The Pursuit

by Johanna Lindsey

  “What a sorry mess,” he said, looking around the table. “He knows ye and still wants tae join our family—aye, he mun be crazy!”

  “We protect our own, Lachlan, ye know that,” Adam said in their defense.

  “Aye, and that’s tae be admired, but in this case ye were protecting a friend from a friend.”

  “We saw just the opposite. Lincoln had betrayed Dougi’s friendship—or sae we thought.” Another glare was sent Dougall’s way.

  Lachlan sighed. “Who’s really tae blame and what started it doesna concern me sae much as what happened after and if it can happen again. I’ll be sending off a note now tae ask Lincoln Burnett tae come by in the morning, tae hear what he has tae say for himself. I’d like ye tae be here, Ian,” he said, glancing toward Ian One. “I’ll need tae be sure I willna be hearing anything that will later be contradicted. Did any o’ ye e’en think tae ask the lad why he was so determined tae get tae yer brother?”

  “He was a fuse already lit,” Johnny put in. “Ne’er in m’life have I seen anyone that angry. And it’s rather difficult tae talk tae someone swinging broken fists at ye.”

  Lachlan sighed again. “I suppose it is.”

  Thirty-Four

  LINCOLN couldn’t remember ever being so nervous. During those few days at sea, when he’d had nothing to do but think, he’d realized that history was in a way repeating itself, that once again the MacFearsons were standing between him and what he most wanted. He’d realized also that Melissa wouldn’t just make him an ideal wife, wouldn’t just give meaning to his life. She was much more than that now. She had to be his. There was no other choice.

  But he saw clearly the similarities between now and the last time something had been this important to him. The consensus was that he’d gone crazy that first time. With so many holes in his memory of those events, he couldn’t even deny it. Between then and now nothing had ever occurred to bring his emotions to that extreme level again…but he couldn’t help the nagging fear that had surfaced. If Melissa were denied to him, what would he do?

  The nervousness arose because the decision wasn’t his to make. His future happiness was going to be decided by Lachlan MacGregor—who in turn was going to be influenced by the MacFearsons. Melissa’s assurance that her own opinion and that of her mother would be taken into account wasn’t all that reassuring when you came down to it. It was still going to be her father’s decision in the end.

  His appointment was 10:00 A.M. He arrived at exactly that time and was let in immediately. Melissa came flying down the stairs a moment later, running up to him in the hall.

  “You came!” she said breathlessly.

  “You didn’t think I would?”

  “After what m’uncles did tae you, I wasna sure you’d still want me,” she admitted.

  He gave her a tender smile. “Of course I still want you. Your family hasn’t changed that—nor will they,” he added meaningfully.

  She beamed at him. “They’re waiting for you in the parlor.”

  “They?”

  “M’mother and her oldest brother are wi’ m’da,” she warned him.

  “I feel as if I’m going on trial.”

  “Just be yourself.”

  “You aren’t coming in?”

  “Nay, I was there last night, for m’uncles’ account o’ it. M’da put his foot down about m’presence in this meeting. But I’m no’ worried.”

  “Liar.” He smiled at her.

  She didn’t answer, just pushed him toward the parlor door. He took a deep breath and went ahead.

  Ian One was there, looking solemn and dwarfed by Lachlan’s great size, who was standing next to him in front of the cold fireplace. Melissa’s mother was sitting on the sofa nearby, in the process of pouring tea as Lincoln entered.

  She stood, smiled at him, and introduced herself. She was not quite what he expected, nothing like Melissa, who apparently favored just her father. Tall for a woman, with dark blond hair and dark green eyes. She was no beauty and probably never had been, but her smile changed all that and gave her a unique radiance that could be startling it so transformed her appearance.

  He turned toward Lachlan and began by stating the obvious. “I want to marry your daughter. You already know that. Since I came to London to pursue her, nothing has altered that simple desire, not even who her relatives are.”

