by Lauren Smith
Julia grinned. “And you could not have chosen a more fitting man for a husband, if you don’t mind me saying so. Such a handsome man.”
Joanna agreed. Brock was indeed one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. But perhaps what she loved most was the air of wildness about him, as though he were a warrior of old, one of those grand men who had fought for his way of life at Culloden.
Joanna’s heart ached at the thought. She was sympathetic to the plight of the Scots—the family did have some Scottish blood in it, after all. How could she not feel pride and sorrow knowing that they had fought so valiantly? Brock made her think of those stories, of the men and women who’d bravely stood up for their way of life, their freedom. Just as she was doing.
She didn’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage to some country gentlemen her brother would have had to bribe into marriage. No, if she was going to be faced with being unloved, she would at least choose the man she married herself. And she hoped that with Brock she stood a chance of winning his love over time. At least in Scotland she would be free. She would be mistress of a castle and wife to a lord. She wouldn’t have to endure the slights of London society or the merciless torture of endless balls where no one would dance with her.
“I shall leave after dinner. Once I’m at Castle Kincade, I will send for you and you may bring the rest of my wardrobe.”
“Yes, miss.” Julia helped her seal up the bag. They both stilled at the knock on her bedchamber door.
“Answer it,” she whispered, and then carefully blocked her bag from view, lest whoever was there was not Brock. Julia opened the door, and Brock slipped inside.
“You have your bag, lass?” he asked quietly.
Joanna nodded and spun to pick up her bag. It was fairly heavy given the tightly packed contents, but Brock took it from her with one hand easily. He winked at Joanna and quickly walked away without another word. They could not risk being seen together tonight. She dressed for dinner early, her nerves making her feel wild and on edge.
“Remember to breathe, miss,” Julia reminded her as she styled Joanna’s hair in a sensible chignon. It would suit her well for traveling.
Anxiety formed a tight knot in her belly, gnawing away at her confidence until it was time to go down to dinner. She sat at the table surrounded by friends and her family, all except for Rafe, who wasn’t there. He’d left Hampshire to return to London. He’d left shortly after the wedding ceremony, riding north to heaven knows where. He was quite free to do anything he pleased, and when she thought of that it revived her determination to run away with Brock. She tried not to let herself be distracted by the romanticism of their plan.
He wants a wife; I need a husband. It’s not about love. At least, not yet.
She looked down the length of the table, feeling a sudden surge of pride at keeping her plan a secret. No one knew that in three days’ time she would be a bride herself. For a brief instant, melancholy struck her. She would be married all alone save for a few local witnesses in a faraway Scottish village. Her mother and brothers would not be there to see her, and Ashton would not be there to give her away.
But what choice did she have? She couldn’t stay here any longer and let life pass her by.
She had to act, and she wanted Brock as a husband. If that meant sacrificing the wedding she’d always imagined she would have, then she would find a way to bear it. Brock would also be alone, his brothers and sister staying here. At least they would share their loneliness.
When dinner was over, Joanna lingered in the parlor with the ladies while the men went to drink port and smoke cigars. She glanced at the clock on the mantel of the fireplace and saw it was half past nine. Brock had said to be in the stables by ten o’clock. Joanna approached her mother, who was in an animated discussion with the lovely young Duchess of Essex and the Marchioness of Rochester.
“Mama,” she interrupted gently when the conversation fell into a natural lull.
“Yes, dear?” Regina smiled at her. She was quite happy today, now that her eldest child was finally married.
What will she think when she discovers I am gone? That I married without her? She fought hard to keep the tears from coming.
“I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.” She placed a hand to her lower abdomen, hoping her mother would make the assumption she was suggesting.
“Oh dear! Then you must go and rest.” Her mother gently touched her shoulder and nodded.
Joanna started to leave, but she couldn’t seem to go without one last embrace. She turned and hugged her mother fiercely.
“Goodness, what on earth…?”
“Have a good night,” she murmured, wanting so much to say more but knowing she could not.
“Good night, my dear.” Regina hugged her back and let her go. Joanna tried not to rush from the parlor. She was crying by the time she changed into her riding habit, but she wiped the tears away. She had to be brave now.
This is my choice, my future. It is time to grow up.
She waited in the shadows while Julia helped her sneak out of the house unseen by her family and the other wedding guests.
She reached the stables and panicked when she didn’t see Brock. Had he changed his mind? Had he decided he didn’t want her after all? Her heart splintered, and dizziness swamped her. She’d been abandoned?
“Brock!” she called out, her cloak wrapped tight around her, praying he would answer, that he hadn’t just left her.
“Here, lass!” Brock stepped out of an empty stall, and she nearly collapsed with relief. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried to steady herself and focus on him. If she didn’t, the world might start spinning again.
He wore dark clothes, a heavy greatcoat, and a hat, blending into the shadows of the stables. He walked up to her and reached for her hands, bringing them to his lips. Brock’s tender touch nearly undid her in that moment. He hadn’t left her.
“You’ve been crying,” he said as he studied her beneath the lamplight.
