A Midsummer Bride

by Amanda Forester

  “Your grandmother strikes again.”

  “Then I will be bold and say I would wish for a lady whose décolletage resembled yours in form, shape, and plumpness.”

  “Your Grace!” Heat scorched up the back of her neck.

  “I am holding my hands around you to try to avoid touching them.”

  “You are jesting with me.”

  “I most certainly am not. I am only human. And a male human at that. I have had to avoid all feminine company lest I fall prey to a scheming female. I cannot tell you how badly I wish to touch you, Penelope.”

  “You should not say such things.” Mostly because it made her want to loosen her stays and let him have his way.

  “I did ask you not to be here. I cannot take this torture much longer. You smell too nice.”

  “I am sorry. You smell nice too.”

  “It would be inappropriate to say or do any more since you are in the employment of my grandmother.”

  “I may be resigning soon if we can raise enough capital through our efforts as Madame X.”

  “Visit me when you are no longer in her employment.”

  “What would you do if I was no longer your grandmother’s companion?” She shifted closer.

  Marchford gazed down at her, his eyes black in the dim light. “I might do this.” He ran a finger along her skin at the edge of her bodice. She sucked in air. No one had ever touched her like that. No one had ever wanted to touch her like that.

  “Or I might do this.” He leaned down and kissed her chastely on the lips.

  “Could you review that?” asked Penelope, breathless. “I want to make certain I understand.”

  Marchford kissed her again, real and soft and wet. It was her first kiss and it sent tingles clear down her spine to her toes and then up to a place she hardly knew existed.

  “My goodness,” she whispered when their lips finally parted. “I can see how inappropriate that would be.”

  “You see why I could not do anything like that.”

  “Yes, quite so. My, it is hot here. Why is this thief taking so long?”

  “Could be any time or not at all.”

  Outside the door, a commotion could be heard.

  “What is it?” whispered Penelope.

  But Marchford didn’t respond. He was listening intently.

  The commotion grew louder until a voice shouted through the hall, “Fire! Fire in the castle!”

  Thirty-five

  “Hello!” said Harriet, happier to hear Thornton than she ought to be. She was with the Duc d’Argon, though she would rather be with another. She pushed such thoughts aside. “I am glad there are so many people who take an interest in chemistry. It is not a common interest.”

  “Nay, I would think not,” said Thornton softly. His mask was black and in his dark cloak he was nearly invisible even in the pale moonlight. “Ye seem to have strayed from the bonfire. I should encourage ye to walk back. ’Tis a night of mischief, this Midsummer’s Eve.”

  “I shall escort Miss Redgrave,” said d’Argon.

  “Let us all walk back together,” said Harriet, linking arms between Thornton and d’Argon. “Tell me, Lord Thornton, what kind of mischief is afoot on Midsummer’s Eve?”

  “They say ’tis time for the fair folk to walk freely. Who knows what confusion they may give us for their own amusements.”

  “How quaint are your provincial customs, Lord Thornton,” said d’Argon with stiff politeness.

  “I think it would be lovely to meet a faerie,” sighed Harriet.

  “I dinna ken ye were a believer in the fair folk,” said Thornton.

  “I am not, so alas I doubt I shall ever see one.” She laughed at her own circular logic. None of the gentlemen joined her. They were too stiff, both of them.

  “Too much of this nonsense, it atrophies the senses,” said d’Argon with more disdain than she had heard from him before.

  “I suddenly remember that Miss Crawley had inquired into yer whereabouts,” said Thornton carelessly.

  Even in the dim light, she could see d’Argon flinch. She could not fathom why, except that if Miss Crawley was looking for her, she would flinch too.

  “I would not even know how to recognize her,” said d’Argon. “Let us return to the fire.”

  “I shall escort Miss Redgrave,” said Thornton with a ring of authority she rarely heard.

  The Duc d’Argon had been dismissed, and he could do nothing now but demand a duel or leave the field. “It has been a pleasure,” he said, though his tone told another story. He bowed and walked away into the night.

