Never Kiss a Scot

by Lauren Smith

  “I know you did. I’m afraid it may be my fault. Joanna has been desperate to prove that society has no cause to laugh at her for failing to find a husband. She has more pride than I realized. She’s more like Rafe than she is like me.”

  Rosalind chuckled. “Husband dear, you suffer from pride as well, or need I remind you how we ended up being wed?”

  “I certainly don’t need any reminding.” He knew his own pride has caused many a problem over the years, especially when he had first met Rosalind.

  “Take care when you find them. Brock is a good man. He won’t hurt Joanna.”

  Ashton didn’t tell her that he was worried for other reasons. What if Brock later became the monster his father had been? He couldn’t let his sister marry a man who may someday lose his charms and turn on her. He gave Rosalind one more kiss before he left their bedchamber and went to rouse his friends. They would ride at once, take the Great North Road to Gretna Green. Joanna was not a natural horsewoman which would slow Brock down. They would most likely take a coach and change horses every four hours.

  One by one he woke his friends, Godric, Lucien, Cedric, Jonathan, and finally Charles, who grumbled as they met Ashton out in the stables.

  “We’re leaving in the middle of the night to chase down a bloody Scot?” Lucien scowled sleepily.

  “Yes,” Ashton snapped. “He has my sister.”

  Charles glanced at the others. Godric stifled a yawn, and Cedric rubbed his eyes wearily. “Ash, if Joanna went with him, maybe she”

  “Maybe nothing.” Ashton pulled on his riding gloves as a groom brought round the horses they needed. “She’s my sister, and she’s under twenty-one. The Hardwicke Act won’t let her marry without permission in England for another year. She is most likely doing something foolish that she will regret, and I at least want to have a chance to talk to her before she ties herself forever to that damned Scot.”

  Cedric chuckled behind a gloved hand. “Isn’t that what you just did? Tie yourself to a Scot?”

  Ashton clenched his jaw. “I ask that each of you take this seriously.”

  His friends sobered and nodded to show they would. Then he led them to their horses. It would be a long night for all of them.

  12

  Joanna stretched languidly in bed, forgetting for a brief moment where she was and how she’d come to be there. She opened her eyes at the sound of a rumbling male voice nearby and bolted upright, staring about the sparsely furnished bedroom in the little hunting lodge. The events of the night before came back to her. Someone knocked on her door.

  “Time to wake up, Joanna,” Rafe called. “Kincade is seeing to your horses. You have time to eat some breakfast, and then you must leave.”

  “I’m awake,” she called and climbed out of bed. For the first time in two days her body wasn’t stiff, and for that she was grateful, yet she felt a twinge of disappointment in not being able to sleep out-of-doors with more ease.

  Perhaps I am too soft. What if Brock married her and later decided he wanted a stronger, more hardy Scottish lady, someone who could sleep with him outside beneath the stars without complaint?

  No, don’t think like that. He chose you; he wants you.

  She cleaned her teeth, washed her face, and saw to her needs before joining the men in the common room. Rafe had prepared a plate of apple slices and cheese along with a bit of cold cuts. She ate quickly, licking her fingers clean since there were no cloth napkins with which to wipe her hands. Rafe watched her, a smug smile on his lips.

  “What?” She didn’t like that he found such amusement in her situation.

  “You really intend to go through with this, don’t you?” But it wasn’t asked like a question.

  “I do. I’m tired of not having a choice in my fate. I chose Brock, and he chose me.”

  “I believe you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you serious about anything before. I just want you to be happy.”

  She squeezed his hand lightly. “I will be happy, and I hope someday you find your own happiness.” She wanted Rafe to be happy, to have a life of joy and to put the darkness in him away. But she feared it may be years before that happened.

  The hunting lodge door opened, and Brock strode in. His coat swirled around his knees, and the breeze played with his hair. He smiled when he saw her. That smile removed any doubt she had about her choice to be here with him. His smile knocked her knees together and made her feel like she could fly all at the same time. It made her feel like she was the only woman in the entire world and she was the only thing that mattered to him.

