The Highlander's Irish Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  Hastily, he turned back to the stove. “Lass, you’re confusing me with someone else. My family rarely does what I want. It’s the opposite, in fact, as is evidenced by our trip to Lochnagar.”

  “They ask you to do that sort of thing because they can depend on you.”

  “That sounds rather boring,” he dryly replied.

  There was silence for several moments before she answered. “I used to think that always being the reliable one is such a bore. But now I think there’s nothing more tiresome—more boring, in fact—than constantly dashing about and raising a ruckus. Because if you’re doing that all the time, it probably means you’re . . .”

  “Bored?”

  “Yes. Or something isn’t right, and you’re not quite sure what it is. It’s exhausting trying to figure it out.”

  Her voice was quiet, as if she were speaking to herself. She sounded rather lost and alone, and not the confident lass who always faced the world with courage and more than a bit of dash.

  Resisting the urge to get up and pull her into his arms, Grant retrieved the flint from the basket next to the stove and started the fire.

  “And there’s certainly nothing interesting about an unreliable person,” Kathleen added in a firmer tone. “In fact, it’s immensely irritating.”

  “I assume we’re now speaking about a certain little sister who shall remain nameless.”

  “Ha ha, how terribly amusing.”

  Smiling to himself, Grant added another square to the smoldering peat. It properly caught, and soon a welcome heat poured out into the room.

  He stood. “Is it safe to turn around?”

  “I am now perfectly respectable.”

  Grant turned to find her sitting in one of the cane chairs at the rough-hewn table. Wrapped in a plaid blanket that covered her to the knees, with her thick hair haphazardly contained by a messy topknot, she looked quite raffish and anything but boring.

  In fact, she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed after a cracking good tumble. And that mental image now set his mind in an entirely inappropriate direction, especially given their circumstances. At the moment, he could think of nothing he’d rather do more than carry his fey colleen over to the narrow bed in the corner and give her a right, good tumble on the spot.

  Kathleen’s smile was a half wince. “I must look a wreck.”

  “You look entirely charming. How are your boots? Did they get wet?”

  She stuck a foot out, showing him an impressively sturdy boot. “I bought these in Glasgow. Vicky said I would need them in the Highlands.”

  “What about the rest of you? You’re starting to get warm enough?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I might be skinny, but I’m no Dresden miss, sir.”

  Skinny was not how he would describe her. “If I return you to Lochnagar with even a sniffle, Sabrina will murder me.”

  “You’re the one who got soaked, not me.”

  When she snaked an arm from under the blanket and pointed at him, he caught an enticing glimpse of creamy freckled skin and blue bows.

  He again raked back his wet hair. “Just my head.”

  “There are towels in the trunk.”

  Grant retrieved a sturdy cloth and went to work on his hair. Once done with that, he pulled off his riding jacket. Hooking one of the cane chairs, he placed it close to the stove and hung his jacket over the back.

  “Where’s your jacket, lass?”

  When she didn’t answer, he glanced over to find her staring at him, rather wide-eyed. A flush stained her cheeks, making her freckles glow.

  “Kathleen?”

  She gave a start. “Sorry, it’s on that bench by the trunk.”

  Grant retrieved the crumpled jacket and shook it out before carefully hanging it next to his. “Should be dry in no time.”

  When another crack of thunder shook the cottage, she grimaced. “I wonder how long this will go on?”

  “Another hour or so, I imagine.”

  She muttered something unhappy about her sister.

  Grant crossed to a set of shelves that contained crockery, tumblers, and, thankfully, a full decanter of Lochnagar’s finest. He uncorked the bottle and poured out two glasses.

  “I will bet you a bob that she’s back at the house by now,” Grant said.

  “What if she’s not?”

  “Then she’ll get a good soaking.”

  She bristled. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  He handed her a glass. “No, but this will. And try to stop worrying about Jeannie. Don’t forget this is the girl who survived two days in a carriage boot.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You never finished telling me how I’m able to get my family to do what I want. I still have my doubts about that.”

  Her smile was rueful. “Because of our trip to Lochnagar, you mean.”

  “That’s one example.”

  “Very well, then. Once someone has convinced you that something is necessary, you then arrange for how it gets done, in the way you want it done. People only think they’re getting their way, but it’s really you.”

  “That’s sounds rather manipulative of me.”

  She waggled her sleek eyebrows. “Oh, it’s very manipulative. But also very helpful. And you’re so good at it that most people never even notice.”

  He pointed to himself. “Old sobersides, bending everyone to my evil will?”

  “Exactly. You have them all fooled.”

  It was so ridiculous that he had to laugh. “Kathleen, my family runs me from pillar to post.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “It seems to me that you’re also quite good at holding your family at arm’s length. You can be very reserved, in your own quiet way.”

  Home hit, old boy.

  “And how do I do that?” he asked in a neutral tone.

  “For one thing, you don’t yell.” She rolled her eyes. “Other Kendricks yell quite a lot.”

  He snorted. “Noticed, did you?”