  “I may be slow when it comes to society,” said Harriet, “but I believe you were actually trying to get rid of d’Argon.”

  Thornton shrugged. “Never belittle the fair folk. They have a way of getting a laugh at yer expense.”

  “So you are a believer?”

  “On Midsummer’s Eve, it would be unwise not to be.”

  “Then I shall believe as well. Shall we return to the dancing?”

  Thornton glared in the direction d’Argon had gone. “Nay, nay, let us tarry here a while longer.” Thornton removed his mask and rubbed his eyes.

  “Are you feeling well?” asked Harriet. She was trying to convince herself it would be better to walk away from Thornton—goodness only knew what people would say if they saw them together. But she could not leave him unwell.

  Thornton nodded his head. “I am well, though perhaps a wee bit tired.”

  “Perhaps you should go back to the house. I also have been tired of late.”

  Harriet began to walk toward the courtyard, but Thornton held her arm.

  “I do not wish anyone to see us and begin more talk. Let us go back to the house by the back way.” Thornton stood tall, his eyes glittering in the soft moonlight.

  Harriet paused. She should not go with him. It was one of those easy questions to be honest. Should an unmarried lady go unescorted with a Scottish earl into the dark of night on Midsummer’s Night Eve? No. Of course not.

  Was she going to go with him?

  Of course she was.

  “I am an idiot,” she muttered and linked arms with him so he could lead the way. “If I end up in a bog, I deserve no less.”

  “No bogs on this route.”

  It was hardly a reassurance. They walked a ways into the dark, Harriet’s eyes adjusting to the pale light of the moon. Thornton walked steadily on, and although he did not waver, she hoped he was not so overcome by fatigue so as to get them lost.

  Suddenly things around them began to look familiar. “I know where we are.” She stopped and turned around in a circle. “We are in the faerie glen.”

  Thornton muttered under his breath something that did not sound like a young maiden should hear. “Shoud’na have come this way. Must have rocks in my head. I confess I was mainly thinking o’ separating ye from d’Argon.”

  “Were you? Why?”

  Lord Thornton cast her a look so desirous, so full of lust, even she could not pretend not to understand his meaning. “We should leave.” He turned to go.

  “No.” Her heart pounded. Now it was her turn to try to keep him for herself. It was so wrong, but she could not say good-bye. “Let us tarry a little. Maybe we shall see a faerie.” Harriet began to look about, as if to glimpse something otherworldly, yet her focus was entirely on the man before her.

  “Nothing good can come from straying into a faerie glen on Midsummer’s Eve. Mark my words.” His words were soft, yet the warning stung.

  “Whatever could happen?” Harriet stepped closer, her breath coming in quick pants, her excitement and her tight gown conspiring against taking a deep breath.

  Thornton stepped closer, his hands trembling at his sides. “We must leave this place.”

  “If this is an enchantment, I do not wish to break it,” whispered Harriet.

  “What fey creature are ye that ye have so bewitched me?” With one stride he was before her and pulled her into his arms. His k
iss was urgent, demanding, passionate, unlike anything they had yet shared. Despite the alarm bells ringing in her head, she melted into him and kissed him in return.

  He finally broke the kiss and immediately let her go, stepping back as if a mere touch would burn him. “I am sorry.”

  “No, you are not.” Harriet’s only regret at the moment was that he stopped. Later… later would come later.

  “Ye’re right. I’m not. More’s the pity.”

  “Duncan, I have been thinking,” which was a gross falsehood since she had stopped thinking the moment he greeted her this evening. “I understand you do not wish to marry someone for money and I need to return home. Thus, soon we shall be apart.”

  “Aye. If I could stop thinking about it, maybe I could sleep,” mumbled Thornton.