  Lincoln looked pointedly at Ian as he said that last part. The oldest MacFearson brother merely stared back stoically, unaffected by the left-handed slur.

  Lachlan cleared his throat. “Some issues have been raised.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they have,” Lincoln replied. “I never realized that the old adage about how your past can come back to haunt you could be so true.”

  “M’wife’s brothers have filled m’ear wi’ their version o’ this ’past,’” Lachlan explained unnecessarily. “I’d like tae hear yer version, if ye dinna mind.”

  Lincoln nodded. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected to have to lay his guts on the table before them. Leaving a man to his own personal demons didn’t apply when that man wanted to marry your daughter.

  Calmly, sparing himself nothing, he told them everything he could remember, everything he’d already told Melissa. It took nearly an hour, because they interrupted with questions here and there. Even Ian asked a few.

  He ended, “What happened back then was caused by many odd circumstances. Some of it even had to do with my father’s death. I didn’t mourn properly when he died. Like most boys that age, I felt that crying wasn’t manly. Instead there was a lot of rage, because he was gone. And my mother was gone, too—not physically, but she might as well have been, since I rarely saw her after his death. So I lost them both, and had no one to take their place—no siblings, no other children in the area around my age—until I met the MacFearsons, and Dougi became the brother I never had. Losing him, and over something so stupid, brought the rage back.”

  “He ne’er told us that he hurt himself falling against ye,” Ian said. “He only fessed up tae that last night. He claims he was too embarrassed tae mention it at the time, but then he didna know that ye were still trying tae reach him either, or that we were still preventing it.”

  “None of which makes any difference to the real issue, I suppose?”

  “Nae, yer rage—understandable, given all we know now—still made you crazy. There’s no other word tae come close tae describing a lad sae injured he could barely stand up, which was yer condition by the time I saw ye, still charging into the fray. Ye were asked tae stand down, tae leave it go. I asked ye that m’self, the one time ye tried tae get past me. Do ye e’en remember that?”

  “No.” Lincoln sighed. “I recall William telling me to go home and mend at one point, but I was far too desperate for Dougi’s forgiveness to do that. However, I’m aware that my memory is too vague, or completely devoid of some of those encounters. There were two things in control of me—pain and my need to make things right with Dougi. It has been suggested that the pain caused me to be unreasonable.”

  “Ye forget the third thing—yer rage,” Ian reminded him. “It was there and well lit on each of those encounters. The pain ye were in might hae had some tae do wi’ it, but it was yer rage that had ye throwing yourself against unbeatable odds, again and again. Ye had no care for what stood in yer way, Linc. Ye tried tae crush everything in the path tae yer goal—unsuccessfully, aye, but only because ye were too injured yerself tae do anyone else serious damage.”

  “Ian, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. I’d never hurt her. Nor do I think I was crazy back then. I do agree I behaved abnormally, but whatever caused it—the pain, the rage, a combination of both, my desperation, whatever—has never beset me again. That alone indicates it was an unfortunate but isolated occurrence.”

  “Can ye honestly say it will ne’er happen again?” Lachlan asked quietly.

  Lincoln would have said yes immediately, if it weren’t for those missing chunks of his memory.
“No,” he had to allow, and even as he said it, he knew he was cutting his own throat.

  “Then I canna give m’daughter tae ye, mon,” Lachlan said with genuine regret. “I’m sorry.”

  Lincoln’s throat closed with emotion. He’d known that this was a possibility, but he really hadn’t thought that it would become reality. Did they really think that anything in life could hold such guarantees?

  He was so crushed he could barely get the words out. “I understand. Actually, I don’t, but I suppose that doesn’t matter. I bid you good day.”

  As soon as Lincoln was out of the room, Lachlan told his wife, before he even glanced at her to see her scowl, “Dinna look at me that way.”

  “I’m with him,” she growled. “I don’t understand either.”

  “Ye heard him. He canna guarantee he’ll ne’er go crazy again.”

