Chapter 18
The day of her wedding dawned bright and sunny with nary a cloud on the horizon, but Flora woke feeling chilled.
Out of habit, she reached for the solid warmth beside her but felt only empty space and cold bed linens.
She experienced a sharp moment of panic before remembering.
They’d made love last night, but in deference to the presence of her cousin and brother, Lachlan had returned to his own room.
It was the first time they hadn’t spent the entire night together since she’d agreed to marry him.
It was strange to realize how much she missed him and how alone she felt without him.
He’d been so tender last night, drawing out every moment of pleasure. He’d cradled her against his body as he moved inside her, looking into her eyes with an intensity that made her heart squeeze.
After today, they would be bound together forever. Excitement for the day to come made her eager to begin. She tossed aside her coverlet, she slipped from bed and scampered to the window—immediately regretting her lack of footwear as her bare feet hit the cold wooden planks.
Bright sunlight spilled through the glass, filling the room with a gentle heat that warmed the chill from her skin.
From the height of the sun on the horizon, she realized that she’d slept later than she intended.
The short ceremony would take place at midday, followed by a feast that would last long into the night.
She didn’t have much time to get ready. Knowing that Morag would be up soon to help her dress, she started toward the stack of half-emptied trunks that still littered the room, intent on finding the silk stockings she’d misplaced in yesterday’s frenzy of sorting through her clothes for Mary and Gilly.
She smiled, thinking how splendid the girls had looked last night. Lachlan had been moved by her gift to his sisters, but she’d never forget the look on Allan’s face when he saw Mary. A year would not come soon enough for those two.
The evening meal had gone well enough, though Lachlan seemed distracted.
She hoped her brother and cousin had not questioned him too harshly.
He didn’t relish lying to them, she knew, but would do what was necessary.
It was one of the things she admired about him: He always kept sight of the goal and would do what he had to do to achieve it.
As she walked toward her trunks, her foot scraped against something that crinkled. Looking down, she noticed a folded piece of parchment on the floor near the door.
She wrinkled her brows. Where had that come from? Curiosity roused, she bent to pick it up and instantly recognized the seal—the Maclean of Duart. Hector. What did he want? Knowing there was only one way to find out, she broke the wax and read.
I apologize if my rescue attempt frightened you. My only thought was your safety. I know what Coll is planning, and you must not marry him. He is deceiving you. My men will be watching the castle gates should you have need of them.
Your brother, Hector
She scanned the letter again, not knowing quite what to make of it.
Obviously, the enmity between Lachlan and Hector was strong.
It saddened her to think that by marrying Lachlan, she would most likely lose a chance at getting to know one of her brothers.
She didn’t give credence to his vague warnings, but something did disturb her.
How had this letter been slipped under her door? Did Lachlan have a spy in his midst?
Flora glanced outside again to check the time and made a decision.
It was growing late, but this couldn’t wait.
If she left right now, she just might catch him.
He and Rory were supposed to be signing the contracts this morning.
Quickly, she donned Mary’s old dress, as it was the easiest thing to put on, and went in search of her soon-to-be husband.
Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief as Rory MacLeod signed his name on the roll of parchment beside his.
It was done. The contracts had been signed, and after what had happened last night, the ceremony was a mere formality.
Though Flora might not know it, by Scottish law and tradition, they were already married.
Not only had he assured his brother’s freedom, he’d become a very wealthy man in the process. He’d achieved what he’d set out to do, but his pleasure was tempered by the knowledge that Flora would be hurt by her cousin’s involvement in their marriage.
The moment of reckoning was drawing near. Tonight after the celebration, he would explain everything—though he knew that making her understand wouldn’t be easy … or pleasant.
After offering his congratulations, Rory excused himself to attend to some matters before the ceremony and feast got under way, leaving Lachlan alone with Argyll.
It was just the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Without preamble he said, “Where’s my brother?”
Argyll’s mouth curved slightly. “I imagine the same place he’s been for the last two months.”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “Today is my wedding day.”
Argyll took a leisurely sip of claret. “So it is.”
