Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books)

by Maxwell, Cathy

  “A wealth of misery. She was not a happy person.”

  “Are any of us?” Miss Maclean asked, and then sighed. “I should guard my tongue. However, be a good friend to the general, Colonel. Warn him off Mother. She’s too selfish to consider anyone besides herself.”

  She started to walk away, but Harry found he didn’t want her to leave just yet. He stopped her by being provocative, curious as to how her mind worked. There was a great deal of pride in this woman. “And what of you, Miss Maclean? What advice do you have for yourself?”

  His words brought her to a halt. She turned. “What do you mean, sir?”

  Harry closed the distance between them. “I mean no insult, but I can’t help but wonder if you should take your own advice. You obviously care for your mother because you’ve set aside your life for hers.”

  Miss Maclean lifted her chin. “You are right. You are being presumptuous.”

  “It’s a fault of mine.”

  A hard glint appeared in her eyes. “I wouldn’t brag on it, sir. ”

  Miss Maclean wasn’t one to back down. He liked that.

  At that moment, a great roar of approval sounded from inside the barn, carrying with it the name “Tolliver.”

  Her manner changed. She went on alert and he was not important. “Excuse me,” she said, already moving toward the building, her hips swinging with feminine determination.

  Harry followed her at a slower pace. He sensed a mystery about Miss Maclean. Prickly people usually were hiding something. But what would she have to hide?

  He found himself intrigued.

  As Portia headed for the barn doors, she overheard the Maclean name being shouted. Tolliver and Maclean. What was going on?

  She also had needed to escape Colonel Chattan. She preferred the man as the scowling horseman who had almost run her over. She hated the image of him as the kneeling supplicant before her, begging for a solution for his brother, or this other man, the one who was as direct as she was and who valued his friends enough to speak for them.

  He was also uncommonly handsome. She found it hard to concentrate when he placed all his attention on her.

  One of the reasons she’d been able to accept being a spinster was that she stayed away from men like him. Men who made her pulse race a touch faster and who challenged her and who aroused her curiosity about them.

  But she had yet to meet a man who actually seemed to understand her sacrifice for her family and that made him all the more threatening.

  Mr. Longacre came out of the barn’s door. “You aren’t inside, Miss Maclean?” he said with his broad brogue. “Your sister has just accepted Mr. Tolliver’s request for marriage. Hurry up or you’ll miss it all.” He lowered his voice to add, “Lady Maclean has swooned. Some of the lads caught her but she isn’t right happy.”

  Portia flew into the barn, where Minnie and Mr. Tolliver were standing in front of the assembly, beaming at each other with undisguised joy. Her sister had never radiated more beauty than she did in this moment beside her beloved.

  Everyone was offering congratulations. Of course, almost everyone had drunk a wee bit too much, so the very popular physician received many hearty slaps on the back as he helped his future bride down from the stage. Even the young men who had only moments ago vied for Minnie’s attention seemed pleased for the couple.

  The one person who was unhappy staggered toward Portia. “Are you ready to leave?” her mother said, her proud ostrich feathers now flopping forward. She pushed them to one side. “I am.”

  “He’s a good man, Mother.”

  Her mother snorted her opinion. “I must leave. General Montheath has been a nuisance all night.”

  “I think it is dear that he has carried strong feelings for you all these years,” Portia said, thinking of Colonel Chattan’s request.

  “If I’d wanted him years ago, I would have encouraged him. He was nothing like your father. Not half as handsome.”

  “But, perhaps, the much better man?” Portia could not resist saying. “After all, he has position and fortune. Two things Father lacked at the end of his life.”

  “Your father was a gentleman.”

  “So is General Montheath,” Portia answered. “Of course, Father was more handsome, but handsome can’t take care of a woman.”

  Those ostrich feathers quivered as her mother’s head snapped around to her. “And what would you know of it? What man do you have following you around? I will wait for you and Minerva outside.”

