“Stands Scotland where it did?”
MACDUFF, MACBETH ACT IV, SCENE III
“Where the devil are ye off to?” Niall asked, leaning over the balcony railing to peer into the foyer below.
He wore his dress kilt, as Coll did: beneath a black coat and red waistcoat, a black leather sporran with red tassels and an embossed silver cantle across the top, and gillie brogues tied up his calves for once, rather than boots. Aden had dressed the same, and while it felt stiff and formal, the three of them standing together would no doubt put the fear of the devil into any enemies of Clan Ross.
“I’ll meet ye at St. George’s,” Coll shot back, sliding his spare sgian-dubh into one stocking, with only the hilt and top of the scabbard showing.
“Coll.”
Straightening, he looked up at his youngest brother. “What? I’ll nae be late. Ye ken I wouldnae miss Aden’s wedding any more than I’d miss yers. And I rode all the way from London to Gretna Green for that one.”
Niall’s eyebrows dove together. “I only wanted to ask if ye had any news about the lass. It’s nae an easy thing, to have someone after ye.”
As Niall spoke, his wife, Amy, joined him at the railing. She wore a simple peach muslin dress embroidered with myriad yellow and green flowers and a peach bonnet topped with fresh flowers, and her hands were sheathed in white, wrist-length kid gloves. Coll made note of it all. He had no idea what Sassenach guests wore to a wedding, and he wanted to be sure Temperance had as little to worry over as possible. She hadn’t been to a wedding since her own, he’d wager—and she hadn’t made it to that one. It had been eight years ago, anyway, and who knew what had altered since then.
“Amy, ye look very fine,” he drawled, waiting for Smythe to pull open the front door.
Smiling, she dipped a curtsy. “As do you. Half the women in London will be sighing at the sight of the three of you today.”
He scowled. “I preferred yer wedding, lass. Brief, nae crowded, and with a fine, homecooked meal after.”
Amy laughed. “And a good price offered for any shoeing we needed done before we turned the horses around for London.”
Niall leaned over and kissed her. “I’ll wed ye again, more proper this time, if ye like.”
Cupping his face in her gloved hands, she kissed him back. “I am utterly content, husband. Don’t fret. We’ll have plenty of things to celebrate in more proper fashion.”
Judging by the glow of her cheeks and the light in her eyes, they’d be celebrating the first something in less than nine months. Coll grinned. “The two of ye are making my teeth ache. I’ll see ye at the church.”
As Gavin rounded the corner of the house with horse and phaeton in tow, Coll paused. The groom was in his best finery as well, topped with a proper Scottish tam and what looked like an ostrich plume dyed black.
“Gavin, ye’re lovely!” he exclaimed.
The groom’s cheeks turned a burning red. “I’m to drive the barouche from the church. I’ll nae have any man saying I didnae dress to honor the bride and groom.”
“Nae a man would dare.” Coll climbed up to the seat and leaned over to take the leads from the groom. “My thanks.”
“Just between ye and me, m’laird,” Gavin said, stepping up to the front wheel and lowering his voice, “have ye mentioned to yer bràthair that ye mean to disrupt his wedding with yer lass?”
“Today is for Aden and Miranda,” Coll returned flatly. “I’ve nae intention of disrupting a thing. I’m bringing the lass to keep her safe from harm and in my sight, and so most of the lads can join us.”
Nodding, the groom stepped back again. “As ye say, then, m’laird.”
Aye, he did say. He and the lass had an agreement. Whether he wanted her close by him or whether she’d accused him of being soft for acquiescing to his mother’s demands, she needed protecting.
As for that accusation, aye, he’d decided to give in, because it wasn’t just about his pride being pricked. Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert funded all of Aldriss Park—four thousand acres, three hundred men, women, and bairns, dozens of farms and shops and two fishing villages, peat cutters, seaweed harvesters, and the mansion with all of its servants and gardeners and grooms and cooks. In a good year, they very nearly paid for themselves, but more often than not, the expenses outweighed the profits. If not for the Oswell-MacTaggert money, half the cotters would have had to leave for America, and the land would all be valued for nothing but sheep-grazing.
Temperance had set out on her own at age twenty. She’d left her family and her home and friends and everything familiar, and she’d found a way not just to survive, but to flourish. He admired that a great deal. He admired her. But she had only herself to look out for, and that gave her certain freedoms and luxuries that he didn’t have.