  “I can’t guarantee I won’t someday buy me a gun and shoot you either,” she replied hotly. “Both are extremely remote possibilities, and since when do we live by such extremes?”

  “Ye ne’er bought that gun when ye were a child and shot someone wi’ it, Kimber. But he did go crazy as a child. There’s yer difference, and it’s a big one, I’m thinking.”

  “Rubbish. And you better tell me you were just testing him, or I’ll be ordering a gun.”

  “Now, Kimber…” Lachlan began.

  But Ian put in, “He’d hae tae be half dead wi’ injuries for a true testing.”

  “Don’t even think it. In fact, you both think too much. That’s the problem here. So stop it.”

  Out in the hall, Meli was waiting. Lincoln wished she weren’t. He didn’t have the heart to tell her. But he didn’t have to. Her expression had been eager, excited—until she got a look at his.

  She still had to hear it. “He turned down your suit? He willna let you have me?”

  “No.”

  She didn’t cry. He felt like crying. She didn’t rail. He felt like railing.

  She said simply, “Then take me wi’ you.”

  He wasn’t expecting that, any more than he’d expected to be denied her, but hearing her say it, he could breathe again. He still had to ask, “You’re sure?”

  “Aye, I’ve already thought about it, in case he decided against you. I e’en wrote a note for my mother, sae she willna worry. I really thought I’d be tearing it up and throwing it away, instead o’ having it delivered. But m’parents will see reason—after we’re wed. Sae take me with you, and be quick about it, afore they come out tae try tae explain tae me why they’re being so silly.”

  Thirty-Five

  MELISSA had wanted to hurry, because she’d assumed, like most young couples deciding on elopement, that they’d be heading to Scotland to accomplish it, where there was no waiting for banns or licenses or anything else. Speed was of the essence, because she didn’t doubt that her family would follow and try to stop her from making a “mistake,” as they saw it, so they needed a good head start.

  Lincoln didn’t seem that concerned with speed, however. When they left the city heading south instead of north, she merely thought he must know of a different way to get to Scotland, other than the normal route. And then she stopped thinking about it entirely…

  He’d been holding her hand ever since they’d left the mansion. He hadn’t released it in the coach. She’d been anxiously staring out the window, until she felt his lips brush against her fingers.

  She turned to him, caught her breath. Looks had to be guarded in public, but there was nothing guarded about the look he was giving her now. It was filled with unmasked longing. It drew her forward, until she was clinging to his chest, their heartbeats meshed. He kissed her brow, her temple, finally her lips. She’d missed him so, thought she’d lost him for good. Those feelings and more were in that kiss—a desperation, because they weren’t wed yet, and something could still happen to prevent it.

  He didn’t kiss her for long. More would have started something they couldn’t have stopped. She wouldn’t have minded, but she knew his thoughts on the matter, knew he wanted their first mating to be perfect. But he didn’t let her go either, held her tightly, possessively. It was soothing and frustrating at the same time, but she consoled herself with the thought that in a few more days, there’d be no more need for restraint.

  When she noticed again, several hours later, that they were still heading south, she finally remarked on it. “We’re no’ going tae Scotland?”

  He smiled at her, more a grin actually. “No offense meant, Melissa, but you have sixteen bloodhounds in your family that I don’t doubt will divide themselves to cover every avenue north. They’ll be in Scotland and barring the door to every kirk along the border before we could even cross it.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  “To my estate. They won’t think to look there— at least not for a long while, and then it will be too late. We’ll be wed in the morning.”

  She beamed, because it took longer than that just to reach Scotland, so she hadn’t expected to be wed quite so soon. “You’ve a special license then?”

  “No, a special vicar, which will do just as well,” he replied.

  “Eh?”