Knowing Argyll was toying with him, Lachlan held his anger in check.
He would never give Argyll the satisfaction—it would only make him smell blood.
But the earl had a well-earned reputation for wiliness.
God’s blood, I’ll kill him if he tries to wheedle his way out of our bargain.
Lachlan studied the man opposite him. A Highlander, but you would never know it.
Argyll dressed and spoke like a Lowlander, with his refined manners and fine silk slops and doublet.
But he was no delicate courtier—not like Lord Murray.
Argyll hadn’t gotten where he was without considerable strength and acumen.
He met Argyll’s gaze. “You heard Flora for yourself. She has agreed of her own volition. I’ve done my part, do not try your games with me.”
The other man quirked his brow. “Are you threatening me?”
“Take it how you will. I kept my side of the bargain, and you will keep yours. My brother will be released today, as you promised.” This time, there was no mistaking the threat.
Despite Lachlan’s much larger size, Argyll didn’t appear overly concerned.
Though perhaps he’d impressed him, because he stopped his pretense.
From inside his doublet he withdrew a roll of parchment.
Even from a few feet away, Lachlan recognized the royal seal.
He stilled, knowing what it was: Argyll held John’s freedom in his hands.
“I have a writ ordering the release of your brother. After the ceremony, it is yours.”
Lachlan felt as though an enormous weight had been lifted from him. “And the rest of our bargain?”
“That will take awhile longer. The king must be assured of your cooperation before he decides on the disposition of your castle.”
He’d been patient long enough. Nor was he confident in the king’s justice. Once he and Flora were wed, he would seek Rory’s help—in the form of fighting men—to recover his castle. Argyll could smooth things over with the king … later.
Argyll was watching him, a calculated gleam in his eye. “I must say you’ve impressed me, Coll. I didn’t think you could do it.”
Flora heard her cousin’s voice, and something made her stop outside the door without alerting them of her presence.
“My little cousin has been resistant to any man I’ve brought before her, but you managed to persuade her. How did you do it?”
“It’s none of your damn business,” Lachlan replied. “I did it. Without force. That’s all you need to know.”
“Does she know of our bargain?”
Bargain? Flora froze.
“Of course not. But she will, as soon as my brother is safe.”
“Are you sure that is wise? Flora will resent being manipulated; perhaps it would be better if you kept the details of our arrangement to yourself.”
Blood drained from her face, and her heart faltered.
“She loves me. She’ll understand.”
Her cousin laughed. “You have an overabundance of confidence. I hope it serves you well—you’ll need it.”
Hearing the sound of a chair scooting back and steps moving toward the door, Flora slipped around the corner out of sight just as her cousin left the room.
She couldn’t breathe. Her chest constricted, and her breath strangled in her throat. Taking large gulps of air, she forced herself to stay calm. There had to be an explanation for what she’d just heard. Please let there be an explanation.
Her hands were shaking as she slipped the folded piece of parchment she’d so summarily dismissed into the folds of her skirt. There has to be an explanation, she repeated, though it lacked conviction. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the door and closed it firmly behind her.
“Flora, what—”
He must have seen her face, because he stopped mid-sentence.
She drank in the sight of him, wanting to hold on to what she knew.
The rugged lines of his handsome face, the hard-muscled body, the dazzling blue eyes, the soft wave of his dark hair—so powerful and unabashedly masculine.
He was dressed for the ceremony, she realized with a pang.
Wearing a fresh linen shirt and a plaid belted at his waist and secured at his shoulder with his chieftain’s brooch.
A jewel-encrusted dagger that she’d never seen before hung at his side. Her chest squeezed just looking at him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked uneasily.
“What were you talking about with my cousin?” He looked at her blankly. “What bargain did you make with him?”
His eyes shot to hers. “You heard,” he said flatly.
“Tell me what I heard was wrong. Tell me our marriage has nothing to do with this bargain. Tell me you did not plan this with Argyll.”
He met her gaze unflinchingly.
Say something. Deny it! her heart cried. But he didn’t say a word, not one single word.