Chapter Twenty-Seven

Emily woke the next morning to something very warm and solid in her bed. Slowly she opened her eyes and then realized it wasn’t her bed she was sleeping in. It was Ian’s and he was lying beside her. When she looked at his face, his golden eyes were watching her.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Not long enough. I like watching ye sleep. Ye are like a soft kitten, curling yerself against me.”

“I did not…” She stopped, since she couldn’t argue the point that she had her arm over his chest and one leg intertwined with his. “I remember you holding me when I fell asleep.”

“Aye. And ye snore.”

“I do not!”

He laughed. “Well, a snuffling sound.”

She tried to look indignant, but it was hard with his already hard cock pressing against her belly. She was a little sore from the three additional times they’d made love after they got back, but that didn’t mean her body didn’t want him. Again.

With a sigh, she sat up. “We had better not keep your family waiting any longer.”

He made a disgruntled sound, but he sat up, too. They’d returned to the castle shortly before midnight and found everyone gathered in the Great Hall, but she had been near exhaustion and Ian had told everyone to go to bed and he’d explain in the morning. At the time, she hadn’t given any thought that it might seem odd that Ian had taken her to his bedchamber. Now that would be one more thing to explain. At least, to her sisters.

She looked at the sun streaming in his window. “It must be midmorning already.”

“Aye, ’tis.”

He went to his wardrobe for clean clothes and she realized the only gown she had was the dirty, torn one from last night. “I hope I do not run into a servant on the way to my room.”

He arched a look at her. “It willna matter if someone sees ye. We are going to get married.”

“I…do not think…”

He stilled. “After last night, ye still doona want to marry me?”

She hesitated. The idea of having Ian beside her every night—experiencing what she never thought she would—was tempting. She knew her feelings for him had deepened, but he had not said he loved her. She was old enough to know that, to men, lust and love were not the same. If she were even to consider giving up her freedom—Lord, why was she even thinking that she would?—it would have to be for love on both their parts. She shook her head.

“Why nae?” He looked almost wounded. “Whoever is attempting to harm ye—”

“Kill me, you mean. It is no use denying it.”

Ian grimaced, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “That will stop when I take ye to wife.”

“That will not solve the problem,” she said. “If this person stops, then we will never know who it is and I will always live in fear.”

He frowned. “What are ye proposing then?”

“I am not sure. I think we need to find out who is behind this.”

“I doona want…” He was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Who is there?”

“Carr.”

Ian went to the door to open it. “What do ye want?” he growled.

His brother raised a brow. “A messenger just arrived from Lord Mount Stuart. Parliament is going to un-proscribe us. The MacGregors will be a proud and lawful clan again.”

…

Less than thirty minutes later, Ian, his siblings and uncles, as well as Emily and her sisters, were all gathered in the library. The envoy that Lord Mount Stuart had sent was looking a little discombobulated, but that was probably because everyone was trying to talk to him at once—at least, everyone on Ian’s side of the room. Emily and her sisters were sitting still as garden statues close to the hearth.

“Ye are certain his lordship has the votes?” Carr asked

The envoy—Mr. Smythe—nodded. “King George himself mentioned to Lord North that allowing MacGregors to claim their name again might be justified.”

Ian hid a smile. The current prime minister would not go against the king’s request. More than likely it had been suggested by Lord Bute, who had been tutor to the king and still maintained a favorite position with him. Ian glanced at Emily, wondering how much of an influence she might have had. She had been seen in conversation with Lord Bute at the Campbell’s feast. And just recently—very recently he thought with an inward grin—she’d said “when” their name was restored. Not “if.”

“When is this going to happen?” Donovan asked.

“Sometime in December, according to the roster,” Mr. Smythe replied.

“Does that mean our lands will be restored?” Rory asked.

“And the castle?” Broderick added.

“You will be able to petition for your lands to be restored, although it will be a somewhat lengthy process,” the envoy answered, “but the deed to the castle will be the king’s decision to make.”