  “Lass, you do look bonny in the morning.” He strode toward her, heat burning in his eyes, but he slowed when he saw Rafe cross his arms, a slight frown upon his lips. Joanna shoved an elbow into her brother’s ribs and rose from the table. It would have been lovely to have another kiss with Brock, but Rafe might change his mind about approving their plans. Rafe and his friends outnumbered her and Brock.

  “I’m ready to leave.” She checked to make sure her cloak was secure and removed her riding gloves from her pockets, tugging them on.

  “Be careful, Joanna.” Rafe embraced her tightly, and for a moment she didn’t want to let go. She was not weak, and she would not let childish fears to stop her. She released Rafe, blinking rapidly to hide the burn of tears, and turned to face Brock. He was studying her closely, worry knitting his brows.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and accepted the hand he held out to her. She waved goodbye to Rafe as he followed them out of the hunting lodge. She let Brock help her up onto her horse, and she winced at the soreness as she took her seat in the saddle.

  Brock placed a hand on her thigh, the touch sweet rather than seductive. “It’s not far now. Can you make it a few more hours?”

  “I can,” she assured him. Even if she couldn’t sit down for several days afterward, she would do anything to make it to Gretna Green before Ashton caught up with them.

  As they left the hunting lodge behind them, Joanna grew more rigid as her nerves took over. With each passing minute they were closer to Scotland, and she would soon be married. She glanced at Brock, the impressive man who rode slightly ahead of her, leading the way. She trembled a little at the thought of what would follow, for she knew the rumors about what followed these hasty weddings. They had to be consummated immediately, to avoid a male relative challenging the marriage’s validity and try to have it annulled. Ashton would challenge her wedding, which meant she and Brock would do more than share a bed this evening. They would… She blushed at the thought and was so relieved he could not see her face while he rode ahead of her.

  They stopped to rest the horses two hours later.

  “We’ll soon be at Headless Cross,” Brock said.

  “Headless Cross?” Joanna leaned against her mare as her horse drank from the small stream Brock had led them to.

  “’Tis the place where five coaching roads meet and is also the heart of the village of Gretna Green. The blacksmith shop is the first place you’ll see when we arrive. ’Tis why couples tend to marry there. They dinna always have time to go farther into the village.”

  “Is that where we will be married?” Joanna asked.

  He nodded and held up a few slices of apple to each horse before he clicked his tongue, catching both horses’ attention and pulling them away from the stream.

  “There is a man there, David Lang, who will wed us.” He helped Joanna up, and once more they were riding quickly. “Then we must consummate the marriage at one of the inns so your brother canna challenge it with an annulment.”

  When they reached the main road on the southern border between Scotland and England, they passed through Longtown, the last English town before the border to Scotland. Brock didn’t slow his horse, but sped up a little as they trotted down the street. Joanna noticed the townsfolk kept well out of the way, no doubt used to the road being trafficked by madly dashing coaches.

  Another short half hour passed, and Br
ock slowed as a village came into view. Joanna pulled up a little on her reins, patting Kaylee’s neck and getting a better look at what had to be Gretna Green. It was a very small village, filled with only a few clay houses. The quaint parish kirk was in the distance. Old stones had been cobbled together into a respectable church. A minister’s house was close to the kirk, and puffs of smoke curled up from the chimney while someone cooked dinner. Joanna’s stomach grumbled. There was a rather large inn that she knew from its position offered a fine view of Solway, past Carlisle and the Cumberland hills. But the building immediately present was a brick structure with an open forge at the front.

  The blacksmith’s shop.

  “Wait here, lass.” Brock stopped at the hitching post outside the shop before he entered the back door. A moment later he returned with a tall man in black breeches and a black waistcoat. He looked to be in his midsixties, and there was a shrewd, businesslike manner to him.

