The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride (2 page)

That dream woke her up, hot, bothered and wondering “what if” on more than one occasion, and each time the feelings, the emotions intensified. Then she had to be alert and unconcerned each morning when it was an effort to keep her eyes open.

‘After all, you keep insisting you aren’t interested in any of the men who want to marry you, so this is an ideal opportunity.’ Her mama paused and looked at both Morven and her younger sister, Murren. ‘Has no one ever interested you, Morven?’

Dare she say “not recently, and the only one who did didn’t care enough to take me with him”? Perhaps not. Morven shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but it is a fact of life, Mama. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.’

Her mama patted her cheek. ‘That is perhaps doing it too brown, my dear. But sometimes I did wonder if…’ Her voice trailed off and she sighed. ‘Ah well perhaps things will…’ She coughed. ‘Anyway enough of that.’ She once more looked hard at Morven. ‘It is the ideal time to go.’

Morven wondered why she felt like a specimen about to be dissected.

‘So we will travel north before Murren comes out,’ the duchess finished emphatically.

Murren groaned. ‘I’m not old enough.’

‘Perhaps not, but you will be soon.’

No more was said by her mama, but even so, Morven was still somewhat surprised, when, three weeks later, she, Murren and her mama were in her late father’s best carriage, and moving steadily northwards. She’d voiced her objections and had been overruled. Now all she could do was make the best of things.

It was a scary thought.

****

After a brief sojourn in Edinburgh, that satisfied his banker
and
his body, but sadly not his mind, Fraser Napier, Laird of Kintrain to his people, the Lord of Kintrain to those south of the border, rode up the pass that led to his beloved Castle Kintrain. Highland cows grazed in the fields and ignored the lone rider. Workers near the track he rode on—a shortcut not available to coaches—did the opposite. They waved as he passed by.

Each salutation he returned. This was his land, his people, and his future. Now his father was gone Fraser was the laird and all it entailed. The laird was home again, and all was well in the world. At least he hoped so.

If he thought of glittering dark blue eyes and long hair, the colour of a raven’s wing, he did his best to banish it. Now was not the time or the place. It probably never would be again.

’Tis better to have loved than never felt those heady delights…
Fanciful, but oh so true.

If she truly loved me why did she not come to me?

Fraser rode over the drawbridge—that didn’t move and hadn’t in living memory—and into the courtyard. As he dismounted, the large wooden doors of the castle opened and dogs and people spilled out.

Immediately there was mayhem and the cacophony was overwhelming. His mama, Lady Senga Napier, the Mistress of Kintrain, hugged him, and bombarded him with questions. The dogs jumped up yelping with excitement and a large long-haired cat wound between his legs and purred loud enough to be heard over the racket.

Servants beamed and a footman undid his saddlebags and took them into the castle. Two dogs began to fight and one of the kennel men separated them.

Home.

Fraser counted to ten, prised his mama off him, picked up the cat and scratched it behind its ears. ‘Enough now. Let me draw breath, wash and eat, and then we can talk.’ He turned to the groom standing patiently next to Misneachail, Fraser’s horse. He gave it a stroke and turned to the groom. ‘If you’d do the honours for me this time, Rabbie, I’d be thankful.’

Rabbie nodded and led the weary horse away. Fraser watched for a second—he was loath to pass what he should do himself over to anyone else, but this time, needs must. Then he turned to his parent. ‘Now, Mama, give me half an hour and I’ll join you in the wee parlour.’

His mother smiled. ‘Tea and sandwiches?’

Fraser grimaced. ‘I’d thought more like some whisky and shortbread. Oh and black bun if Effie’s made any.’

Senga shook her head and laughed. ‘There’s some whisky waiting. The new batch is exceptional. Since the news came from down the glen you were on the last leg of your journey, Effie’s been baking like there was no tomorrow. The black bun is warm from the oven.’ She sighed and patted his cheek. ‘Ah, Fraser, will I ever get you to drink tea?’

‘Probably not.’ Fraser kissed her warmly, turned on his heels and took the stairs two at a time.

