And the Bride Wore Plaid

  Devon realized with surprise that he did want to hear it. “Please go on.”

  “No,” she said, smiling ruefully. “We really should go. The lads will be out looking for me if I don’t return soon. They tend to expect the worst.”

  He could see that she was determined, so he rose to his feet as well and began putting away the remnants of their lunch.

  As he went to help her onto Thunder, her clear green eyes met his, measuring and seeking. He knew she was thinking of the promised kiss. He wasn’t sure if she was looking for reassurance of some sort or was just curious. He smiled, and took her hand in his.

  The touch of her fingers sent a wave of awareness over him. She gathered her skirts, preparing to mount the horse and he wondered again exactly what horrid happenstance had turned her from society, so scared that she hid deep in the woods like a princess asleep, waiting for a prince.

  Well, he was no prince. Not even close to one. And charming companion or no, he had no plans for staying at Kilkairn longer than the short time he’d intended. But if nothing else, perhaps he could at least give her something to make the next two weeks memorable. Perhaps he could even get her to lower her defenses, show her that trusting was not always painful.

  With that thought in mind, before Devon lifted Kat into the saddle, he tilted her face to his and kissed her.

  Devon couldn’t remember all the women he’d kissed. Still, it was novel to kiss someone whose mouth was so tantalizingly close to his. He didn’t have to bend down at all.

  But what really sealed the kiss as one of the best he’d ever had was Kat’s reaction. She held nothing back, but threw herself into the embrace with her heart and soul.

  Her arms crept about his neck, her body molded to his, and her mouth opened, her tongue running over the edge of his teeth and setting his body aflame.

  How long he kissed her, he didn’t know. But every stroke of her tongue, every movement of her hips, threatened to send him over the edge. He finally broke the embrace, his breathing harsh, his mind numbed at a flood of demanding lust.

  She met his gaze, her own breath quick between her lips. “That was…memorable.”

  He laughed. “Yes, it was. Memorable indeed.”

  She gave him a smile that was touchingly sweet, then turned and let him assist her into the saddle. He wondered at that smile the entire way back to the cottage.

  The truth was, Kat Macdonald fascinated him. She offered an uncomplicated friendship tinged with a taste of passion so wild that he found himself unable to stop thinking about her. Of course, he was certain that once he sampled her passion, she would fade from his mind like all the others. But in the meantime, she offered a unique and fresh challenge, one perfectly suited to his rather jaded palate. One designed to protect him from the treachery of the talisman ring.

  When they reached the clearing the lads came pouring out of the workshop. Simon was foremost. He planted himself before Devon. “Where have ye been?”

  “Riding,” Devon said calmly, though he was irked to be questioned in such a fashion. He pointed to Thunder and then to Trusty. “On horses.”

  Simon’s face reddened. “I knew ye were on horses, ye bas—”

  “Simon.” Kat sent him a warning glance from beneath her lashes.

  The huge Scotsman pressed his lips together and said nothing more, though if glares could melt a man, then Devon would be a puddle.

  One of the other lads growled, “We’ve been worried about ye, Miss Kat.”

  “Why?” she asked coolly, dismounting from Thunder without any help at all. “Because you believe I’m not capable of taking care of myself?”

  Silence ensued as well as some uneasy shuffling. More than one uncomfortable glance was exchanged.

  Devon had to pretend a sneeze just to hide his amusement. Kat’s cool glance and calm demeanor had cut a swath through the rowdy men and reduced them all to abashed youths.

  Simon cleared his throat. “Miss Kat, ye know we weren’t sayin’ that ye couldn’t take care of yerself. Just that we worried about how the Sassenach might—well, ye know.”

  “No, I don’t know,” she answered. “You were worried about how the Sassenach might what?”

  Simon rubbed his neck, clearly miserable. “Och, lassie. Don’t ye look like that. Ye know what I mean.”

  She crossed her arms. “Simon, I am disappointed in you. How can you think such rubbish?”

