The MacLeans - Sleepless in Scotla

  She couldn’t help but appreciate that, though it did give her pause. This time, they were of one accord. What would happen when they weren’t? His calm disregard for the opinions of others was a good thing until he disregarded hers.

  As the hours dragged past, Triona had more time to lament her situation. The idea of marriage was not horrible. Her parents had an ideal relationship: they were rarely apart, were respectful of one another, understood each other, and had the same values and morals. But it was that very knowledge of how true love should work that brought her spirits low. In agreeing to marry MacLean, she’d given up the opportunity to have a marriage like that. Ever.

  She rubbed her temples where they ached. Perhaps things wouldn’t be as horrible as she feared. Perhaps they could find some sort of middle ground or common interest. At least MacLean possessed the basic requirements of a decent husband. He certainly was handsome enough, and then some. He seemed well educated and was well-spoken. He carried himself with distinction and was obviously intelligent. She couldn’t doubt his excellent breeding, either.

  He also had the ability to turn her bones to butter with a simple kiss.

  Still…was that a good trait or bad or was it just the way he treated all women? If so, did that make her soon-to-be husband a libertine? He’d told her he wasn’t in love with anyone, that he didn’t think himself capable of such an emotion, but she hadn’t thought to ask him if he had a mistress. She wasn’t the sort of woman to put up with being made to feel less. The thought weighed heavily on her.

  Friday finally came, dawning as gray and overcast as Triona’s spirits. She dressed with special care and wished she could don her best gown, but feared it would draw Aunt Lavinia’s attention. She contented herself with wearing her favorite morning gown of pale blue muslin, banded beneath the breast and around each sleeve with dark blue and green ribbons. The color made Triona’s hazel eyes appear greener, while the full skirts provided warmth against the chilly day.

  Triona had just latched her portmanteau and placed it on the floor when a soft knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Caitlyn entered, her gaze immediately finding the bulging portmanteau. She said in a brittle voice, “I can’t believe this day has finally arrived. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

  “Me neither. I kept thinking and thinking….” And doubting and doubting.

  Caitlyn frowned. “MacLean should have come to see you at least once these past three days.”

  “And risk Uncle Bedford discovering what we’ve planned? This was much easier for us both.” It had been difficult enough to fight her own doubts without also having to deal with her uncle’s and aunt’s. Over the past three days, Triona’s inner voice, which usually urged calmness and logic, had grown more desperate and now screamed at her to find a solution other than marriage. She’d stared at the ceiling every night until the wee hours, and not a single idea had occurred that wouldn’t injure her sisters and family.

  Caitlyn bit her lip, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Oh, Triona, if only I hadn’t—”

  “Shh!” Triona hugged her sister. “If I hadn’t been so impatient to find you, and if Aunt Lavinia hadn’t had guests when Nurse arrived, and if Nurse hadn’t made her announcement in front of a gossipy old woman, and especially if MacLean hadn’t been such an ass—oh, don’t get me started!”

  Caitlyn managed a watery giggle. “He’s a proud one, isn’t he?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She shook her head. “You’d think I’d know that much about him, from the stories Mam always told us.”

  Caitlyn sighed. “Our grandmother only thinks she knows the MacLeans better than they know themselves.”

  “Well, what’s done is done, as she’d say herself.”

  “Mam would also tell us that haste is the quickest way to sure failure.” Caitlyn took Triona’s hands in her own, an earnest expression on her face. “Triona, I’ve been thinking…perhaps you should take more time with this, and have a wedding after all.”

  “Aunt Lavinia’s gotten to you.”

  “No, she hasn’t. Well, I suppose she has, in a way, though not how you think. Triona, marriage is special. Shouldn’t you celebrate it at least a little? Buy a lovely new dress, put some flowers in your hair, wait for Mother and Papa so they will be here to see—”

  “No, no, and no. I don’t wish for a new dress—not for this. The few flowers to be had at this time of the year are far too costly. And I am quite happy with Mother and Papa learning about all of this while I am safely tucked away in Scotland. Papa would mope about my unladylike behavior in getting in the coach to begin with, and Mother would be snappish and upset—honestly, it’s a blessing to marry and get out of town without dealing with all of that.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “I know they would try to talk me out of this, even though it’s in the best interest of the family.”