When he stopped in front of her small house, Gregory pulled open the door and stepped aside. Before Coll could call out a greeting to him, his tongue froze in his mouth, his jaw unhinging itself to hang open.
Two kilted Highlanders ahead of her, watching their surroundings like hawks, Temperance Hartwood walked out the front door. She wore a perfectly proper peach and lavender gown of muslin and lace, a matching lavender shawl over her shoulders, and a bonnet decorated with lavender and yellow flowers over hair redder than a sunset. The combination of propriety and daring simply … stunned him. Somewhere deep in his chest, a small stone broke free and vanished. She still wanted to be around him, and he damned well wanted to be around her.
“Good glory,” he muttered under his breath, shifting in the seat to offer her a hand up. “Good morning, Persephone.”
She inclined her head. “Coll. I half thought you might have changed your mind about me accompanying you today.”
Taking her hand, he half lifted her up over the wheel and onto the phaeton’s seat beside him. “We had an argument,” he said, shrugging as he clucked to the long-legged bay. “I reckon we both made some valid points.”
“No, we didn’t,” she countered, holding onto the seat with one hand as they lurched into motion. “Our circumstances might be similar, but you’ve stayed for the sake of people who rely on you. That’s noble.”
Coll cleared his throat. “Ye had a quiet night, I hope. I didnae have any word from my lads about any trouble.”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I didn’t sleep well, but no one attempted to murder me.”
He hadn’t slept well either, and for him that was highly unusual. But then it had been the first night in four that he’d spent in his own bed. “I nearly rode over here twice to check on ye. And I nearly went to find yer cousin and flatten him out of principle.”
“We have no proof. We actually have no proof that anything intentional is afoot.” Someone on the street shouted her name, and, immediately putting on a smile, she turned and waved. “And Robert? He has no sense of humor, and we were never close, but that doesn’t make him a murderer. Or someone who would hire a murderer.”
He didn’t like that people recognized her. Even her guise of being Persephone Jones wasn’t safe any longer. Keeping her safely locked up in her house, though, would kill her just as surely as bullet. Temperance never seemed to be still; physically and mentally she could run circles around most everyone he knew. She might even be able to give Aden a thrashing.
“Until we know who it is, I’ll be suspicious of everyone, if ye dunnae mind. It doesnae take any great courage to offer someone else a few quid to drop a sandbag at the right moment.” That bothered him even more than the idea of a villain out there—how many people had he paid to make certain Temperance suffered a fatal accident?
She gazed at him for a long moment, which he pretended not to notice as he guided the phaeton toward Hanover Square and St. George’s Church. Finally, she cleared her throat, clasping her hands in her lap. “Tell me the names of three women you’re considering for marriage.”
For a moment, he couldn’t conjure another woman’s name to save his life. He’d found the one he wanted, for God’s sake, and the entire world thought him too good for her. If anything, the truth was just the opposite. “Elizabeth Munroe,” he said, not because she would suffice, but because Temperance had asked for names. “Lady Agnes Mays. Polymnia Spenfield.”
“Isn’t Miss Spenfield one of the Spenfield girls? There are five of them, yes? Their parents auction off a horse every year to try to get men to attend their ball.”
“Aye. And I didnae even win the horse, so it must be true love.”
Because he looked for it, he saw her jaw clench and her hands tighten their grip on each other. Good. She did want him, at least a little—even if she wouldn’t admit to it. He didn’t know how they’d manage it, either, but he knew who he wanted.
“Good, then,” she said a bit quietly. “When will you propose?”
“I was being sarcastic, and ye know it,” he snapped, pulling the phaeton to a halt and ignoring the drivers who began protesting behind them.
“Coll, we’ll be late.”
“Nae, we willnae. I have someaught to say to ye, Temperance Hartwood. I love ye. I ken that that doesnae change a thing, that to the world ye’re an actress and I’m the oldest son of an earl, no matter how unfit these Sassenachs think I am to be a lord. I have a duty, and ye have a life ye’ve made for yerself. But I’ve looked for nine weeks—and longer than that in the Highlands—to find a woman with whom I’d care to spend my life, and I damned well know when I’ve found one. It’s someaught I’m willing to fight for. But nae if ye dunnae feel the same about me. So, do ye? Either lie or tell me the truth, but ye’d best make certain I believe ye.”