  “Joanna, this is Mr. Lang. He has consented to marry us.”

  She greeted Lang with a smile, despite the flutter of nerves inside her.

  “Come with me,” Lang said, and waved for Joanna and Brock to follow him into the back of the shop. They entered a surprisingly tidy room. The walls were freshly painted white, and several windows let in sunlight, making it feel rather cheery. There were two chairs in the room. One was occupied by an elderly man who smiled at them and the other by a middle-aged woman who was knitting a shawl. She stood when she saw Brock and Joanna.

  “These are your witnesses, Mr. Gregory and Mrs. Wilcox.”

  Joanna and Brock shook hands with both of them, and then Mrs. Wilcox pulled Joanna aside into a small room away from Brock to speak privately with her.

  “Are ye here of yer own free will, lassie?” Mrs. Wilcox’s role here must be to rescue any young lady who might have been kidnapped or coerced into an anvil marriage.

  “Yes.”

  “And ye want to marry, er… What’s his name?”

  “Brock Kincade.”

  “Kincade?” Mrs. Wilcox blinked. “I didna catch his name at first. Child, we know the Kincades here.” Mrs. Wilcox put a gentle hand on Joanna’s shoulder. “Ye sure ye wish to marry him? They say his father was quite a brute.”

  “I’m quite sure. Lord Kincade takes after his mother, not his father.” At least she believed he did. She didn’t know much about his mother, but the Brock she had known for the last few days was anything but a monster.

  “Very well, if yer quite sure.”

  “I am quite sure.” Joanna and Mrs. Wilcox returned to the main room, and Joanna looked at Brock who stood near a black anvil on a pedestal. He produced a length of pink ribbon from his pocket that looked suspiciously like one of her hair ribbons from her bag. It brought back a wave of heated memories of that first night they had met, when he had bound her hands with her sash and used a hair ribbon to gag her. Though that had been a frightening moment, he had been gentle, kind, and, in hindsight, only trying to protect his sister.

  “We are ready,” Mrs. Wilcox announced, and she escorted Joanna up to the anvil.

  Joanna had a moment of despair and heartache for the loneliness of this moment. Only strangers were here to witness one of the most important moments in her life. Her mother and brothers, her older sister, her friends…not one of them would see this.

  She looked to her future husband. Brock’s eyes were solemn. Perhaps she saw the same sorrow in his eyes, that his siblings were far away during such a momentous occasion.

  “I wish our families were here,” she whispered. He reached up to cup her cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over her lips.

  His gray-blue eyes softened on her face. “As do I, but we dinna have another way.”

  No, they didn’t.

  “Are you ready, Joanna?” He said her name so sweetly that she fought off tears and nodded.

  “I am.”

  Mr. Lang cleared his throat as he stood in front of them. “What are your names?”

  “Brock Kincade.”

  “Joanna Lennox.”

  “Where do you reside currently?” Lang asked.

  They each answered, and then Lang inquired if they were both single persons.

  “Aye,” Brock said at the same time Joanna replied, “Yes.”

  “An’ did you come here of your own free will and accord?” Lang waited for the answer in the affirmative, and then he produced a printed marriage certificate, filling in their names on a part of the page with the pen provided by Mr. Gregory.

  “Lord Kincade, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, forsaking all others, keep to her as long as you both shall live?”

  Brock smiled at Joanna. “I do.”

  “Miss Lennox, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, forsaking all others, keep to him as long as you both shall live?”

  Joanna stared into Brock’s stormy eyes, seeing the hope and the longing there, and her heart fluttered wildly.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Mr. Lang held out a ring to Brock, who took it. It was a silver band, simple in design.

  “Put it on her fourth finger of her left hand and repeat after me. ‘With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the name of the father, son, and Holy Ghost, amen.’”

  Brock slid the ring onto her finger and spoke the words, his voice strong and his brogue thick as he stared at her intensely.