  Several people around them heard Lady Maclean’s charge and now couldn’t help but look at Portia with sympathy.

  Feeling humiliated, Portia wished she had bitten her tongue. No good came of ever talking sense to her mother. Lady Maclean refused to see Black Jack Maclean realistically. Not that Portia doubted that her father had been dashing at one time, probably much like Colonel Chattan whom, she noticed, had rejoined the company.

  Dear God, she hoped he didn’t hear of this small scene with her mother.

  At that moment, thankfully, Mr. Tolliver led a beaming Minnie over to her. Portia gave her sister a huge hug. “I’m so happy for you.” She then turned to Mr. Tolliver. “Sir, you do not waste time.”

  “I took your words to heart,” he confessed, his cheeks turning bright with color. “I walked right up to Minnie, apologized, and declared myself. I said I wanted to marry her, just bold as you please. There was a line of men waiting to dance with her. They all heard me.”

  “And they heard me shout yes.” Minnie had hold of Mr. Tolliver’s arm in a display of unbridled affection. “I am so fortunate. Thank you, Portia. Thank you.”

  “I dislike spoiling the moment,” Portia said, lowering her voice, conscious that many ears were listening, especially after the dust-up with her mother, “but Mother is waiting for us. She wishes to leave. I imagine neither of you said anything to her in private before agreeing to marry?”

  Mr. Tolliver started to color, but Minnie quickly declared, “No, we didn’t and I wouldn’t have. She would never have given her approval, Portia. You know that.” She moved closer to Mr. Tolliver. “Understand, I will not let her insult this man. I love him. She should never have interfered in the first place.”

  “Agreed,” Portia said. “However, she is waiting outside for us to take her home.”

  “Of course I’ll come,” Minnie said. She turned to Mr. Tolliver and gave him one more happy smile. He squeezed her hand.

  “I shall call on the morrow,” he promised.

  “I shall be waiting,” she answered.

  “I am so happy.”

  “I am happy as well—”

  Portia stepped between them, or else they would be there all night. “Come, dear. We must face Mother.”

  “Yes, we’ll be listening to an earful on the ride home.”

  Mr. Tolliver made a commiserating sound but let them go.

  As she was leaving, Portia had to steal one last look at Colonel Chattan. He stood by the punch table. He didn’t hold a glass in his hand, which was unusual for any of the males in this group. He was temperate and was still sober. The majority of the other men were not. After having a father such as hers, Portia admired that quality.

  And then Lady Emma walked up to him.

  Portia looked away.

  They were barely out of sight of the barn when Lady Maclean launched into her recriminations. “How can you throw yourself away on a doctor? A mere doctor.”

  “No, he’s not a ‘mere’ doctor,” Minnie said. Portia had to admire the patience in her sister’s voice. “He’s a very special doctor. He has a heart as large as the valley and I am lucky to say that it is mine.”

  “But Colonel Chattan was at that dance,” their mother said. “His brother is Neal Chattan, the Earl of Lyon, one of the wealthiest men in England. You were presented with a remarkable opportunity to ma
ke a brilliant match with Colonel Chattan if you had impressed him in the way I know you could. Instead, you are settling for a physician, and a country one at that. What sort of opportunities will your children have with a doctor for a father?” she demanded, a plaintive note in her voice.

  “Happy ones,” Minnie said. “Well-loved ones. I can’t wait to hold them in my arms.”

  Lady Maclean shouted her frustration, a sound that echoed in the woods around them.

  “Oh, Mother,” Minnie said, using a coaxing tone. “Think about how nice it will be to have me close at hand to you and not running around London. Oliver will always live in this valley.”

  “I wanted you to run around London.” Lady Maclean pulled her cloak closer around her. “And you needn’t worry about caring for me. That is Portia’s responsibility. That is her purpose in life.”