“I’m fine,” she lied. She did not want him to think she was some silly young girl who was afraid to leave home. He wrapped his muscled arms around her, holding her close as he had done earlier in the church.
“I’ll ask one more time, lass. Are you sure you want to go with me?”
She studied the tall dark-haired man in front of her—eyes that promised understanding, hands that promised tenderness, and lips that promised wild passion. Yes, she was quite sure.
She stood up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. A sinuous light passed between them, and a new urgency drove her to kiss him even more deeply, flicking her tongue against his. He moaned and pulled her tighter in his arms. She felt almost weightless when he held her, as though she might drift up to the heavens with pleasure if he wasn’t holding her down. When their lips broke apart, she buried her face against his throat, inhaling the soft scents of the horses, the hay, and the scent of man, her man.
“I’m sure,” she whispered.
“Thank the Lord,” he said with a chuckle. “After a kiss like that, it wouldna be easy to let you go.”
She smiled as they finally broke apart.
“The horses are ready. I have your bag strapped to mine.” He led her to the horses outside. They were wet from the misting rain and shifted restlessly in the darkness. Joanna sucked in a breath as Brock grasped her waist and lifted her up into the saddle. She tried to settle herself to ride sidesaddle, but she realized there wasn’t a proper saddle for it.
“You need to be steady and fast. You’ll ride astride.” He guided one of her legs over the horse’s body so she could ride more steadily, and her skirts rose up to her knees.
“Oh…” She felt a flush of embarrassment and was relieved that it was too dark for him to see it. Shifting to get more comfortable, she did indeed feel steadier riding like this, with one leg on either side of her mount. She grasped the reins and waited for Brock to mount up in front of her. As he did, she caught sight of his broad back a
nd muscled legs in his riding trousers, and her heart began to pound heavily with anticipation. This man, this powerful, beautiful man, was soon to be hers. Hers to share a bed with. Her entire body flushed with a sudden rush of heat.
“Stay close to me, lass. We want to put as much distance between us and your brother as we possibly can tonight.”
“I understand.” She guided her horse forward, and once she was alongside him, they broke into a fast trot until they were off Lennox’s land to the main road leading north. They used the woods to shield them, keeping their mounts at the edge of the road where grass grew partially over the dirt, concealing their tracks a little.
When they were at the farthest point from her home where she could still look back and see the house, she did so. It was a distant pale stone shadow in the darkness with dotted gold lights of candles in the windows.
Regret pinched her heart, but she didn’t hesitate in leaving with Brock. She wished she wasn’t facing marriage alone in a Scottish town without her family. Brock slowed to ride alongside her. Their eyes met, and he tilted his head as though to silently ask if she was all right. She answered with a firm nod, and he smiled proudly back at her.
Then they broke into a fast trot. Joanna wound the reins around her gloved hands, holding on hard as she imitated Brock’s natural horsemanship skills and leaned forward over the horse’s neck. Her horse, Kaylee, kept pace with Brock’s mount, and she felt a surge of pride that her English mare was as fast as his Scottish stallion.
Four hours later, her back was aching and her shoulders were rigid with tension. She felt a little dizzy, but she dared not call out to Brock. She had to prove she could keep up with him and not slow him down. Her fingers burned from gripping the leather reins too tightly. The rain continued to fall, making her clothes as heavy as lead, and her lashes collected droplets that constantly dripped into her eyes, but she couldn’t risk wiping them away lest she lose hold of the reins.
Brock suddenly slowed his mount to walk, and she nearly cried in relief as she slowed Kaylee down beside him.
“We’ll rest the horses. ’Tis well past midnight.” He nodded to a grove of trees a small distance off the road. She followed him as they guided their horses in the direction of the grove.
Brock dismounted and then came over to her. He was dripping with rain, and his clothing was cold, but his face was sharp with a masculine vigor at defying nature. Their gazes locked, and she trembled with excitement as he gripped her waist and lowered her to the ground. They were alone, and no one would stop him now if he decided to kiss her. She certainly wouldn’t have stopped him if he did. She almost moaned at the glorious feel of his large warm body close to hers.
“Will you be all right for a moment while I tend the horses?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, not sure why she felt she had to be quiet. Perhaps it was the nature of their flight, the danger, the excitement, but she didn’t wish to speak too loudly.
He stepped back and led the horses deeper beneath the low-lying trees, tying their reins to a branch. He pulled two apples out of the pockets of his coat and quickly fed one to each. The horses munched on their treats, and then, after giving them each a quick pat, Brock returned to Joanna and guided her to a big tree. They eased down on the ground. He removed his greatcoat and pulled her against him as he stretched out near the grooves between the vast roots. His coat made for a decent blanket for them, yet Joanna shivered, pressing her face into his chest.
“It will be a rough night,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for that. I wish I could give you a warm bed and a cozy fire.”
“I’m all right,” she insisted, but her chattering teeth made him laugh.
“I’ll keep you warm.” He rubbed one hand up and down her back in a soothing way. She didn’t think she could fall asleep, not being so cold and uncomfortable, but soon she heard Brock humming a song, and the pleasant sound distracted her.
“What’s that?” she asked drowsily.