His room was the same as when he’d left it. Well why should it not be? This time he’d only been gone a few weeks—not several years. In fact, he mused as he stripped and washed briskly in the warm water someone had left for him, he could probably be away half a lifetime and come back to everything in the same place. It was a sobering thought. Why couldn’t things move on? Each time he opened the door memories flooded into him.

Of a raven-haired lady, her soft moans and sighs. The way she stretched out and looked at him as if he were her holy grail. Her soft voice, as she lifted her arms and murmured, “Come to me.” The way…
Stop it now
.
No more
. Not if he wanted to get through these next weeks sane.

If she truly loved me why did she not come to me?

Fraser understood he needed not to look back, not to remember. And that was going to be as easy as persuading the Prince Regent not to spend money.

The only way he could possibly do that—move forward, he could do nothing about the prince—was to change rooms. Even then he had no control over his dreams. Dreams that had kept him warm at nights all these years. Dreams that had him penning letters—
why did you ignore my letter? Was it not all true?
—only to burn them. Sometimes he thought all that he had to keep him going was his pride. He daren’t dissect his hopes and thoughts and stay sane. However, move rooms he would. To the other tower. He made a note to see to it immediately. After the black bun.

Why did he have to come back just because his father died? Stupid question. He was no longer the Master of Kintrain, but the laird, and responsible for everything, not just a tobacco plantation.

Fraser had loved Barbados. The people, the climate, his work. Everything. After…
Do not go there.
Sufficient to say, he rather thought Barbados had saved him.

****

‘This journey seems to have gone on for ever,’ Morven muttered out of the corner of her mouth as she shut the door on their mama and sagged against its wooden panels. It was their last stop before they reached Kintrain, and even though she wasn’t sure what waited for them at the castle Morven was heartily pleased. ‘My rear is flattened in all the wrong places, and aches accordingly.’ She rolled her eyes and rubbed the afflicted part of her body.

The duchess had never been renowned for travelling with speed, but the snail’s pace she had chosen for their journey north had tried Morven severely. ‘I swear if I’m told one more time that no man wants a bluestocking as a wife, put the book away, I might go shout hallelujah and go and live in a study.’

Murren giggled, and then sobered immediately. ‘You know, Morven, I’m not looking forward to this visit at all. Mama…’ She hesitated and nibbled her lip. ‘Mama seems to think I should be thinking about getting married once I am eighteen. My birthday is not for another month. You’re in your twenties. She doesn’t plague you over marriage. Why me?’

Why indeed?

Morven shrugged. ‘I think perhaps that at last she realises I am a lost cause. Too many gentlemen have been sent on their way before they have had a chance to declare themselves. I’ve reiterated that marriage is not for me.’
Little does she know.
‘Although I’m sure she doesn’t mean you should be married just yet. Does she have anyone in mind for you to get to know?’

‘She says the laird is now home and his mother insists he needs a wife.’ Murren gave Morven a glance which, when she thought about it later, was calculating and even sly. ‘He needs someone who according to mama will stand behind him.’

What? No, she can not say such a thing.
Morven’s skin became clammy, and dark spots hovered behind her eyelids. Lord, she couldn’t pass out. She could imagine the questions
that
would bring about.
We might not be truly married, but we plighted our troth.

‘She does?’ What an inane response, but for the life of her, nothing else came to mind.

Murren nodded feverishly. ‘What do you think? You know him?’

‘Knew him.’

Morven thought her sister’s face was flushed and her eyes clouded, but as Murren wouldn’t look Morven in the eye it was difficult to tell.
She’s hiding something.
It gave Morven a jolt. The sisters had always been open and honest with each other. A nasty niggle of unease hit her. Not always on her side and now inexplicably it seemed neither on Murren’s. A pang of sadness threatened to engulf her. Times were changing.

‘Morven, he’s old.’ Murren stared at Morven intently. Almost as if she were intent on divining Morven’s reaction. ‘Almost twenty years older than me. And they want me to marry him. Oh she said so sweetly, that it could wait a year or so. She accepts that I’m still young, but he has to have a wife.’ She burst into tears. ‘Why me?’