  Both Minnie and Portia looked to her in surprise. “Yes, it is,” their mother insisted in her defense. “Every family needs one child who dedicates herself to her parents. After all, now that I’m a widow—”

  “You have been alone for a long time, Mother,” Portia interjected, indignation coloring her tone. Her mother’s statement echoed Colonel Chattan’s assessment, and Portia discovered, in this moment, she didn’t like being so predictable.

  And suddenly, she discovered she didn’t want to be bundled off to spinsterhood. Yesterday, yes, maybe she had thought of herself ready to be set aside. Even before the dance she had thought of herself as on the shelf.

  But at this moment, she was feeling, well, rebellious—and she didn’t understand why.

  What had changed?

  “Yes, it is true I was alone,” their mother said, “when your father was away in the service of his country.”

  “He was away spending his money on his own happiness without a thought or care for us,” Portia said. “You may pretend it was something else, but I won’t. We struggled to put food on our table even when he was alive. He’s only been dead three years but I’ve barely noticed a change in our lives.”

  “Except I’m a widow,” their mother declared.

  “If I’d been his wife, I would have been a widow much sooner, such as the first time he stepped out of line,” Portia announced, a declaration that earned a scream of horror from her parent, but Portia was in the mood to be ruthless. “In fact, you should encourage General Montheath, Mother. Then you will have a man who would truly take care of you.”

  For a second, Lady Maclean appeared ready for an attack of apoplexy.

  “Mother, Mother, please, you are upsetting yourself,” Minnie said, but the words were directed at Portia as a command for her to ease off their parent.

  Lady Maclean punctuated Minnie’s chastisement by breaking into tears. “I don’t understand what has happened to my girls. Minerva has contracted a marriage, announcing it in front of everyone without so much as a by-your-leave from me—”

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” Minnie said, sounding as if she meant the words. Such was the power of their mother’s tears on her youngest.

  “And Portia is trying to push me in a direction I do not wish to go. Why, you may ask? Because, apparently, she’s tired of comforting me in my dotage. She wants to rid herself of me.”

  “You are far from your dotage,” Minnie hastened to say. “And you will always have a place at Oliver’s and my table.”

  But those promises didn’t offer solace. Directing her comments to Portia, Lady Maclean said, “I know your father wasn’t a good husband, but what could be done? I’d married him. I tried to make the best of things but I’m not like you, Portia. You don’t need a man. You will survive one way or the other.”

  “Yes, I will,” Portia agreed, her jaw tightening with determination, even as she wondered—She didn’t need a man? Where had that idea come from?

  “And that is the worst,” their mother said, “because it is not natural. A woman should be submissive and you are not in the least bit docile.”

  Portia pulled back on the reins so hard, Honey’s front feet left the ground. She turned to her mother, stunned by the accusation. “I am perfectly fine.”

  “Oh please,” Lady Maclean said. “If you were fine, you would want a husband and a family—”

  “I’m trying to keep this family together,” Portia answered.

  “Which is my original point. You are the child who will stay and take care of me in my declining years.” And then she had the audacity to smile, because she’d neatly maneuvered Portia to where she wanted her.

  And Portia realized the whole purpose of the argument had been lost. She really had only herself to blame. Why hadn’t she tossed aside all worries for family years ago and encouraged one of those young men who had courted her?

  Because she hadn’t wanted either of them. Her gentleman callers had not pleased her. She’d thought them boring and had preferred being alone than with one of them. Perhaps she was unnatural.

  The idea was unsettling. Almost as unsettling as her realization that Minnie didn’t speak up to counter their mother’s accusation. Did she believe Portia was unnatural as well?

  Portia snapped the reins and trotted Honey home.

  When they reached their front door, Portia broke her silence with a terse, “We’re home.”

  “Yes, please don’t be too long seeing to the animals,” Lady Maclean said, rising and opening the door of the pony cart.

  “Do you need some help?” Minnie asked.

  Portia swiveled in her seat to glare as hard as she could at her sister who had not stepped up to defend her. It felt good to have a focus for her own discontent.

