when formality demands it, and when I met you, I had not seen her at all for some time, let alone formally dressed. You are younger, your eyebrows are lighter and less strongly arched, and your voice is much lower-pitched and more melodic to the ear.” That he had never reacted physically to Molly the way he reacted to her he not think it necessary to mention.

  She was blushing now, but she said, “My father is certainly the Earl of Angus. Sir Hector and his lady could not be wrong about that, for he said as much to them when he gave me to them. Indeed, he provided funds for my care.”

  “If he truly were your father, all that would be utterly out of character for him. Angus is not a man of compassion, lass. If his coupling with a servant were to produce a child, he would take no interest in it but would simply leave it with its mother or her family to rear. I can think of only one reason he would seek fostering for any child, let alone contribute so much as a penny to her upkeep.”

  “He promised he would continue to provide for me,” she said thoughtfully, “but he did not keep his promise, so I had to earn my keep.”

  “I hope to meet the earl again, just once,” Patrick said grimly, reaching out to hold her but remembering the danger and pulling back his hand. “I’ll warrant when he reached England and could no longer get to you easily, he decided you’d be better hidden if he let them turn you into a servant. How much do you recall of your childhood before Farnsworth Tower?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I remember little of it after I arrived there, for that matter, until I was about five or six and overheard Lady Farnsworth berating Sir Hector because Angus had not sent payment for my keep. I only remember that because I listened at the door and Drusilla caught me.” She grimaced. “My legs stung for days from the switching Lady Farnsworth gave me.”

  Anger stirred at the mistreatment she had suffered, but he forced himself to say calmly, “Are you certain you remember nothing before then? What about keepsakes? Were there no personal treasures you kept from your early days?”

  She fingered the chain around her neck, as she said, “Nothing of any value.”

  “And you recall nothing about where you lived before?”

  “Only in my dreams,” she said wistfully. “But I told you about them.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I thought of them tonight when I entered the great hall. It seemed familiar.”

  “What else?” he asked.

  “Only that I am always Beth or Bethie in them, never Elspeth.”

  “Aye. Wait, though! Bethie, not Bessie?”

  “I think Bethie, but there is small difference,” she said.

  “A difference nonetheless,” he said. “Molly’s sister was called Bessie.”

  “Do you really think I am she?”

  He grimaced. “Aye, but we’ll have the devil’s own time proving it. Elizabeth is one of the most common names in Scotland—England, too—and women bearing its nicknames are legion. Neither the name nor your dreams will suffice to prove you are Molly’s sister. For one thing, no one expected to find her in the west march, and although I have learned that Sir Hector has ties to Angus, I cannot prove that.”

  She frowned. “His mother was connected to Angus, but I know him better than you do, sir, and I promise you, Sir Hector is a loyal Scottish subject.”

  “I believe you, mo chridhe.”

  “Do you? This all seems so strange, like a child dreaming she is Assipattle and will learn she is highborn with riches awaiting her. It simply cannot be true.”

  Patrick smiled. “In the Highlands, we call her Ashenputtle, but I ken well the tale, mo chridhe, and if I’m right about you, your uncle Angus kept you hidden in the hope that he could somehow win control of your sister’s fortune… or, in the event of her death at a tender age, of your fortune.”

  Beth shook her head. “But I have none. Indeed, if I did, surely he would have used it to support me.”

  “Nay, for no one could lay hands on it. I do not know the details, but Molly was Maid of Dunsithe, Scotland’s greatest heiress, and you would have inherited if she had died before she married. Now, of course, Angus cannot seize her fortune even if she dies, because it belongs to Kintail, but I believe she did mention once that Bessie would inherit something if she still lived and they could find her.”

  With a deep sigh, she said, “I find it hard to believe any of this. Surely, you will soon discover your error and be sore
ly disappointed.”

  The sad note in her voice made him want to deny it, but he did not want to lie to her. He was strongly attracted to her, and he wanted to protect her from Lady Farnsworth and Drusilla, but he did not yet understand his feelings well enough to know how he would react if he proved to be wrong about her identity.