  Simon scuffed his toe on the ground, his face so red, Devon thought the man likely to burst into flames. “Miss Kat, I didn’t mean to suggest—it’s just that the man’s a Sassenach, and ye were gone fer so long—then Hamish suggested that perhaps the Sassenach had—”

  “I suggested?” one of the largest lads said. “’Twasn’t me.”

  Simon gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “’Twas Neal then.”

  “No,” returned one of the other lads in a huge rumbling voice.

  Simon gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know which of ye said it, but one of ye did!”

  No one volunteered a word.

  Kat gave an impatient gesture. “It doesn’t matter. Simon, you owe Mr. St. John an apology.”

  “I owe him a what?” Simon shook his head as if to shake something clear from his ears.

  “You owe Mr. St. John an apology.” Kat’s green gaze narrowed. “You owe me one, as well.”

  “What fer?”

  “For having such indecent thoughts.”

  “Ye can’t apologize fer yer thoughts,” Simon protested.

  Devon had to agree with the man there. Certainly had Devon been forced to do penance for every indecent thought he’d had while being with Kat, he’d have to spend a fortnight in a confessional talking nonstop.

  Simon sighed, then mumbled an apology, though he glared the entire time. Devon nodded curtly. Simon had best get used to Devon’s presence, for this would not be his last appearance at the little clearing in the woods.

  Devon turned to Kat. “Thank you for a lovely day.”

  She shrugged, though her color was a bit high. “Thank you for a pleasant ride. And for allowing me to use your mount.” She reached up to stroke Thunder’s neck. “He’s a lovely animal.”

  And she was a lovely person, both inside and out—a fact Devon was just beginning to realize and appreciate. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, her fingers trembling against his lips. Ignoring Simon’s muttered curse, Devon kept Kat’s hand in his as he smiled at her. “Tomorrow?”

  “No. I must work.”

  “The next day then?”

  She pulled ever so slightly on her fingers and he released her. “The next day,” she agreed.

  With a final smile, he mounted Thunder. A short time later, Devon was riding toward Kilkairn, dreading his upcoming dinner with the warring Malcolm and Fiona, and the wily Murien. Perhaps he could slip in unnoticed.

  With that in mind, he took the back stairs. As he rounded the corner to his room, he came to a halt.

  “Mr. St. John!” Murien appeared from the shadows.

  That gave him pause; her room was not on this level. He glanced around uneasily, then bowed. “Miss Spalding. Forgive my clothing. I just returned from my ride.”

  “How delightful for you.” She smiled at him, the picture of a lovely, gracious, well-bred lady of fashion. “I daresay Miss Macdonald has worn you out. She is quite a…robust woman.”

  Though Murien’s expression didn’t change at all, Devon felt the contempt beneath her voice. His mouth tightened. “She is a lovely woman,” he corrected softly. Dangerously.

  Murien knew a threat when she heard one. Her heart contracted at the realization. Yet her pride would not let it go. “Did you have a good ride?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then said in a deliberate tone, “Yes. I had a delightful time.”

  Murien’s jaw ached where she clenched it. She was not used to doing all the pursuing. He should have made a comment about being sorry he had not been home, that he wished he?
??d spent more time with her. That he’d thought of her, at least once.

  This was not going well. How could she captivate him if he was gone all the time?

  Frustrated and uncertain of how to proceed, she toyed with her handkerchief, a gesture she’d adopted after a lovesick swain mentioned that it drew his gaze to her graceful hands. “Mr. St. John, you aren’t from here…I don’t mean to pry, but Strathmore’s sister is—” She broke off as if embarrassed to go on.

  “What?” St. John prompted her.

  “You should ask Malcolm what happened in Edinburgh. I’m certain he’ll tell you even though it was quite embarrassing at the time.”

  St. John leaned a shoulder against the wall, a smile on his handsome face. “Is that what you think I should do? Collect information from Malcolm about his sister?”

  Murien nodded, adding in a gentle undertone, as if loath to say more, “I am not one to gossip, and heaven knows I don’t blame poor Miss Macdonald. But if your attention is being engaged, then you have the right to know all.” She watched him from beneath her lashes, hoping he’d deny that his attention was anywhere near engaged.

