“Yes.”
“What do you plan to do with them?”
“I have no plans for them,” Jessalyn answered truthfully. “But they’ve been chosen as husbands by two of my kinswomen. Magda and Flora,” she indicated the two flame-haired women on the horses, “plan to wed them. If they have no other lawful wives. And if they agree to it. If they choose to stay, they’ll be wed as soon as possible. If they choose not to wed, they’ll be released on the moors. In the meantime, I give you my word that they’ll be well cared for.” She nodded toward her kinswomen as they nudged their ponies into action.
Neil watched as Magda and Flora led Marsden and Stanhope away, then turned his attention back to the woman before him. He stared at her lips, at the way her white teeth worried her perfectly shaped lower lip and wondered if the entrancing sparkle of moisture he saw on her lower lip was one he’d left behind when he’d kissed her. “What of me?” he demanded. “Do you have any plans for me?”
“I didn’t,” Jessalyn replied cryptically. “But I canna say the same for my father.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she plans to wed ye,” Tam interrupted.
“I see,” Neil replied in a deceptively calm voice. “And what gave you the right to plan my wedding? What gave you the right to kidnap me from my bed, haul me deep into the highlands and threaten me with marriage?” He pinned Jessalyn with his sharp gaze.
Refusing to be protected by Tam or intimidated by the condescension in the earl’s voice or his penetrating stare, Jessalyn answered for herself. “You did.”
Neil raised an eyebrow at that. She reminded him of someone, but he knew he’d never seen her before. For having seen her—and having kissed her, he knew beyond a doubt that he would never have forgotten. “Really? Pray, tell me how the devil I managed to do that since I’ve never laid eyes upon you before.”
“You agreed to my father’s arrangement. You signed the marriage papers.”
“I don’t know your father,” Neil stated. “I didn’t negotiate with him and I didn’t agree to wed his daughter or sign marriage papers to that effect.”
“Auld Tam says you did,” Jessalyn informed him, nodding toward Tam.
Neil glared at the old man. “Pardon me for pointing out the obvious, but he’s a kidnapper. I don’t think I’ll put much faith in what he says.”
The highlanders gasped in one collective breath, then moved closer, surrounding him, closing the circle and Neil heard the deadly whisper of metal leaving leather as a half a dozen dirks were freed from their sheaths and pointed in his direction. Neil barely had time to register that fact before the young woman stepped between him and her knife-wielding clansmen. “If you were anyone but the earl of Derrowford, grandson of the marquess of Chisenden, and the husband my father chose for me, you’d be dead now,” she warned him. “As it is, you’d do well to learn that if you call a highlander a liar, he has every right to cut out your tongue.”
Neil placed his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her to the side. He stared at the villagers, challenging them. “Produce the proper marriage papers or cut out my tongue. But be done with it because I’m not a man who takes kindly to threats or who hides behind a woman’s skirts.”
“Wheesht!” Jessalyn hissed. “Are you daft? Don’t you know better than to challenge them?”
“That’s right, lad. Be careful how you tread,” Dougal agreed, resting his hand on the hilt of his dagger, casting a wary glance at the warriors left in the clan, gauging their reaction.
Neil smiled, then leaned close to her. He smelled the flowery scent of her hair, saw the movement of the soft silky strands as his warm breath brushed her ear. “I don’t think I have to worry about losing my tongue,” he confided in a very audible whisper. “If I am, as you say, the man your father chose to be your husband, I’ll have need of it. For repeating my vows before a priest and for other more enjoyable things.”
Auld Tam laughed, breaking the tension. “Aye. Put away yer dirks. The lad is right. We’ll not be relievin’ him of his life or his tongue and he’ll most certainly have need of both. The lad isna daft. He’s verra crafty. Crafty as a fox and spoilin’ fer a fight. He thinks he’s been wronged and he thinks he can defeat a handful of old men, women and children. He’s mistaken aboot that. But it doesna matter because I have the signed and sealed marriage papers right here. I can prove we’ve done him no injury.” Tam pulled a folded sheet of vellum from inside his shirt and presented it to the earl.