Ian’s rather lustful thoughts disappeared. Emily was clenching her hands so tightly he could see they were white, even from where he stood. He wanted to remind her that he’d told her he wouldn’t throw her out. He started to say as much when Donovan spoke.

“’Tis time we take back what is ours.”

“Aye. MacGregor holdings should nae be in the hands of the English.” Broderick looked at him. “Ye are our laird, by Scottish law. Do ye nae agree?”

Ian opened his mouth, then closed it. The Crown didn’t recognize lairds but the Scots still did. His duty was to protect his lands. Not only did his clan expect it, he would no doubt be exiled from them—and truly wander in the mists—if he did not claim what had been rightfully theirs. He glanced at Emily, but she wasn’t looking at him. Well, this would simply be one more reason why she should marry him. Surely she would see the reasonableness of that now. He took a deep breath.

“Aye, Clan MacGregor must have our lands back.”

…

Emily wasn’t sure how she managed to hold herself together until she reached her bedchamber, but somehow she’d found the strength to hold her head up and walk out while the men were talking about celebrating. She’d refused to look at Ian.

He had betrayed her.

She shut the door practically in her sisters’ faces. They’d both wanted to come in, but she told them she had some thinking to do. Juliana had been furious about the news and Lorelei had a dozen questions and, until she could sort things out, she just wasn’t ready to deal with either of them.

Clan MacGregor must have our lands back. Those were Ian’s words. He hadn’t said “theirs” and he hadn’t corrected his uncles when they both said the English should not have a claim. They’d meant her. She should not have a claim.

Emily sank into the chair by the hearth and stared at the cold ashes. Her heart felt like those cold ashes looked. Spent. Where hope had leaped like fire only this morning, now she felt her heart, like the ashes, could be swept up and discarded.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. She’d been in Scotland long enough to realize how important a clan’s holdings were. She had even given thought to offering Ian a proposal—not for marriage—but one where they would share equal profits. That was no longer applicable. Once Parliament restored the MacGregors’ status, they could—and would—pursue getting their lands back. No doubt they’d also petition the Crown for the title to the castle as well. If King George acquiesced, she would be back where she started.

She desperately needed a plan. Slowly, as she continued to stare into an empty hearth, one began to form. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she thought Ian might agree to it, since it would make things easier for his clan. As she stood to go find him, a knock sounded on her door. A moment later, it opened and Ian poked his head around as though she’d conjured him.

“May I come in?”

“Yes. I…was just coming to look for you.”

Ian closed the door. “Ye were?”

“Yes. I have a proposal.”

He grinned. “I kenned ye’d see the way of it.”

“The way of it?”

“Aye. Marriage to me solves all the problems, does it nae?”

Her silly heart skittered. If only it were so easy. But she knew he was offering a business proposal, however much they’d enjoyed their bedding. Lust was not love and he had yet to even hint at that. Love was not something that could be forced, either. She might love him— Dear God, she had come to that realization while she was doing her thinking—but she didn’t want to go through life with a husband who didn’t love her back.

Slowly, she shook her head. “It does not. Your uncles made it quite clear earlier that I am not welcome here—”

“They can move elsewhere.”

“No.” She felt tears sting her eyes and willed herself not to cry. “Can you not see that I would just be breaking up your family? You finally have the chance to be their true laird. I do not want to be an obstacle.”

“An obstacle?”

“Yes. Now—after centuries—you finally have the opportunity to be a proud clan again.”

He was silent and she knew that his silence was the answer. It wasn’t the one she wanted, but it proved she’d made the right decision. “Here is what I propose. I will turn over the deed to the castle and the lands willingly. In return, I want enough money to purchase a small house. I also want ten percent of the profit from the sales of the whisky going to White’s annually. That will allow me to have financial independence.”

He furrowed his brow. “I told ye I would nae throw ye and yer sisters out. Why would ye need financial independence?”

Here was the crux. If she stayed, her heart would be broken, not that she was going to confess that. She didn’t want his pity, for God’s sake. “Because I cannot continue like this. I will not continue like this.” Emily took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “My sisters and I will be returning to London.”