  “Do you?” Minnie repeated, apparently unmoved by the glare.

  “It won’t take but a moment,” Portia replied through clenched teeth.

  Minnie ignored her ill temper. “Then I shall help Mother. I’ll see you inside.” Minnie hopped out of the cart.

  “Yes, go help Mother,” Portia echoed. Minnie waved off her mockery.

  Portia steamed with anger as she drove Honey around to the stables. The pony, a milk cow, and two goats were stabled here. On the side of the barn was a coop for Minnie’s chickens and geese.

  Portia wasted no time putting Honey up for the night. In fact, she threw the hay into the stall.

  But as she worked, her temper cooled, to be replaced by hurt.

  Hadn’t her mother seen her dancing with Colonel Chattan? Of course, he had a motive for asking her to dance, but her mother didn’t know that. Mr. Longacre had asked her as well. There, that was two men who hadn’t seen her as too old for interest . . . although Mr. Longacre was very elderly himself.

  Yes, she was over five and twenty. Yes, she had a sharp tongue. But, no, she wasn’t ready to be tucked away and ignored.

  And she’d just realized that tonight.

  Owl came into the barn with a meow of greeting. She jumped up on a keg barrel turned upside down.

  “Is it wrong to want something more?” Portia asked the cat as she gave her a pet.

  Purring, Owl arched her back and seemed to shake her head no.

  Portia had to laugh. She gave the cat human qualities far too often.

  But on this point, Owl might be wrong. Colonel Chattan’s face rose in Portia’s mind. He’d even smelled good. His shaving soap had some sandalwood in it but there was a masculine air about him as well. Handsome, intense, intelligent . . . and a man on a quest. Could there be a combination of qualities in a man more devastating to the female heart?

  Or should she say hearts? He had created quite a stir with the women at the Assembly and she’d be wise to remember that some things were beyond her reach.

  Portia left the barn and walked to the house, Owl trailing behind her.

  It was a long time before she fell asleep, and when she did, she dreamed of dancing . . . in Colonel Chattan’s arms. It was a silly dream. An
impossible one.

  Portia overslept the next morning. She wasn’t the only one. Her mother and Minnie were still abed. She made quick work of her toilette, weaving her unruly curls into one long braid and scrubbing her face. She reached for her glasses and then remembered her mother had not returned them the night before. She would ask for them back once her mother woke, and then wear them every day just to spite her.

  Downstairs, Glennis was busy cooking and cleaning. “The day is half over, miss. I’ve not known you to hug your pillow.”

  “It was a late night,” Portia murmured.

  “And an eventful one. I hear you have news.”

  Portia smiled. “Yes, my sister has accepted Mr. Tolliver’s proposal for her hand.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is,” Portia said, buttering a slice of Glennis’s fresh bread for her breakfast.

  “Now we need to find a husband for you who is just as good.”

  Portia almost laughed. At least there was one person who didn’t see her as completely on the shelf. “You’d best start on that task, Glennis,” she teased. “It might take you most of your life.”

  “Och, it won’t be that hard.”

  “We shall see,” Portia said, and slipped out of the kitchen. She threw on her cloak and went to the stable. There was a chill in the air but the sky was blue with only a few clouds, and Portia felt her spirits lift.

  Honey was ready to be turned out into her pasture, the goats trotting right alongside her. Glennis always milked the cow when she first arrived and before she left.

  Portia took down the pitchfork to muck out the stalls. It wasn’t unpleasant work. She enjoyed the fresh air and even the smell of hay and the animals.

  Because the day was so fair, she started doing a bit of cleaning and tidying up, and it was at this task Lady Emma discovered her.

  Portia heard the hoofbeats coming up the drive. They rarely had visitors. She was surprised to see their visitor was none other than Lady Emma, accompanied by a groom. The girl was dressed in a silver gray riding outfit with a sophisticated, brimmed hat, decorated with a white ostrich plume that would have made her mother proud.