  “But what about you? I’m worried about you, and I wish—”

  “Stop! This is the best course for us all, as you well know. Now is not the time for cold feet.” She hugged her sister, feeling better for saying it out loud. “Let’s go down to breakfast. It will take an entire pot of hot tea to ward off this dismal weather.”

  In the breakfast room they found Aunt Lavinia sitting at the table, a flutter of lavender silk and deep sighs. She informed them that their uncle Bedford was out searching for MacLean yet again.

  “He’s done that for three days now,” Caitlyn said, dishing eggs onto her plate. “Why doesn’t he just wait for MacLean to come? He sent a note promising to do that.”

  “Your uncle doesn’t trust that note and neither do I.” Aunt Lavinia buttered her toast with vigor, sending crumbs across the satiny walnut table. “Nor do we trust MacLean! He’s a reprobate, a rake, and a—”

  “My future husband.” Triona cocked a brow at her aunt. “Just last night, between debating the merits of pale blue over pale pink for a wedding gown, you told me that he was ‘quality’ and would make an excellent husband.”

  Aunt Lavinia flushed. “I’m sure he is quality! I just meant—perhaps ‘reprobate’ is too harsh, but the man has been remiss in not answering the many messages your uncle has sent requesting his attendance! Furthermore, he—” Aunt Lavinia straightened in her seat, her eyes suddenly wide. “Do you hear that? It’s a carriage!”

  Triona’s stomach tightened into a knot. “Do I hear what?” she managed nonchalantly.

  Aunt Lavinia stood, her plump stomach flipping her breakfast plate over on the table. She peered out the front window. “It’s him! Hurry, my dear! To the sitting room!” She led the charge, almost bolting to the door. “Oh, I wish Bedford was home! What on earth shall I say to that man?” Her voice faded as she dashed across the foyer.

  Triona and Caitlyn looked at each other and then hurried after their aunt, their breakfasts untouched. They’d just reached the sitting-room door when the front door knocker rapped peremptorily.

  Caitlyn whisked herself into a chair by the fireplace, while Triona took a chair near the door.

  Her skirts hadn’t stopped swaying when Dobbins announced, “Lord Hugh MacLean to see you, my lady.” He disappeared as another familiar form filled the doorway.

  Aunt Lavinia began to rise.

  “Please don’t get up,” MacLean said, his deep voice at odds with the dainty sitting room. “I won’t be more than a few minutes. Is Lord Galloway at home?”

  “No,” Aunt Lavinia said regretfully.

  MacLean frowned. “That’s a pity.”

  “He’s out looking for you!” Aunt Lavinia snapped with surprising asperity.

  His brows lowered. “I sent him a note saying that I’d wait on him here when I could arrange it. Didn’t he get it?”

  “Yes, but he thought—wait a moment. Why will you only be here a few minutes? Surely you need to—”

  “I have come for your niece. We are to marry this morning.”

  Aunt Lavinia’s eyes seemed ready to pop fr
om their sockets. “But—”

  “The church is readied, so we can’t tarry. The archbishop is to perform the ceremony himself, and is expecting us in thirty minutes.”

  Thirty minutes. Triona could neither speak nor swallow. Only thirty minutes more.

  Aunt Lavinia blinked. “But…there should be a gown and lace and a ring and—why, to get married without those would be positively barbaric!”

  A faint smile flickered over MacLean’s face as he turned to Triona and held out his hand.

  She looked at it for a moment, then placed her hand in his.

  He pulled her to her feet. “Are you ready?” His eyes, so dark they appeared black, locked on hers.

  “Yes. I will send a footman to my room to fetch my portmanteau.”

  Aunt Lavinia gasped. “You’re packed? But—”

  MacLean lifted Triona’s hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Then we are set.”