Flicking the reins, he sent them off again, his gaze on the bay’s ears. If this was something he could solve with brute force, it would have been well settled days ago. But as strong as he was, he couldn’t overthrow an entire way of life. Figuring out a way they could remain together would be another kind of battle altogether—and it was one he had no real idea how to fight. If he didn’t have her heart, he couldn’t win, regardless. And he would be an even greater fool than the Sassenachs currently thought him.
“I’m still—I’m still an actress, Coll. As far as the world knows, and as far as I want anyone else to know, I’m just some common-born girl who prances about onstage in front of strangers. You’re Viscount Glendarril. One day, you’ll be Earl Aldriss.”
“I didnae ask ye who we are, my lass. I asked ye if ye loved me.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Do you have any idea of the scandal that would ensue?”
Shrugging, he slowed the bay as they turned up Regent Street. “I didnae say I had a solution. Nae yet, anyway. I only want to know if ye feel at all for me what I feel for ye.”
She sat silently beside him for so long that he began to fear he had misjudged every bloody thing between them. If she’d only wanted a protector to keep the other wolves away, if every man at whom she smiled fell in love with her, then he supposed he would go and find himself a wife tomorrow and spend the remainder of his life wondering why the devil he hadn’t managed to be more charming, or wield a sharper wit, or simply be more civilized, and how he’d misjudged her so horribly.
“How I feel doesn’t matter,” she finally muttered. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“If how ye felt didnae matter, ye’d have married His Grace Dunhurst eight years ago. How ye felt, lass, changed yer entire life. So aye, it matters. And it bloody well matters to me.”
Abruptly, she shifted closer, laying her head against his shoulder and wrapping a hand about his arm. “Of course I’m in love with you, Coll MacTaggert,” she blurted out, her voice shaking a wee bit at the end. “How could I not be? You are mountains and craigs and rocky streams and winter winds and the first breath of springtime. My first taste of springtime.”
Well. He believed that. She’d put it much more poetically than he had, of course, but it rang true. His heart stopped beating for a breath, and then resumed again, hard and strong. “Ye do have a way with words, lass.”
And if he didn’t kiss her right then, he might well catch fire from the heat of wanting her. Reaching for her free hand, he pulled up the bay with the other.
“People will see us.”
“Let ’em.” While the drivers of the milk and hay wagons behind them began shouting and cursing again, he bent his head and took her mouth. Her soft lips molded against his, warm and wanting. “Is mise mo chridhe,” he murmured.
She leaned her forehead against his, her bonnet shading them both from the onlooking passersby. “What does that mean?”
“Ye’re my heart,” Coll translated. He needed to apologize to Niall and Aden for scoffing at their descriptions of being in love. He had simply … known.
And while she’d been correct that saying the words didn’t change anything, didn’t make her troubles go away or make his family suddenly accepting of a lass who preferred to be thought of as a commoner, it did give him a reason to fight. And a cause worth fighting for.
“Goodness.” Straightening, Temperance cleared her throat. “We should get going before we start a riot.”
“Aye.” Taking the reins back in both hands, he snapped them and the bay jumped back into a trot.
Today belonged to Aden and Miranda, and he meant to do his utmost not to take away from that. But if anyone wanted to challenge him over his wedding guest, he would take on all comers, and do it with a smile on his face. Temperance Hartwood, or Persephone Jones, or whatever she chose to call herself, loved him. Aye, today he could fight the world and knock it on its arse.
He nearly hadn’t said the words, because he knew as well as she did that being in love didn’t solve anything. Part of him hadn’t wanted to make things harder for her. But the other part, the stubborn part that spoke its mind, had demanded to know that she wanted what he wanted. And knowing now that she did, it did change everything.
Temperance had driven past St. George’s Church in Hanover Square on two or three occasions, but she’d never strolled between the stern ionic columns or seen the interior of Mayfair’s parish church. Actresses didn’t receive invitations to aristocratic weddings. Not until today, anyway.
Keeping her hand tight around Coll’s black-sleeved arm, her eyes respectfully lowered as she wondered if she would be struck down by lightning for daring to tread upon the stone floor, she walked through the main doors at the rear of the church.