  “Now hold hands.” Lang took the ribbon from Brock. Once they joined hands, he made a small cut on their palms with a blade. Joanna winced at the sting of the cut, but she pressed her palm together with Brock’s. Lang banded the ribbon to their wrists in a hand fasting. She knew it wasn’t necessary, that their wedding was already legal, but Brock had seemed to want to have an older custom to represent their joining. She rather liked that.

  “Now, Miss Lennox, repeat after me. ‘What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’”

  Joanna spoke the words, and something deep inside her changed. She felt connected to him, bound by an ancient magic that could never be undone, nor did she want it to be.

  Lang spoke more loudly. “For as much as this man and this woman have consented to go together by giving and receiving a ring, I, therefore, declare them to be man and wife before God and these witnesses, in the name of the father, son, and Holy Ghost, amen.”

  Brock’s smile grew into a wide grin, and he leaned over the anvil, pressing his lips to hers. A sudden clang startled them both, and they jumped apart as much as their bound hands would allow. Lang chuckled and put away his heavy blacksmith hammer.

  “We just need to complete your certificate, and then you are free to leave.” Lang motioned the two witnesses over, and they signed after Brock and Joanna. Lang rolled a sheet of blank paper over the wet ink on their certificate to help it dry, then bound the certificate with a black ribbon and handed it to Brock.

  “Congratulations, my lord. I suggest you rent a room at the Queen’s Head Inn, have your horses seen to, and then…your bride seen to.” He winked at Brock, who chuckled. When Joanna and Brock left the blacksmith shop, she paused.

  “What did he mean when he said I needed seeing to?”

  Her husband—how strange and exciting it was to think of him like that—laughed and swept her into his arms, kissing her.

  “He means the consummation, lass. We have a long night ahead, but don’t worry, I will be a good and caring husband.”

  Before she could respond, he was tugging her along, their bound hands still clasped together as they took their horses to the stables next to the inn. Brock handed the waiting groom a handful of coins, and once they left the horses, they walked around to the front of the inn.

  The Queen’s Head was a large inn, and the common room was bustling. Joanna expected to be stared at because of their newly married state, but the crowd dining there must have been well acquainted with the sight of new couples because they were practically ignored. Brock
rented a room and ordered some food to be sent up. He hurried Joanna upstairs and she ran into Brock’s back when they halted at the door to their room. He opened the door and ushered her inside, and she swallowed hard as she tried to stay calm.

  “I’ll have our bags brought up from the stables and a hot bath readied for you,” Brock said. “I know you’ve worn the same dress for three days.”

  Joanna blushed with mortification. She must look and smell dreadful by now. She’d been so focused on racing to Gretna Green that she had been able to think of little else.

  “Thank you. I would like that.”

  He reached between them, gently pulling at the bonds of the pink satin ribbon until it loosened, then released its hold over their bound wrists. Blood smeared both of their palms, and Brock examined her hand.

  “When I return, I’ll see to your hand.” He brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly. “My brave bonnie lass.” He quickly exited the room to see to their bags.

  Joanna stood in the center of the room, trembling despite the warm weather.

  I am married. It is done.

  Ashton had not reached them in time. She hadn’t wanted him to, but she felt a twinge of guilt knowing he would soon be here, and he would be furious when he found them.

  While Brock was gone, she removed her cloak and examined her appearance in the small mirror on the washstand. Her hair was a tangled mess. With a sigh, she began removing pins and combing her fingers through the strands. She was still plucking pins from her hair when Brock returned and set their leather bags on the floor. He knelt by Joanna, and she recognized the bag he dug through as hers. He found her silver-and-pearl-handled hairbrush and held it out to her.

  “Thank you.” She took the brush, holding it against her chest for a moment, feeling shy now that she was alone in a bedroom with him.

  “A lad is on the way up with buckets of hot water for the bath.” He pointed toward a copper tub in the corner. He then stood and came over to the washstand and poured water into the porcelain basin. “Let me see to your hand.”