“An old song. ‘The Mist-Covered Mountains.’ Would you like me to sing it?”
Joanna smiled. “You sing?” The thought of him doing so filled her with unexpected delight.
He laughed, the rich sound rolling through him as he answered. “Every good Scotsman sings.”
“Yes, please sing to me.” She hesitantly curled an arm around his waist as he held her closer still.
O chi, chi mi na morbheanna
O chi, chi mi na corrbheanna
O chi, chi mi na coireachan
Chi mi na sgoran fo cheo.
Chi mi gun dail an t-aite ’s an d’rugadh mi
Cuirear orm failt’s a’ chanain a thuigeas mi
Gheibh mi ann aoidh abus gradh ’n uair ruigeam
Nach reicinn air thunnaichean oir.
His Gaelic was sweet and melancholy.
“What does it mean?” she asked and yawned a little. His hand continued to rub her back, and his body heat seemed to spread through her own cold limbs. This time he sang the song again, only in English so she would understand.
Oh, roe, soon shall I see them, oh,
Hee-roe, see them, oh see them.
Oh, roe, soon shall I see them,
the mist-covered mountains of home!
There shall I visit the place of my birth.
They’ll give me a welcome the warmest on earth.
So loving and kind, full of music and mirth,
the sweet-sounding language of home.
There shall I gaze on the mountains again.
On the fields, and the hills, and the birds in the glen.
With people of courage beyond human ken!
In the haunts of the deer I will roam.
Hail to the mountains with summits of blue!
To the glens with their meadows of sunshine and dew.
To the women and the men ever constant and true,
Ever ready to welcome one home!
His deep voice, the baritone that was as smooth as brandy, lulled her into a light sleep, dreaming of misty mountains and heather-covered fields.
My new home…
9
Brock woke just after dawn. He glanced down the length of his body with a slow smile. Joanna was pressed flush against him, her womanly curves fitting his body in a way that made him tighten with hunger, but he pushed aside the natural arousal that came from holding a beautiful woman in his arms. There would be plenty of time for that later, once they were married. She was still nervous, as was he. He vowed that when he took Joanna to his bed, they would be far more acquainted and comfortable with one another. Soon they would be tied together for the rest of their lives, yet they barely knew each other. Marriages like this were common enough, of course, but Rosalind had been right. He wanted to know his wife, wanted to truly understand her, and he hoped she felt the same about him.
He carefully slipped from her arms and wrapped her up in the rest of his coat before he walked away to relieve himself. When he returned to the grove, he untied the horses and took them to the meadow to graze on the grass there. Once he was satisfied that the horses were fed, he tied them once more and dug through the saddlebag he’d packed the previous night until he found the flask of ale and the bit of bread and cheese he’d wrapped up in a cloth.
He kept an eye on his future bride, chuckling as she slept. Her nose wrinkled, and she murmured something in her sleep, her lips curving in a little smile. Whatever she was dreaming about must have been good. The thought filled him with relief. He hadn’t wanted to force her to sleep on the cold, hard ground like this, but they had little choice. She was showing such bravery and courage, he could scarcely contain his pride.
He ate a little of his breakfast, trying to give Joanna as much time to rest as he could. Then when he felt he could wait no longer, he gently shook her arm, and she sighed, rolling onto her back, her lashes fluttering as she came awake. Damnation, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to feel her soften in his arms as he woke her the way a husband ought to wake his wife—with pa
ssion and ardor.
“Good morning,” he greeted her softly, and held out the flask, cheese, and bread. If she was eating, it might get his mind off how much he wanted to roll her onto her back and kiss her. There wasn’t time for that, not yet. They had to keep moving.
Joanna blinked owlishly against the morning sun as it crested the trees above them in bright-red shades. “Morning,” she replied before she took the food and drink.
“Well, lass, you survived your first night beneath the stars,” Brock said as he leaned back against the tree beside her.
“I did, didn’t I?” She looked proud of herself, and her pride amused him.
He knew she was a gentle-born lady, not used to roughing it out on the ground like he and his brothers were. The fact that she’d made no complaints while trying to sleep beneath a tree in a light rain with no soft pillows or warm fire impressed him.
He stood, resting back against the tree as he let her finish her breakfast, but after a few moments she moved closer, leaning her shoulder against his leg where he stood, and he couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke her hair. It seemed like such a luxury to touch her, to know that she soon would fully be his to cherish and protect. The thought filled him with a boyish giddiness he hadn’t felt in years.
Brock stayed alert, his eyes on the road, making sure he did not see anyone. He could not guess how quickly Lennox would realize Joanna was gone. And once he did, it would then be a question of which route Lennox would assume they would take.
When he had taken Rosalind back to Scotland a month ago, he had not used the Great North Road, nor had he used this lesser-traveled road. He’d taken his sister overland, knowing she could handle sleeping on bedrolls on the ground for several days. But with Joanna he needed to stay on the actual road, because it would be safer for her as an inexperienced rider. As long as he could keep Lennox guessing as to their path, and if they managed to stay ahead of him, they might reach Gretna Green without any difficulty.