A small group of people stood near the altar, enough red and black and white-patterned kilts among them that she knew it had to be the MacTaggerts. “I’ll just sit in the back, Coll,” she whispered. “Please don’t make a to-do about it.”
To her surprise, he inclined his head. “Nae in the back; I want ye away from the doors,” he murmured, but paused halfway up the rows of wooden pews. “This should do ye,” he said, and handed her onto the bench. “The lads know to keep their eyes open for anyone nae invited, but if ye see someaught that troubles ye, I expect ye to make some noise.”
“I’m certain that would go over well,” she returned dryly.
“I dunnae care how it goes over, lass. I dunnae want to risk ye being harmed. If ye dunnae agree, I’ll forego standing with the groom and sit here with ye.”
She knew him well enough to realize he meant every word he said. “I will make a great deal of noise,” she muttered. “Go stand with your brother.”
He had the bad manners to grin at her before he turned away and strolled the rest of the way up to the front of the church. It was a pretty place, with more white columns inside, dark, polished wood, and a large painting of Christ and his disciples that she thought had to be the work of William Kent behind the altar. Lovely as it was, the people held far more interest for her.
And they’d definitely noticed her, as well. She recognized the youngest brother, Niall, as he said something to the pretty, blonde-haired woman at his side, nodding at her as she turned to look. Beyond them, a slender young lady with black hair and light green eyes bounced up on her toes and whispered at the tall young man beside her. That would be Eloise, she reasoned, the youngest MacTaggert, and the one who’d been raised English, which would make the young man with the fading black eyes her betrothed, Matthew Harris.
On the other side of the stunningly pretty, white-wearing bride and her poetical-looking, kilted husband-to-be, stood an older couple that had to be the bride’s parents. The petite woman wearing a gorgeous blue gown sewn with yellow beading, her hair a peppered black and gray beneath an elegant matron’s hat, would be Lady Aldriss. Temperance held her breath as the countess turned to look at her, breathing out only when the lady turned away again.
A dozen or so other guests sat in the first two rows of pews, standing only when the black-and-white clothed pastor stepped forward. Temperance hurriedly climbed to her feet as well, only retaking her seat when he motioned accordingly. She knew most of the words he spoke, because eight years earlier, another pastor in another church had recited them to her as they rehearsed a wedding that would never happen.
Halfway through the ceremony, an older man with generous sideburns and a lean, stern face took a seat one row in front of her and off to the side. Temperance swallowed. Coll had said his men were on the lookout for strangers, and this man had made it past them. Could she assume, then, that he was another friend of the family? If so, why hadn’t he joined the group at the front of the pews?
Without knowing whether he was there for the wedding or for her, she wasn’t about to make a ruckus, whatever she’d promised Coll. Instead, she kept her attention squarely on his profile. If he turned to look at her, or if she saw a knife or a pistol in his hands, then she would most assuredly make some noise.
When the pastor introduced the couple as man and wife and Aden swept his bride into his arms for a kiss that made even Temperance blush, the rest of the guests stood and crowded forward to congratulate the couple. The older man remained seated, as did she. As he finished pounding his brother on the back, Coll turned to look at her—and froze, his gaze on the late-arriving man.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Did he recognize a threat? He certainly had an instinct for knowing when she might be in danger. When Coll abruptly strode forward, she stood, moving away as quickly as she could.
“Athair?” he bellowed. “What the devil are ye doing here?”
The rest of the group turned as well. Persephone saw baffled expressions on the faces of the Harris parents and the other guests, surprise on the two remaining MacTaggert brothers, a delighted grin growing on the face of their sister, and the Countess Aldriss going white as the bride’s gown.
“Papa?” Eloise exclaimed, hurrying forward. “Is it you?”
Papa. Angus MacTaggert, Earl Aldriss. Coll’s father. Clutching a hand over her heart in relief, Temperance sank onto the pew. Thank heavens.
“What am I doin’ here?” the earl replied. “I had a letter that said ye’d lost yer mind, Coll. That’s what I’m doing here.”
Coll immediately stopped, his gaze sliding over to meet hers. “I’ve nae lost a damned thing,” he stated, returning his attention to his father. “Ye’ve two married sons, though. Come and meet all of yer daughters.”