  “One would have to be dead not to notice. You sit there and let them storm and bluster. Then, when they’ve blown themselves out, you make a suggestion.” She shrugged, revealing more bare shoulder. “From what I can tell, at that point they usually do what you suggest.”

  That was precisely how he’d learned to manage his family.

  She gave him a rueful smile. “I wish I had the knack for it, at least with Jeannie.”

  They drank their whisky, listening to the hard drum of rain on the roof. Kathleen shifted to rearrange her blanket more closely around her shoulders.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she said softly.

  “Of course.”

  “Why have you never married?”

  Grant blinked. “Sorry?”

  “I know it’s very forward of me, but most men of your age and social standing are married by now.”

  “Perhaps I’m simply a confirmed bachelor, too fussy for my own good.”

  She scoffed. “Balderdash. I’d wager you’ve had legions of girls trailing after you. As a longtime denizen of the Marriage Mart, I’m quite expert on these matters.”

  He thought it best to deflect the uncomfortable discussion about his life. “Well, you’re an exceedingly eligible young lady. Why aren’t you married?”

  “Simple. No one has asked me.”

  “Are all the men in London complete boobs?”

  She chuckled. “Apparently so. Now, stop dodging the question.”

  “Frankly, I’ve just never given the matter much thought.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. He’d met several interesting girls over the years who likely would have made splendid wives if he’d taken the trouble to court them. Except for that one ridiculous episode in his youth, he’d never been willing to put forth the effort.

  Until now.

  Kathleen wisely nodded. “That makes sense, given the sort of person you are.”

  That did not sound promising.

  “And what sort of p
erson am I?”

  “A solitary one.”

  He snorted. “Surrounded by so many noisy Kendricks? Impossible.”

  “On the contrary. One can live surrounded by people and still feel alone.”

  And wasn’t that a twist of the knife in the heart? It seemed impossible that someone as bright and vivacious as Kathleen, so full of light and warmth she practically shimmered, could feel alone. Could be alone.

  If there was ever a woman who deserved loving, who deserved to be the heart and soul of a man’s life, it was Kathleen Calvert.

  “Sweetheart, I—”

  Lightning exploded outside, followed by a deafening roll of thunder that seemed to vibrate through the whole hut. Kathleen startled, then made a grab for her blanket as it began to slide from her shoulders.

  “Good Lord, that was awful,” she exclaimed.

  Grant rose and crossed to the small window. He tried to see through the driving rain, but couldn’t because it was practically a bloody gale out there.

  They wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

  And that could be a problem. Dusk would come fast on the heels of the storm. As it was, they were skating on the very edges of propriety. If they were stuck here alone much longer—

  “I hope the horses don’t take fright,” Kathleen said.

  Grant returned to the table. “They should be fine. The shed is new and sturdily built.”

  Her lips rolled inward, tight with anxiety.

  “You’re worried about Jeannie.”

  She gave a morose little nod.

  To hell with it.

  The time for caution had passed, blown to tatters by the storm.

  He pulled his chair close to hers and sat. Then he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her against him. She sank into his embrace with a funny little sigh.

  “I did almost marry,” he confessed. “When I was young and exceptionally stupid.”

  She wriggled sideways to look at his face. The motion pushed her breasts against him, a sensation he thoroughly enjoyed.

  “Really? What happened?”

  “Graeme and I eloped.”

  She choked out a laugh. “I know you and Graeme are exceedingly close, but that seems a bit much.”

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her messy curls. “Cheeky lass. I mean we jointly eloped with two young ladies of our acquaintance.”

  “Not very successfully, obviously.”

  “It was an epic disaster from beginning to end.”

  “They why did you do it?”

  “It was my grandfather’s idea, so that should tell you something.”

  When she tilted her head, her face was so close that he could practically count the freckles that danced across her cheekbones.

  “I’ve noticed he’s something of a matchmaker, but that idea seems rather deranged, even for him.”

  “When it comes to matchmaking, Angus lets no obstacle stand in his way, including the feelings of the various parties.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “How did this all come about?”

  “Mostly as a result of our own bad behavior. The family consensus was that at the advanced age of twenty-two, it was time for the terrible twins to grow up. Angus believed that the most expedient path to such a laudable goal was marriage.”

  “Did he also pick out the girls for you?”

  “I’m happy to say we managed that bit on our own.”

  She chuckled. “So much initiative.”

  “Angus planned the rest, though. He even came with us to direct the proceedings.”

  She jerked upright. “Your grandfather went with you on your elopement? Now you must be joking.”

  Grant resettled her under his arm. “Alas, no. Royal also participated in this mad scheme, although his efforts were markedly more successful. He and Ainsley eventually did get married.”

  “It sounds a rather crowded affair.”

  “It required two overloaded carriages to transport the lot of us from Glasgow to Kinglas.”

  “Really, it all sounds insanely complicated. Why didn’t you simply sneak off and get married in Glasgow?”

  “Not dramatic enough for a Highlander, ye ken. Besides, Graeme and I feared a concerted resistance from the fathers of our intended brides—not to mention from Nick. So we thought it best to put some distance between us and all of them.” He shook his head. “It was an absurdity from beginning to end.”