  He chuckled at her confusion. “He’s a Scotsman born and bred. I built him a church on my land many years ago, where he’s lived happily ever since with his English wife. He’s a bit un-orthodox, though, at least in his disagreement that a country should butt in to the Lord’s business, with their governing rules and regulations. Since he was raised in Scotland, one of those disagreements is the reading of banns. He feels that if people want to get married, they should do so and brag about it afterward, not beforehand.”

  “But is that legal? In England, that is?”

  “If it came down to it, I’m sure he’d swear he’s read the banns the requisite three weeks in a row.”

  “He’d actually lie about it?”

  Lincoln coughed. “He’d tell you the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  She burst out laughing. And relaxed after that—for all of twenty minutes. Which was when it sank in fully: She was going to be married tomorrow.

  They arrived at his home late that afternoon, while it was still light enough for her to see how lovely the estate was. The manor house was large, not on the grand scale of Castle Kregora but just as big as the St. Jameses’ mansion in London. There were parklike gardens behind it, with a small pond for ice-skating in the winter and a larger pond farther away—more a lake—that was man-made and well stocked with fish, since both Lincoln and the previous Lord Cambury enjoyed fishing.

  The stables were extensive. Melissa was already thinking of having her horse delivered. But that was assuming they would be living here for a while. He had that estate in Scotland as well that she fully expected to be their home for at least a part of each year.

  After a brief tour of the house, she was shown to her room so she could rest before dinner, while Lincoln went to make the arrangements for their wedding. She didn’t want to rest. She was too wound up with excitement even to consider it. They were going to be wed in the morning. Lincoln would be hers finally, hers to kiss whenever she liked, to touch whenever she liked, to make love with whenever…well, whenever he liked. No, even that could be by her choosing. Hadn’t she seen her mother drag her father upstairs on more than one occasion?

  Soon, very soon, she’d know what that was all about. Waiting, even another day, was going to be a test of willpower she wasn’t sure she could pass, nor did she even want to try. Why did they need to wait, when they’d taken the matter into their own hands?

  Lincoln probably wasn’t thinking along those lines. After all, he’d been the one to show restraint before, not wanting to compromise her just in case something prevented them from marrying. But that was before they’d decided to marry no matter who objected. Would he still insist on waiting if she suggested there was now no need to? Did she even have the nerve to suggest it?

  She shouldn’t have been left alone with h
er thoughts. By the time she went down to dinner, she was a bundle of nerves, wanting to make love with him tonight, afraid he’d think her too forward if she let him know. But it seemed that since she’d met him all she’d done was wait: for him to show up in London, for him to start courting her as he’d said he would. One thing or another—mostly her uncles—had kept them from progressing in a normal manner. Yet now they were beyond that. They both knew they were right for each other, had known it from the start. And nothing else was going to stand in their way. That was why waiting any longer, even one more day, seemed so unnecessary.

  It was a pleasant dinner, cozy, just the two of them at one end of a long table, with candlelight and servants going out of their way to please without intruding. Melissa would have enjoyed it more, though, if she could stop thinking about lovemaking. But she found herself watching Lincoln’s mouth too much as he ate, and reading sexual innuendo into his every expression. It was all in her own imagination, of course. Actually, he seemed to be more circumspect than ever, making a concerted effort to keep his eyes off her for the most part. Was he having the same problem she was?

  By the time sweets were served, distraction was mandatory. And despite her hectic thoughts, she’d heard it during the tour of the house, now again during dinner—“Lady Henriette this,” “Lady Henriette that” from the servants. This was Henriette’s house, had been hers first, always would be hers, no matter whom the current Lord Cambury married. As long as Henriette lived in it, the servants would go to her for their instructions. Melissa wanted her own house, where she wouldn’t feel as if she were usurping someone else’s domain. It would be the same at his house in Scotland. His mother lived there, so that wouldn’t do either.

  Bah, what a pickle, to think of such a thing at the last minute, but it was welcome as a distraction, and Melissa didn’t hesitate to broach the subject. “We’ll be living here? With your aunt and cousin?”