Another kind of worry entirely speared through Temperance as young Eloise flung her arms around her father before his more restrained daughters-in-law added their greetings. She didn’t know much about Lord Aldriss, except that he’d claimed to have collapsed onto his deathbed when his sons had been summoned to London, and that he’d encouraged the boys to live rough-and-tumble lives.
The fact that he’d traveled here, and that he’d arrived barely a week after she and Coll had met, told her several things. Whoever had sent him word about Coll’s proclamation that he would marry her had spared no expense at getting word to the Highlands, and the earl had spared no time in making his way down to London. Something had upended the patriarch of the MacTaggerts, and she could make a good guess at what that thing had been. Her.
“Let’s all return to Oswell House, shall we?” Niall said loudly, over the growing mutters. “The countess has set out a luncheon for everyone in the garden.”
“Yes,” Lady Aldriss said, visibly squaring her shoulders. “Everyone, my friends and family, please join us there. We have much to celebrate.”
Moving toward the rest of the MacTaggerts, the countess touched a finger to the necklace she wore. To most everyone, it was likely an innocent, unconscious gesture, but to Temperance, with her study of moods and emotions, it spoke volumes. Lady Aldriss was nervous. Extremely so.
But then she was presently looking at a man—her husband—whom she hadn’t seen in seventeen years.
Seventeen years—very nearly their daughter’s lifetime. Temperance looked at Coll again, at his wary expression, his coiled fists. A man ready to fight his own family over her.
If she simply shook her head at him, he would know that she’d decided that whatever they had—or might have—wasn’t worth fighting for. Everything would go back to the way it had been before they’d met, with the exception, of course, that someone wanted her dead. The idea terrified her, but not as much as the thought of not seeing Coll for seventeen years, or ever again. Of watching him marry some other woman simply because he had a duty to do so. Of watching him leave London without her.
“Husband,” Lady Aldriss said, stopping a few feet from the earl.
He looked at her for a moment. “Wife.” Slowly, he reached out for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Ye look very fine this afternoon.”
She freed her hand. “I look older,” she countered. “As do you. I assume your being here means we’re in agreement about one thing, finally?”
Blowing out her breath, putting out of her head the thought that this would have to be the most brilliant performance she’d ever given, Temperance stepped forward. “Good morning, Lord and Lady Aldriss. Thank you for allowing me to come; I don’t know if Coll has told you, but evidently someone is trying to harm me. He insisted that I would be safe here, and I am exceedingly grateful for the reprieve.”
Everyone looked at her now, but two pairs of eyes, one dark green and one gray, concerned her more than the others. “Of course,” Lady Aldriss said a moment later, her tone clipped. Once a lady was informed that she’d done a kindness, she couldn’t very well turn her back, after all.
“I have no wish to be a point of contention on such a momentous day,” Temperance went on, smiling at Aden and Miranda. “This is a time for family and friends, and I don’t wish to intrude any further than I already have. I should be going.”
“Nae,” Coll said on the tail of that. “I gave ye my word to keep ye safe.”
“If someone’s trying to harm ye, lass,” the earl put in, “and we’ve the means to keep them at bay, then I reckon ye shouldnae be going anywhere but with us to have luncheon.”
“I…” Lady Aldriss closed her mouth over whatever she’d been about to say. “Of course. Coll, we’ll meet you at Oswell House. Don’t delay. We have things to discuss.”
“Oh, I’ll be there for that, dunnae ye fret,” her oldest son agreed.
He took Temperance’s arm, leading her toward the door. “What was that?” he whispered. “This isnae about me doing ye a good turn. I’ll nae have it reduced to that.”
“And I won’t have the lot of you arguing over my lack of breeding in a church,” she returned in the same tone. “Give them a moment to think of me as something other than an upstart after a title, for heaven’s sake.”
Coll cocked his head. “So ye’re a damsel in distress?”
“I am someone who was hopefully able to invoke a little bit of sympathy for a minute or two.” She took a breath. “I want you, Coll. You said you’re willing to fight for us. I reckon I am as well.”
A slow grin touched his handsome face. “Ye reckon, do ye? Then I reckon that now that ye’ve gotten yerself invited to the house, I may nae let ye leave.”
At the moment, that would suit her just fine.