  She made an impatient noise. “More details, please.”

  “Hmm. Well, Royal and Ainsley spent most of the journey yelling at each other, which unnerved the other girls and prompted them to begin having second thoughts. Naturally, this irritated Angus, which led to fairly predictable results.”

  “More yelling?”

  “Exactly, and an unfortunate degree of name-calling. By the time we reached Kinglas, both girls swore they would rather be boiled in oil than marry a Kendrick. And that was even before the avalanche, and Graeme falling off the carriage and breaking his leg. We capped off this catalogue of disasters by coming down with wretched colds after we reached Kinglas. Suffice it to say that our intended brides were greatly relieved at the failure of our demented plan.”

  Kathleen twisted around again to stare up at him. “An avalanche? Really?”

  “Really.”

  “That’s . . . that’s . . .” She dissolved into laughter.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Don’t spare my feelings.”

  She shook even harder in his arms.

  It was hilarious, of course, but also embarrassing. Even thinking about it made him feel like a bottle-headed moron. Yet if it served to distract his sweet lass from her troubles, it was worth it.

  “Fortunately, Vicky and Nick caught up with us and quashed any gossip or scandal,” he added. “It was a miracle poor Nick didn’t shoot us for the crime of capital stupidity.”

  She giggled before subsiding against him.

  Despite the raging storm outside, a quiet contentment settled over them. The peat fire gently hissed, pouring out a comforting heat, and the whisky drove out any lingering chill in his muscles. With Kathleen snuggled in his arms, Grant felt more at peace, more himself, than he had in a very long time.

  She stirred, half turning her face into his shoulder.

  “Were you sorry you didn’t marry?” Her voice was muffled.

  “I was sorry I caused so much trouble.”

  “But the young lady ... did you love her?”

  Now she was no longer resting softly in his embrace. Rather, her slender form felt rigid, as if tension had just invaded her limbs.

  “I certainly liked her,” he said, “but I’m not ashamed to admit that I mostly felt relief. I was far too stupid to know what I wanted at that point in my life.”

  “Do you know what you want now?”

  He propped his chin on her head, smiling to himself. “I think so.”

  “And do you think you could love me . . . I mean, like me?”

  There was a momentary silence before she tried to slide out of his embrace.

  “Never mind,” she hastily added. “Silly question. Just forget I asked it.”

  Grant gently pulled her back, turning her to face him. Her eyes were huge, her cheeks flushed, and her expression a heart-twisting mix of defiance and self-doubt. Never had he met someone who seemed so confident and yet so unsure—or unaware—of how bloody wonderful she truly was.

  He cupped her chin. “Sweet lass, I more than like you.”

  Then he bent and captured her lips, determined to show her just how much.

  * * *

  Kathleen fell into the midst of a storm as Grant’s desire swept over her. She rose up to meet it, all the emotion she’d denied for so long bursting forth. It seemed to invade every muscle and nerve in her body, causing her to tremble within his strong embrace.

  And yet, at the center of it all was a sensation of peace unlike anything she’d ever felt. It was like coming home, only deeper and more c
ertain.

  She snaked a hand out from under the blanket to clutch the edge of his waistcoat. Grant murmured, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss.

  With a happy sigh, she opened to him. Grant tasted like whisky and heat as he explored her mouth, stealing the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just peace that she felt in his arms. It was a growing sense of excitement, one that made her want to squirm in her seat.

  Better yet, squirm on top of him.

  Kathleen clutched at his shoulders, trying to find mental purchase. Was this truly Grant, the man who valued control over everything else? Because what he was doing to her was the opposite of control. He’d hardly begun kissing her, and yet she was ready to climb onto his lap and do things that no proper young lady—or barely proper, in her case—should contemplate. They weren’t even betrothed, for heaven’s sake. She should stop him. He’d want her to stop him before events overtook them.

  And in another minute or two ...

  Grant nipped her lower lip. Any notion of stopping him dissolved into the ether. Along with her maidenly qualms, which weren’t very strong to begin with.

  When her nipped her again, then softly nuzzled her mouth, Kathleen couldn’t hold back a moan.

  “Did ye like that, sweet lass?” His brogue was deep and oh-so-seductive.

  Her eyelids fluttered up—she hadn’t realized she’d closed them—and found herself staring into a gaze so fiery it was a miracle she didn’t instantly go up in flames.

  “I think so,” she managed. “But perhaps you’d best do it again to make sure.”

  His chuckle was wicked as he leaned down to nuzzle her lips. Slowly, expertly, he ravished her mouth until she was squirming like a mad thing. His kisses were lovely, but they weren’t nearly enough.

  “Grant,” she gasped, “you’re driving me insane.”

  He studied her with a teasing smile. Unlike her, Grant seemed to be in control, although his gaze glittered with sensual intent.

  “Am I now?” he purred. “And what would you like me to do about that, Kathleen?”

  She huffed. “Has anyone told you that you’re a dreadful tease?”

  His smile turned rueful. “No, actually. You’re the first.”