  “If we look at this logically,” began Harriet, which was another falsehood since all logical faculties were silent and all she had left was pounding desire, “since we obviously have some attraction for each other and we cannot actually marry perhaps you might wish to… to…” Her courage chose that moment to give out.

  “To what?” He gave her his full attention.

  “I do not know what I am about.” Harriet began to pace around the faerie circle. “When I am with you, I want to do more experimenting of the kind we did in the stables. When I remember we shall not be together, I wish to avoid romance forever and live for my work.”

  “My advice to you at present would be highly suspect.”

  “What advice would that be?”

  “I want you. I want you here and now.” Duncan’s voice was raw and it struck within her a chord so deep it vibrated through her soul.

  “Duncan…” She took a step toward him and stopped.

  “We should leave this faerie circle,” said Duncan without a trace of humor. “We may be truly bewitched.”

  In the light of day, Harriet would have dismissed the notion, but under the pale moonlight she felt a desire, a need to be close to him. “What can we do?”

  “Submit to temptation or…”

  “Or?”

  “I dinna ken. I be stuck on submitting to temptation.”

  This time it was Harriet who closed the gap and kissed him with all the power of the raging emotions within her.

  “This gown…” Duncan traced a finger along the edge of her exposed bosom.

  “It belongs to Penelope.”

  “I will buy it from her. It will be yours forever. Ye should always wear such things. But only for me.” He removed his cloak and spread it over a patch of moss. He pulled her down beside him and nestled his face into her cleavage, kissing her along the line of the gown. It did not take much to release her from the tight bodice.

  The combination of the cool night air and Duncan’s warm mouth made her tremble with anticipation. This time he would not escape untouched. She reached for his breeches and he did not stop her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew there was a price to pay for this action. She would be ruined. Blame it on faerie dust, but when his hand slid up her thigh, she could not bring herself to care.

  He was hers tonight. They would soon be parted. This was her last chance, her only chance to be with the man she loved.

  She loved him. The realization slammed into her, painful and giddy.

  He covered her and she understood that this was what she had been waiting for her whole life. She belonged to him. She needed him. With a flash of pain, she was joined with him.

  “Have I hurt ye?” he asked, and she realized she must have winced.

  “Was that it?” She must confess the ending was a bit anticlimactic.

  “Nay, there is more, if ye wish.”

  “Oh, yes, lots of wishing here.”

  He began to kiss her again, and she pulled up his shirt until she could feel his smooth skin beneath her fingers. Somehow feeling his skin close to her made it better. She needed him close. She pulled him closer and everything moved, him, her, something coiling within her. He moved back and she pulled him forward again. This time was better and the coiling deep within her rumbled and seemed to take over any rational thought. She struggled against the rising heat and pain and friction and irrationality even as she lunged into it.

  A war was raging within her, even as the movement between them heightened. She fought against it and struggled to claim it, all the while wondering what she was trying to achieve, until even that thought was robbed from her and she hurtled toward something she feared might consume her and destroy her. She fought against it until she could no longer resist the pull and fell into the abyss.

  Waves of pleasure coursed through her even as Thornton removed himself and spilled his seed beside her. He rolled next to her and draped his arm protectively over her. She snuggled closer, trembling with emotion and aftershocks of their joining. She would never be the same.

  “I fear I may love you,” she whispered.

  He froze then slowly pulled her closer. “I wish I could blame it on the faeries, but I ken I cannot. I adore ye. I need ye.” He paused and leaned his forehead against hers. “I love ye.”

  This was the price.

  She had made a grave mistake, for the chemical bond forged by their love was permanent. They were forever bonded, forever united.

  And forever apart.

  Thirty-six

  Both Marchford and Penelope turned to look out the window. A red haze of flame and smoke funneled from the castle above. Penelope’s stomach sank. Maclachlan Castle was on fire.

  “Thornton!” shouted Marchford. He did not take the time to go back out through the house. Instead, he opened the window and jumped out into the garden and ran for the path up the hill, with Penelope right behind.