  But all he did was cross his arms, his coat stretching over his shoulders, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. She wet her lips. He was quite attractive, her equal in looks. They would make a brilliant couple, feted for their beauty, admired for their culture and breeding, and envied for their fortune. Well, it was his fortune now, but it could be hers if she played her cards correctly.

  Resolution grew in Murien’s breast. She was not going to let Devon St. John get away. He was the perfect man for her, the one she’d been waiting for. “Mr. St. John, I wondered if perhaps tomorrow you might like to ride out with me and—”

  “Do you ride?” he asked, surprised as if she’d admitted to vaulting off roofs as a hobby.

  “Why yes. Of course I ride.”

  “Ah. But do you ride well?”

  What was this? She frowned. “Of course I do.”

  His gaze narrowed, and she found herself fascinated with the way his lashes tangled at the corners of his eyes. It was unusual, black lashes and those blue, blue eyes.

  “When was the last time you rode a horse?”

  She wasn’t quite sure. All she remembered was that she had received several compliments and two impulsive proposals of marriage before she’d even mounted the nasty animal someone had saddled for her. “I think it was two years ago. Perhaps three.”

  He laughed then, the sound startling her. She lifted her chin. “I fail to see what is funny.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, shoving himself from the wall and walking past her to his room. “I wasn’t laughing at you, but at myself. For being afraid of a silly legend. Apparently the St. John talisman ring can be beat, after all.”

  With that cryptic comment, he went into his room, shutting the door and leaving her all alone in the hallway.

  Chapter 10

  I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, when a truth was revealed to me. Mama, men are boils on the backside of the earth. If I had my way, I’d take a knife and lance them all.

  The once gentle Lady Lucinda, to her astonished mama, the Countess of Bradford, when that gracious lady came to see why her daughter did not appear at breakfast

  “He is never here.”

  Fiona pressed her fingers to her forehead where a raging headache threatened. “Murien, you have only been here a week or so. How can you—”

  Murien whirled to face her. “Don’t be a fool, Fiona! How can I make him fall in love with me if he won’t even stay within arm’s reach? He has been riding with Malcolm’s sister three days in a row now. I never see him.”

  Murien had a point and Fiona knew it. But her head ached too much for her to do anything but nod dumbly. Something was going dreadfully wrong with her plan; not only was St. John unaffected by Murien, but Malcolm, even though he was winning the wager, was becoming colder by the day.

  It was as if the closer he came to winning, the angrier he became.

  Her lips trembled and she hastily took a sip of tea to stave off the tears. Murien hated to see people cry.

  Murien sank into the chair opposite Fiona’s in a cloud of pale blue muslin, a petulant expression on her face. “We have to think of some way to keep St. John here, at the castle. At least for an evening or two. I just know that if I could spend more time with him, he’d begin to see how well we would suit.”

  Fiona sighed. “I don’t know what to say. St. John comes home every night, but goes straight to bed or closets himself with Malcolm in the billiards room. He’s only been to dinner twice in the time he has been here.”

  Of course, part of that could be her fault. She had to admit that the cook was horrid—part of Fiona’s original plan to force Malcolm to remove from Kilkairn. How Malcolm managed to get such breakfasts out of the man was beyond Fiona’s ken. She imagined that the cook, like all of the other men in the household, was siding with Malcolm.

  Murien’s mouth thinned. “My brother-in-law does not wish me well.”

  “Nonsense. He merely enjoys St. John’s company and likes a good game of billiards.”

  “Oh Fiona, stop it. Malcolm does not care for me; he never has. That’s fine with me for I don’t care for him, either. How you could marry such a—”

  “Don’t.” Fiona wasn’t sure who was more surprised at the icy tone of her voice.

  Murien recovered first. She leaned back in her chair, a placating smile on her lips that did not quite reach her eyes. “I was just teasing, sister. There is no need to get in an uproar.”

  Fiona tilted her head in acknowledgment, mainly because she didn’t trust herself to speak again. Heavens, what had caused that reaction?