  He felt as if he had known her as long as he had known Molly, and he felt just as comfortable in her presence. In truth, he felt a mixture of emotions with her, but he could not honestly say yet that his feelings were anything more, and he knew her well enough to know she would see through any prevarication.

  “I don’t want you to marry me because you think I’m Molly’s sister or because I may inherit something if you can persuade others to your thinking.”

  Her tone was calm, and thus the jolt of fury he felt surprised him. That she could believe such things of him was not surprising, so why did he feel such anger? Was he disappointed because he had found a woman who did not swoon at the thought of marrying him? Fin had often teased him about his easy triumphs with the gentle sex. Was he the sort of man who demanded conquests?

  “Your fortune or lack of one is irrelevant to me,” he said, forcing calm into his voice to match hers. “I am concerned only that Lady Farnsworth means you harm. If she speaks out about that gown, not to mention your jewelry, you will be hard-pressed to prove you did not steal it all. As my wife, you should be safe from such accusations, because no one but Kintail knows the extent of my fortune, and although many may suspect that it would not pay for such splendid attire, once we make it known that you are Molly’s sister, all will be well.”

  “If you are right about who I am, perhaps you should just tell everyone. Would not the simple fact of her wealth put an end to all speculation about theft?”

  “It might if we could prove who you are,” he said, knowing that even then many might think she had stolen the things before learning she was Molly’s sister.

  She sighed. “I know of no way to prove such a connection. Indeed, sir, if I cannot make myself believe that one exists, how can we prove it to others?”

  “We can certainly show that you two look alike, but that is not enough, particularly since no one ever called Angus a virtuous man. It was his example, after all, that resulted in Jamie’s begetting a host of illegitimate children, for it was Angus who introduced him to the delights of the female form, and at quite a tender age.”

  “But you said that Angus is not my father,” she reminded him.

  “Others believe that he is, however, and there could be another explanation for your resemblance to Molly, who is known by many to be his niece.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, blushing. “You mean that, thanks to his licentious habits, there could be a hundred Border females who look like your Molly.”

  “Faith, lass, don’t ever let Kintail hear you calling her my Molly,” Patrick exclaimed. “You’d become a widow quicker than you became a wife.”

  When she chuckled, he caught her by the shoulders again and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “It will be well, mo chridhe. You will see, but you must let me protect you with my name whilst we seek the truth. You may believe me when I tell you that I think myself fortunate to be your husband.”

  He looked into her eyes, and what he saw there demolished his careful resolution. “Oh, lassie,” he said, catching her close and bending to kiss her soft lips.

  “Claud, they’re coming! I can hear them, coming up the stairway!”

  So fascinated had Claud been with the conversation in Sir Patrick’s bedchamber that he had not noticed that Lucy had slipped out under the door, but now, returning, she caught his full attention.

  “I doubt we can stop them,” she said. “But come, I’ll show ye!”

  Following her into the corridor, he said urgently, “We must delay them! If Sir Patrick doesna consummate his union, they’ll take the lass back!”

  “But wha’ can we do? Your mam said—”

  “The door!” He gestured as he spoke, and the heavy door at the stairway end of the corridor slammed shut. “There,” he said with satisfaction.

  Lucy pointed her finger, and he heard a loud click. “Ye forgot tae lock it, ye great daffy, but that will hold them long enough for the man tae do his business.”

  Beth had become so confused that she wondered if she was right side up or otherwise, but the touch of Patrick’s burning lips on hers steadied her chaotic world. She might not know who she was or how she had fallen into such a coil, but her body recognized its needs and desires perfectly well.

  It took no thought to respond to his kisses, and she soon gave in to her hunger. His lips were hot but gentle, questing and soft, and his mouth was warm and welcoming when her tongue slipped inside. She sighed, and his arms eased around her, holding her gently and then more possessively. She opened her mouth to his thrusting tongue, gasping when one of his hands slid up alongside her right breast and fingers teased the bare skin above the lacy edge of her bodice.

  When Patrick straightened, she moaned in protest.