Morven cuddled her sister close. If only she could reassure her, but really what grounds did she have? She couldn’t say he was hers, because she had no idea where she stood in his affections. Nowhere probably, but even so… He would crucify Murren, break any spirit she had without even realising it. She couldn’t say she thought it all a sham, because what grounds did she have for that suspicion except Murren’s behaviour, and that might have nothing to do with it. Even so…

‘I wonder if he knows about this?’ Morven mused.
He better not.
‘From what I remember the laird is not one to be forced into anything he doesn’t want to do, and he’s…he’s a person who needs someone to stand up to him.’

‘I couldn’t do that.’ Murren gulped. ‘I’m not strong-willed like you, Morven. If I marry I need it to be to someone kind and gentle, who will not try to change me. From all Mama said, I hardly think the laird is that man.’

All of that statement rang true and Morven agreed with it wholeheartedly. ‘Well then don’t worry. We’ll sort it. No one will make you marry if you don’t want to. Especially not to him.’

Especially.

****

‘I’ve told you, Mama, I have too much to think about and do, to play host to your friends,’ Fraser said for at least the sixth time. ‘I won’t actively ignore them, I promise you. I will do all that is proper. However, I need to catch up on what’s been happening on the estate. Papa had lost his grip towards the end—you know that.’

‘He couldn’t help it,’ his mama said defensively. ‘He had lost his capability to see things straight.’

‘Mama, I know and it was not a criticism, merely a statement of fact. It is also fact that I have to straighten things out. We were lucky to have such loyal staff to hold on to the reins but, ultimately, I am the person to decide what, when, and how. I came home after five years, as soon as I was able, had hardly drawn breath here before I went to Edinburgh on behalf of the estate.’
And I have other people I want to find. To discover why I heard nothing, to…

‘Fraser, are you well?’ His mama stared at him intently. ‘You look white and dyspeptic.’

‘Not at all, as I said, I’m just trying to think of everything that needs to be done,’ he replied urbanely.

Interestingly his mother flushed and bit her lip before she blinked and smiled. ‘You will do so well.’

He hoped so. ‘Now, I have to stamp my authority on what goes on at Kintrain before I do anything else. Anything,’ he emphasised. ‘And that includes considering marriage.’
And I need to find out if I am wed or not.
That was not going to be easy. Fraser made a mental note to go to Stirling the following day and make some enquiries.

To whit was a ceremony such as he had entered into considered valid? Plus, why was he not told about the possible ramifications at the time? That he could hazard a good guess about. It has suited others
not
to mention it.

‘You still haven’t said who your guests are,’ he continued as his mother handed him a glass of their duty unpaid, made on the estate, finest malt whisky. He held the glass to the light to watch the amber contents glisten. ‘All I’ve had is vague, oh an old friend and some of her children. Even when I thought I might have to play nursemaid on part of their journey, I still didn’t know for whom I might be caring. Lord, Mama, do you know if I need to hire nannies or extra staff to keep the bairns occupied?’

‘Well it was all irrelevant once you didn’t,’ his mama said evasively. ‘You went to Edinburgh, they travelled via Carlisle, and we need no more staff.’

Why couldn’t she look him in the eye again?

‘So, now I do need to know,’ he said forcefully. ‘How many is some? Is that why you’re so vague about these people?’ Fraser added the optimum amount of soft spring water that came from high in the hills, to make the whisky taste as the makers intended. ‘You’re not sure just how many of your guests I have to be hospitable to?’

‘Our guests,’ his mother said emphatically. ‘I thought you were too busy to want to know the details. I’m trying not to burden you with minutiae.’

Fraser smiled. He wasn’t going to be tricked like that. ‘No, Mama, your guests, using my hospitality. Who are…?’

‘Fraser.’ She pouted, which in itself was enough to make him wary. ‘Surely it is immaterial.’

He raised one eyebrow and noted how his mama still couldn’t meet his eyes. As he thought, she was up to something. Something she thought he wouldn’t approve of. ‘How can the names of people stopping in my house, sharing my hospitality, not be important?’ he asked sardonically. ‘With one breath you are exhorting me to be a proper host, with the other you choose not to tell me to whom…’ He stopped speaking and simply waited.

His mother sighed. ‘I feared if I told you, you would delay your return home, and not be here for their stay.’

Why?

‘If I had my way I wouldn’t have left at all,’ Fraser said deliberately. ‘You were the one who insisted only I could go to Edinburgh.’