  “B-but…I don’t…” Aunt Lavinia lumbered to her feet. “Triona, what is the meaning of this? I can’t—”

  Caitlyn took her aunt’s arm. “Aunt Lavinia, for three days Uncle Bedford and you have done nothing but worry that Lord Hugh wouldn’t come up to the mark. Well, you needn’t have worried: he is doing exactly as he should.”

  “Yes, but your uncle will wish to speak to him about the settlement! And what about the wedding?” she wailed.

  “I want no settlement,” MacLean said quietly. “And the wedding will be private.”

  “But what about witnesses and—”

  “That has been taken care of. After Miss Hurst and I marry, we will leave directly for my estate in Scotland.”

  Aunt Lavinia sagged back into her chair. “You have this all planned out! Ohhhh!” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Someone please fetch my smelling salts! My head is about to explode.”

  Caitlyn patted her aunt’s shoulder. “Aunt Lavinia, just think how nice it will be to tell everyone how Triona and Hugh fell madly in love and have already married and gone off to Scotland.”

  After a moment of silence, Aunt Lavinia peeped at Caitlyn from behind a plump hand. “Tell? We could tell people?” She dropped her hand to her lap. “But your uncle said we were to remain here and not see a single visitor.”

  “That was before Triona married. Now we must let people know. Clandestine romances are so much in vogue now, too. People will be eager to hear about it, and we shall tell them that Triona and Lord Hugh are madly in love.”

  “Oh, that does sound romantic.”

  “Yes. And naturally, everyone will want details, and will invite you places. I don’t know what we’ll do with so many invitations!”

  “Heavens!” Aunt Lavinia said, much struck. “I hadn’t thought of all that!”

  “You’d be doing Triona a favor. We must give the impression that it was a romantic love match! In fact, since she and Hugh are off to marry right now, we could even find our best hats and gloves and visit some of your friends today.”

  “Right now?” Aunt Lavinia looked happier by the moment.

  “Of course! The sooner we put this new turn of events about town, the quicker it will become old news and be forgotten.”

  Aunt Lavinia clapped her hands. “I know just who we should tell! That horrible Lady Oglethorpe is the world’s biggest gossip.”

  “Yes—and if we ask her not to repeat it, you know she will.”

  Aunt Lavinia almost glowed. “When the word gets out, we will be inundated with invitations, for everyone will wish to know all about the affair!”

  “We will be quite popular. At least until Mother and Papa arrive.” Caitlyn grimaced. “I daresay I shall be returning to the vicarage then.” She turned to Triona. “I’ll ask the footman to bring your bag.”

  “Thank you, Caitlyn.”

  With a quick smile, Caitlyn left.

  MacLean turned to her aunt. “Lady Galloway, I hope you and Lord Galloway will come to Gilmerton in the near future.”

  “Oh, yes!” Completely cheered, she rose and lumbered forward to envelop Triona in a fragrant hug. “My dear, you’re about to become the mistress of a grand estate. How exciting! Be sure you write, and don’t forget to tell me all about your adventures and whatnot.” She blinked back sudden tears. “I’m so happy for you!”

  Triona accepted her aunt’s hug with a warm one of her own, and wished her spirits could be lifted so easily. “Thank you, Aunt Lavinia. I am trusting you to put things in a good light to Papa and Mother.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, my dear. Your uncle and I will explain exactly how things were, and how happy you look to be marrying!”

  Out in the hallway, they heard Caitlyn telling a footman to have the portmanteau strapped to the back of MacLean’s carriage, and they all left the sitting room.

  Saying good-bye to Aunt Lavinia hadn’t been difficult, but it was far more daunting to say farewell to Caitlyn. Through it all, MacLean was there, solicitously offering his handkerchief even while encouraging their departure. All too soon, he was assisting Triona into his carriage and they were off to the church. The next hour was a blur—a round-faced clerk who fluttered about trying to find a pen, the gaunt figure of the archbishop in his flowing robe who beamed so much that Triona began to wonder what this hurried service was costing her erstwhile husband, all overshadowed by Hugh’s somber impatience as he rushed through signing the required papers and then hurriedly repeated his vows. She tried to convince herself that it was all real—that she was, in fact, getting married—but it seemed too much like an odd dream for her rational mind to accept it. A scant hour later they were on their way to Scotland and MacLean’s estate.