Neil stared at the scarlet seal. The document had been carefully opened and the wax seal remained intact. His stomach tightened as he unfolded the document. He glanced at the date and quickly scanned the pages. The old highlander had spoken the truth. The marriage agreement Neil held in his hand was valid. He’d never met Callum MacInnes and knew he’d never negotiated with him, but the signature at the bottom of the last page of the document belonged to him. The seal that had made the impression in the wax was the crest of the earl of Derrowford and it hadn’t been off his finger or out of his possession since he’d inherited the title.
“Do ye deny that the papers bear your seal and were signed by your hand?” Auld Tam asked.
Neil shook his head. “No. These documents do bear my seal and my signature.” He looked at Tam. “It seems I owe you an apology for calling you a liar, old man.”
“Aye,” Tam agreed, knowing that those few curt words were the only apology the young earl intended to offer.
On hearing his apology, the villagers surrounding the earl sheathed their weapons and stepped back, allowing him more freedom. Jessalyn exhaled slowly, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. But her relief was premature.
“It seems I owe you an apology as well, Miss MacInnes.” The earl’s voice was rife with sarcasm. “I’ve come to you with nothing but the clothes on my back. Had I known that you have been my betrothed these past four months and that we were to be so abruptly wed, I would have come with ring in hand.”
“Four months! That canna be! My father has only been dead two days.” Jessalyn glimpsed the tightly controlled anger in his face and recognized the insulting tone of his voice when he spoke, but his anger paled in comparison to her shock at learning that her betrothal to this English lord had not been arranged while her father lay on his deathbed, but a full four months earlier. Callum MacInnes had bargained her to his enemies just a few months after returning from defeat on the battlefield. He had kept the secret until he lay dying and had deliberately bound Auld Tam, Dougal, and Alisdair with a deathbed promise to carry out his plan by abducting the groom.
Neil thrust the parchment under her nose and pointed to the first page. “Can you read?”
“Of course,” she snapped.
“Check the date,” he demanded, raking her from head to toe with his cold stare. “I don’t think the fact that I was charged with constructing Fort Augustus and betrothed to a highland minx at the same time is a bloody coincidence! Do you? We’ve been betrothed from the moment I arrived in this godforsaken country. And according to this,” his voice vibrated with anger as he turned his attention back to the marriage contract, “we’re to be married as soon as I set foot on MacInnes land.”
She turned to Tam for confirmation.
“Aye, lass.” Tam waved his hand and sent one of the children scurrying into the castle. “Father Moray is expecting ye in the chapel.”
Jessalyn took a deep breath. “I do not know whether the signing of this marriage contract four months ago and your arrival in Scotland was a coincidence, my lord, nor do I care,” she answered in her haughtiest tone. “Unlike you, I was not given a choice of whether or not to affix my signature to the contract. My concern begins with whether or not you intend to honor it.”
Neil stared at the proud young woman standing before him, challenging him, demanding an answer. “I didn’t negotiate the contract and I don’t recall signing it, so I see no reason to use it to bind us together for the rest
of our lives. I release you from this bargain.” Neil turned the marriage contract sideways and gripped it in the middle, preparing to rip it in half.
“You canna release her,” Tam told him. “And it willna do ye any good to destroy that copy. ’Twas the laird’s copy, but there’s another. It’s in safekeeping with a trusted ally—in London.”
“In London?” Neil and Jessalyn spoke in unison.
“Aye,” Tam answered. “With someone who is close to his lordship.”
That revelation struck Neil like a blow to the heart. He narrowed his gaze at the old highlander. “How close?”
“Verra close.”