  Guests were running down, away from the fire. People were screaming, ladies were crying—it was a disturbing scene.

  They ran until they were out of breath. Penelope’s sides were screaming in pain, but she kept running up the hill. Gasping, she entered the castle gates, her lungs stinging with acrid smoke. People were running about, shouting, screaming. She stopped to try to make sense of the scene before her.

  One of the outbuildings, which Penelope suspected Harriet was using as a workspace, was completely engulfed in flames, shooting blasts of fire fifty feet into the air. The flames had spread to the thatched roofs of the surrounding buildings, and the old wooden roof of the main keep was beginning to burn.

  For one dreadful moment, she was paralyzed. Harriet. Thornton. Were they all right? What could possibly be done? Marchford! Where was he? She ran forward to find him. Smoke hurt her eyes, but she stumbled forward until she saw his silhouette against the orange flames. He was standing frozen before the blaze.

  “Marchford?”

  He was staring at the flames without expression.

  “Marchford?” She touched his arm. “James? What do we do?”

  Her questions seemed to revive him. He shook his head. “We cannot stop this. If anyone was in this building, they are gone.”

  “I am sure no one was in it,” reassured Penelope, mostly to try to convince herself.

  Marchford gave a quick nod. “We need to put out the blaze before it spreads to the house.”

  “Yes, of course. But how?”

  “Water!” He pointed at the castle well. “Let us hope it still functions.” He swept off some glasses from a table with his arm and stood on it. “Ladies and gentlemen. We have a situation that requires immediate action. If the ladies will calmly make their way down to Thornton Hall, the gentlemen and staff members can assist me. We must douse the flames to prevent this fire from spreading.”

  At his authoritative words, people stopped panicking and followed his directions. Penelope ran to the well and started turning the wheel to raise the bucket. The water was cold and pure and a welcome relief from the hot, acrid smoke billowing around her. Marchford brought another bucket, and she poured the water in it. Several men ran to help and they began to form a line.

  “Keep going!” Marchfo
rd grabbed a bucket full of water and ran to the fire. He splashed it onto the base of the fire to no effect.

  “This will never work,” said Penelope as she grabbed another bucket.

  “It must,” said Marchford grimly. “Where is Thornton?”

  ***

  Thornton wrapped his arms around her. “I must ask ye something.”

  Harriet’s attention was drawn by some strange noises. “What is that?” she asked absently.

  “I ken yer desire to return to America, but I’d rather ye stay here. With me. I know I said I would never propose marriage to an heiress, but—”

  “Wait. Do you hear that?” Harriet adjusted herself to be more decent and sat up. “It sounds like shouting.”

  “Harriet. What I am trying to say is—”

  “Duncan, listen. I think something is wrong.” Harriet stood up and was shocked by the orange haze and rising smoke she saw. “Fire!”

  Thornton was up in a flash, dressed and running. “The castle!”

  Harriet followed him up the hill to the fire. The monster grew before her eyes. When they reached the castle, the sight made her stomach drop. Smoke and flame billowed from the windows of her laboratory. It was all gone. Everything was gone. In desperation, she ran to the ancient kitchen, hoping that she could rescue her equipment. Someone grabbed her hand and yanked her back.

  She smacked into Thornton’s chest. She tried to pull free but he held her fast.

  “I must get my equipment!” she shouted, even as a whoosh of heat blasted them.

  Thornton spun her out of harm’s way and half carried, half dragged her back as the laboratory burst into a fireball. The roof blazed and roared with flames in the whirling winds. Sparks flew to neighboring trees and higher.

  “Thornton!” She pointed up to the roof of the keep. A little patch of fire burned and smoked.

  “The horses!” Thornton shouted. “Get to the house and stay there!” He ran for the secret entrance and she followed. If he thought she would simply walk away, he was mad. Her projects were gone, but she could still be of help.

  People were organizing against the blaze, with Marchford leading the charge. They were going to try to save the keep, but it might already be too late.