  Huddled in her pelisse, Triona sat across from Hugh as the carriage rumbled out of town. She stared bemusedly at the huge ring on her finger. A large ruby surrounded by diamonds, it sparkled even in the dim light of the carriage.

  This was it. They were married, their union sanctioned by the church, while her aunt made her rounds and spread the news.

  She wondered what a new bride should say. It seemed imperative to say something, but she was unable to think of a single witty thing.

  Hugh’s gaze met hers, and for a long time, neither spoke. Triona couldn’t believe this man—this gorgeous, handsome man—was now her husband. Her husband in name, and soon in other ways.

  She cleared her throat. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t really feel married.”

  A flicker of a smile touched his mouth. “What does married feel like?”

  “I don’t know. Older, perhaps? More matronly?”

  He lifted a gloved hand and tilted her face until she looked up at him. His green eyes gleamed softly; his sensual mouth curved in a smile. “You look many things, but matronly isn’t one of them.”

  “Thank you.”

  He laughed and dropped his hand from her chin. “I meant it as a compliment.”

  She offered him a smile. “This has all happened so quickly. I am sure I will feel more married once we’re settled at your home.”

  MacLean shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “I don’t suppose it matters, as you’ll only be there for a few months.”

  That’s right. We’re married, but only for appearance’s sake. Why am I having so much trouble remembering that?

  She didn’t need to make a home at Gilmerton; she would only be visiting. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to stay in a household and not become a part of it. Even at Aunt Lavinia’s, she’d assisted in selecting menus, overseeing the placement of the linens, and other mundane chores Aunt Lavinia didn’t like. She supposed she could do that much at Gilmerton as well. It would make the time pass more quickly.

  She wondered what the house would be like, if it was situated on a hill or on a lake, if it was cold in the winter like the vicarage, and how many servants there might be.

  Suddenly she remembered Aunt Lavinia’s assertion that Hugh MacLean had several illegitimate children. Would they be there, too? If so, she’d at least have some
companionship.

  Hmmm. How could she turn the conversation in that direction? “So…tell me about Gilmerton Manor.”

  His gaze flickered, his brows contracting, but only for a split second. Almost immediately, his usual calm, inscrutable expression was back in place, but it was too late—Triona had seen that blazing look, though she was at a loss to know how to interpret it. What did that expression mean? Did I say something wrong? Blast it, I have the right to ask questions!

  Before she could put her thoughts into words, he spoke. “Gilmerton’s large and expansive. Most of it was built in the thirteenth century, which explains why every year we must address various roof issues.”

  “It’s a ruin?”

  His laughter, low and deep, washed over her. “No, although there are portions of it that are sounder than others.”

  “I look forward to seeing it. It sounds immense for just the two of us, though.” She waited expectantly.

  His brows lifted, his expression suddenly cool. “Most of the time.”

  She shivered at his chilly expression.

  “You’re cold. Where’s that extra blanket?” He took her bare hands in his gloved ones and pulled her to his side. Then he opened the seat box she’d been sitting on and removed a thick wool blanket and tucked it about her. His hands brushed her neck, warm and gentle.

  Triona had to fight the inexplicable desire to lean into him. Her new husband was a blend of cold and hot, coolly rebuffing her questions one moment and then thoughtfully tucking her in with a warm blanket the next. She wanted to believe the gentler aspects of his character were a truer representation, but couldn’t. The real man had to be a combination of the two. How was she to ever understand such a conundrum?

  She forced a smile. “I’m not used to such cold. Though the vicarage is north of London, it always seems much warmer there.”

  “If you think it’s cold now, wait until we get farther north.”

  “How long until we arrive?”

  “Four days, if we make good time. Much depends on the weather. Scotland doesn’t have the roads England does, and a good rain or snow can make the going slow.” He hesitated, then added, “If you don’t mind, I thought we might press on this evening. It’s a full moon and we should be able to do so safely. When you wish to sleep, there are pillows in the box and the seats are quite well padded.”