Neil knew from the painful knot in his gut that he’d been betrayed by the man he loved and trusted more than any other. His grandfather. The marquess of Chisenden. He didn’t know why Chisenden had chosen this particular clan, but Neil didn’t doubt that his grandfather, for whatever reasons, had decided to make an alliance with the Scots and had negotiated a settlement with the MacInnes woman’s father. His grandfather had tricked him. Sold him into marriage. Neil squeezed his eyes shut as he recalled the pile of papers Chisenden had sent to be signed just hours before he departed for Scotland. Routine paperwork, his grandfather had assured him, going so far as to apologize for bothering him with incidental business details regarding the care of Derrowford House and the estate when he knew Neil was eager to spend his final evening in London in the company of his mistress. The wily old fox knew his grandson trusted him implicitly, knew Neil was so eager to spend the evening with Deborah that he wouldn’t bother to do more than scan the first document. Apparently, his grandfather had buried two copies of this damned marriage agreement in that stack of paperwork. “Grandfather.”
“Chisenden,” Jessalyn breathed.
“Yes, Chisenden,” Neil forced the name through clenched teeth. “That conniving gentleman created this untenable situation in order to force me to do what I’ve repeatedly refused to do in the past. Marry and produce an heir. It appears, Miss MacInnes, that my grandfather, the king-maker, the all-powerful marquess of Chisenden sees you as prime breeding stock for the next generation of Claremonts.” Neil whirled around to face the old highlander. “I suppose he knew about my abduction.”
“Of course,” Tam said. “He knows our ways. He knows that the MacInneses have always abducted brides for the lairds of the clan.”
Neil raised an eyebrow at that.
“Since our new laird is a woman, it stands to reason the marquess knew we’d abduct a husband for her,” Tam replied logically.
“Of course, it does.” Neil responded in a voice laced with irony. “It makes perfect sense. And my grandfather must be enjoying this little farce. I can just see him sitting in his study reading my letters telling him how much I despise the poverty of this place and the stubbornness of its highlanders. Aware of my tastes and preferences, knowing how very much I detest the sight of beautiful barefooted women dressed in rags. Oh yes, Grandfather must be doubled over with laughter at the certain knowledge that he tricked me into agreeing to marry one.”
Jessalyn frowned. He made the prospect of honoring his marriage agreement to her sound as appealing as contracting the plague. “I was ignorant of my father’s plans for me, but he gave his oath and I’m bound by the terms of the contract that bears his signature.”
“So am I.” He turned to face her. “I may have been tricked into it, but I gave my word and I’ll stand by it. And according to this,” he waved the marriage contract around, then cast a critical gaze in her direction, “I agreed to marry you as soon as I set foot on MacInnes land, so I suggest you garb yourself in a manner befitting a lady and the wife of a peer of the realm.”
The angry words he flung at her stung. Jessalyn scrunched her toes against the hard-packed dirt of the bailey and fought the urge to look down to see if her feet were dirty. She drew herself up to her full height, straightened her spine and lifted her chin as high as she could without staring up at the sky. Hot tears of shame burned her eyelids and she ruthlessly blinked them back, just as she ruthlessly ignored the hollow ache inside her heart at learning her father had betrayed her so completely. A highlander, any highlander, would understand the sacrifice she had made in forfeiting shoes so that her clansmen would have boots to wear into battle. A highlander would be proud to know she placed the welfare of the clan above her own. A highlander would be proud to have the daughter of Callum MacInnes and the new laird of Clan MacInnes to wife. But the Sassenach earl her father had chosen felt nothing but contempt for her because she was barefooted. It was quite apparent to Jessalyn that her husband-to-be preferred his mistress over the laird of Clan MacInnes. Quite apparent that he preferred a woman with shoes.
“I don’t need to marry an earl to gain a title and become a lady, my lord,” Jessalyn announced. “I was born a lady.”
“Then act like one.” Neil lashed out, knowing that he was being unreasonable, knowing that his anger should be directed at his grandfather and at himself rather than the girl. But he couldn’t seem to curb his frustration and rein in his damnable temper. “I have no intentions of standing before a priest and exchanging marriage vows with a bare-legged, barefooted wild highland miss.”
“Then we have a problem, my lord,” Jessalyn announced. “Because I’m the laird of Clan MacInnes and I refuse to stand before God and my dearly beloved confessor and insult them both by exchanging marriage vows with a rude Sassenach earl who’s wearing the scarlet uniform of German George’s murdering army!”
“You abducted me from a military encampment,” Neil retorted. “I came with nothing but the clothes on my back. I have nothing else to wear except this scarlet uniform.”