  “This is all so very perplexing.” Murien placed her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin in her hand. Her brow pulled down as she considered her options. “I wish there was some way we could expose Kat Macdonald for what she really is, gauche and unformed.”

  “Actually, she would have a very pretty figure if it was not for today’s fashions,” Fiona said absently. “They do not suit a woman with such curves.”

  “Curves? I wouldn’t call them that. But it scarcely matters for the woman has no name, is practically two stone heavier than she ought to be, and has ruined whatever reputation she possessed. There is simply no reason for St. John to be dallying with her unless she is rewarding him in some way.”

  Fiona’s cheeks heated. “Murien! Do not even suggest such a thing. I know Kat Macdonald and she’s nothing like that.”

  Murien curled her nose. “Kat Macdonald hasn’t the least call to think herself worthy of St. John. She has no real beauty to speak of.”

  Fiona didn’t understand it, either. Not that she harbored ill will for Malcolm’s half sister, for Kat had been very kind to Fiona when she’d first come to Kilkairn.

  But Fiona had to admit that there were far more reasons that St. John would avoid a woman like Kat rather than wish to be with her, unless of course…Fiona sat up straighter. “Murien, do you believe St. John might have developed a true tendre for Kat?”

  “Lud no,” Murien said, her lip curled. “He is just amusing himself at her expense. It is painfully obvious he is running from that blasted ring. He even said something to me about it. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense.”

  “Oh? When did you speak to him—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I think he is afraid of being forced to marry. And with Kat…how could she claim that she was ruined when she has already been so? She’s safe for him. Perfectly safe.”

  “You don’t think he’s going to marry her?”

  “No! He’s not a foolish man.” Murien’s impatience was clear to see. “If only he would spend more time here.” Murien leaned back in her chair, her gaze hard. “What we need is a reason to keep him here while proving how horridly unsuited Malcolm’s sister is, even for a flirt.”
r />   Fiona tried to will her tired brain to think, but it was nearly impossible. She pressed her finger to her forehead. “Perhaps I should have a dinner party. A large one. Then we could invite Kat and he might see—”

  “Fiona! That’s it! But not a dinner party.” A slow smile curved Murien’s mouth. “A ball. An honest-to-goodness ball. Oh, I can picture it now. All of Edinburgh will be here and we’ll dazzle them with Kilkairn Castle!”

  Fiona looked around the room. Though it was one of the cleaner rooms in the castle, the rugs were still dusty and the mantel hadn’t been wiped in weeks. She’d thought of seeing to it that the house staff did a better job, but that would only pander to Malcolm’s comfort. Besides, why should she make such an effort to make Kilkairn a lovely place when Malcolm refused to allow her to live elsewhere for even part of the year?

  She shook her head. “Murien, it would take weeks to get Kilkairn ready for a large ball. I don’t know how—”

  “Then have a small one and hire help from the village. I don’t care. I just know that you have hit upon the perfect plan to show Miss Katherine Macdonald that she does not belong in the same room as St. John. That she is outclassed by far. Meanwhile…” Murien tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, a sly smile on her lips. “Meanwhile, I shall do what I can to show St. John I am indeed the one to fear—that I am the woman he is to marry.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “Leave that to me. You just take care of the ball. We’ll show St. John the pitfalls of having a consort like Kat.”

  Fiona bit back a sigh, wishing Murien didn’t appear quite so happy about seeing Kat in such a humiliating situation. But Fiona would do it—she’d have the ball if for no other reason than to win the wager and keep her marriage intact.

  Feeling miserable, she excused herself and went to her room to indulge in a good cry.

  To the chagrin of more than one person, Devon came back to the clearing twice more over the next two days. Both times, despite Murien’s attempts to lure him into staying at the castle and Simon’s attempts to convince Kat that there was too much work to be done, Devon succeeded in carrying Kat off on Thunder. They rode far and wide, exploring pathways and galloping over meadows. And every day they’d have lunch beneath a tree of Kat’s choosing.