  “Sweetheart, I want to take you to bed, and since we are legally husband and wife, I have that right. ’Tis also the only way I know to protect you, but I won’t take you unwillingly. If you truly want to be free of this odd union, you should know that I can arrange it. We need only apply to Cardinal Beaton for an annulment.”

  “Truly, you would do that?” For some reason, the suggestion lacked appeal.

  “Truly,” he said. “If that is what you want, I will still do what I can to protect you, but you should know that if you are not my wife, it will be difficult, because Sir Hector and his lady will have the right then to demand your return. For that matter, if we do not consummate our marriage, he can demand an annulment, and despite my relationship with Beaton, I may not be able to prevent it. The surest way is for us to consummate the union. What say you, lass? Will you trust me?”

  A thudding on the corridor door sent Lucy swooping toward its keyhole. “Men-at-arms,” she cried, peering through it. “Two big ’uns.”

  “That door will hold,” Claud said confidently. “It be right stout.”

  Metallic rattling sounded on the other side.

  “It willna hold against a key,” Lucy said dryly.

  Chapter 19

  Beth’s heart pounded so hard that she wondered if it might jump out of her chest. Her hands felt numb, and her breathing was raspy. She wanted to trust Patrick, and everything in her said that she could. She knew he cared for her, but that was not enough when she had followed her heart.

  “Well, sweetheart?”

  His hand touched her shoulder in a light, casual caress that flooded warmth through her to her toes. Her nipples pressed hard against the material of her bodice, tingling so that she could not think clearly.

  She should say no.

  She licked her lips, and he kissed her again as if he could not help himself. Then, with both hands lightly grasping her shoulders, he said, “Beth, love, tell me what you want. Don’t torment me like this. I am not made of iron.”

  She swallowed, and then, trying to ignore her jumping nerves, she said, “I will do as you suggest, but may heaven help you if you are wrong about all this.”

  “Good lass,” he said, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed.

  She lay tense and still, watching as he turned to stir the fire, trying to ignore the fiery feelings in her body and the whirling confusion in her mind. He took a log from the basket and put it on the flames, then moved back to loom over her. With the golden firelight dancing behind him, he looked huge, dark, and shadowy.

  She could barely see his face.

  To her surprise, he stood looking down at her for several moments before he said ruefully, “It occurs to me that I have never before taken a maiden.”

  “Do you not know how?”

  He chuckled. “I know how, but I am told that the first time for a lass is not pleasant, and I do not want to hurt you. My intention was to get it
done quickly so you’d be safe from Lady Farnsworth and her family, but I think perhaps that would resemble a rape, and I’d liefer you believe your husband kind than cruel.”

  Realizing that he was truly apprehensive, she said quietly, “I know you would not hurt me a-purpose, sir. Show me what I must do.”

  The feelings coursing through her at the thought of coupling with him were similar to those she had whenever he touched her, albeit stronger and more intense. Her whole body vibrated its awareness of him and the nerves in her skin shouted for him to touch her again.

  “You make me feel like a green lad, sweetheart,” he said. “I scarcely know where to begin, but ’tis plain that we both have too many clothes on.”

  “I cannot take mine off by myself,” she said, remembering that Drusilla and Jelyan expected to find her in their room when they returned. This time the thought failed to stir her to mention her duties.

  “It does not surprise me that you cannot take off that dress by yourself,” he said. “What I still want to know is how you got it on. Did you have help?”

  “A little,” she said. She did not think telling him that much would violate Maggie’s rule, and even if it did, at this point she would not mind if her clothing vanished, leaving her in just her smock. It would simplify matters considerably.

  He waited, clearly expecting her to say more, and she realized that he would next ask her to tell him who had helped her. She had promised that she would not do that, and she was risking much just by lingering. She would not risk more.

  To divert him, she sat up and swung her feet over the side, saying, “I’ll untie the laces in front, but you will have to undo the hooks at the back.”

  “Stand up, Beth.”

  His tone warned her that he was not going to give up so easily.

  Watching him warily, she slid from the bed. He stood too close. Her breasts touched his doublet, making it feel as if he caressed her. She could feel his lower body move against hers. Looking up into his stern face, she dampened dry lips and put her hand on his arm.