“Exactly!”
“Christ!” Neil felt like a fool as he stared down at the dozens of pairs of dirty bare feet surrounding him. “Doesn’t anyone in this hellish place own a proper pair of shoes?”
He saw the answer to his question when he looked up and found himself gazing into her angry eyes. But she was too proud to admit it. Neil almost smiled as he recognized the glint of stubborn pride in her eyes as well as the anger. Her eyes were dark blue, he realized, dark blue surrounded by flecks of gold and they were really quite remarkable—even when she was furious. Especially when she was furious.
“This is tradition,” she insisted. “It’s the highland way.” She wasn’t lying. Going barefooted was customary in warm weather, but Clan MacInnes hadn’t made a year around habit of it. Until the rebellion had cost them everything, including shoe leather, the laird and his family had always worn fine clothes and shoes. “We can’t all be Sassenach earls and have wealthy grandfathers who buy us army commissions so we can wear bright red uniforms and expensive black leather knee boots, now can we?” Her tone was every bit as biting as his had been. “Some of us are blessed with highland ancestors who taught us better than to judge people by the condition of their tartans or the shoes they wear.” She glared up at him. “Or don’t wear.”
They squared off, standing toe-to-toe like two gladiators in the center of the old bailey. Neither of them willing to give an inch in what promised to turn into an insurmountable battle of pride.
“Lady Jessalyn.”
Jessalyn turned at the sound of her name and saw her confessor making his way across the courtyard. “Yes, Father?”
“The women and children have labored all morning preparing the meal for your wedding celebration. Are you going to disappoint them? Or ask them to continue to ignore the pangs of hunger churning in their bellies while you argue with your betrothed?” Father Moray asked in the soft, chiding tone of voice Jessalyn had known and obeyed since childhood.
“I don’t mean to disappoint the women and the children, Father,” Jessalyn explained. “But neither can I exchange solemn vows with a man in a Sassenach uniform.”
“And I refuse to marry a woman too stubborn to wear a pair of shoes!”
Father Moray allowed himself a tiny smile. “Though it wasn’t of your own doing, th
e two of you have been given a rare opportunity to bridge generations of abuse, distrust and misunderstanding to build a better world for our children. I will not believe that you,” he pinned Jessalyn with a glance, “will allow selfish and stubborn pride to jeopardize the future of the clan. And,” he turned his attention to the earl, “I don’t think you’re so filled with English arrogance that you cannot see your betrothed’s true nature. I believe you’ll both agree that a compromise is in order.”
Jessalyn nodded in silent agreement as her betrothed voiced his suspicion, “What kind of compromise?”
“The marriage kind.” Father Moray replied. “The kind that allows for a bit of give and take.” The priest nodded toward the Ancient Gentlemen of the Clan. “Do your duty, lads. Take him inside the castle and when he’s properly attired for his wedding, bring his boots to me.”
Chapter Six
When it came to marriage, he should have known better than to trust a priest. Especially a highland priest! No highlander had ever had an Englishman’s best interests at heart and Father Moray was no exception. What did priests know of marriage? Except how to recite the Mass? They took a vow of celibacy in order to avoid the fate he was facing. That was why Neil found himself shivering beside his bride at the altar in the freezing chapel of Castle MacAonghais barefooted and barelegged and wrapped in a tattered scrap of MacInnes tartan that didn’t reach his knees and barely covered his ass.
He stole a glance at his bride. She didn’t seem pleased at the prospect of marrying him and becoming the countess of Derrowford. In fact, she looked downright unhappy standing beside him in her white chemise and too-short skirts and his shiny black leather boots. The length of tartan that had covered her bodice was wrapped around his waist and the boots crafted by the finest bootmaker in London were covering her small feet. The toes of his boots were the only parts he could see, but he was a tall man and she was tiny in comparison. Boots that reached his knees must ride even higher on her. Neil felt his mouth go dry and he fought to swallow the lump in his throat as he imagined the comfortable black leather shafts of his boots gloving her pale, slim thighs.