Julie Garwood - The Bride

I'm sure he's sorry enough as it is."

Baron Jamison smiled at his daughter for defending him. "That's my good little angel," he praised. "Now, then, Jamie, I want you to stay hidden when the Scotsmen arrive. No sense tempting them with what they can't be having."

The baron didn't realize his blunder until Alice seized on his remark.

"Scotsmen, Papa? You speak of more than one. Do you mean to tell us this demon named Kincaid is bringing others with him?"

"He's probably just bringing his family to witness the marriage," Agnes suggested to her twin.

"Is that the full of it?" Jamie asked her father. She tried to concentrate on the problem at hand, but her thoughts kept returning to the gold coins. Why would her father accept a loan from Andrew?

The baron took his time answering.

"Papa, I have the feeling there's more you'd like to tell us," Jamie coaxed.

"Good God, you mean there's more?" Mary bellowed.

"Papa, what else are you keeping from us?" Alice shouted.

"Spit it out, Papa," Agnes demanded.

Jamie motioned for silence again. The urge to grab hold of her father's gray tunic and shake him into speaking nearly overwhelmed her. She could feel her temper boiling. "May I read this missive from our king?" she asked.

"We really should have learned how to read and scribble when Jamie's mama began her instructions," Agnes remarked with a weary sigh.

"Nonsense," Agnes scoffed. "No gentle lady needs such instruction. What we really should have done was learn how to speak that God-awful Gaelic language like Jamie," she announced. "You know I mean no offense, Jamie," she hastened to add when she caught her sister's frown. " 'Tis the truth I wish I'd learned it with you. Beak did offer to teach all of us," she ended.

"It gave our stable master pleasure to teach me," Jamie said. "And Mama was amused. She was bedridden for such a long while before she died."

"Do you mean to tell me this monster from the Highlands cannot speak our language?" Agnes whimpered before bursting into tears.

Jamie might have been able to control her anger if Agnes hadn't started weeping.

"What difference will it make, Agnes?" she blurted out. "The man's going to kill his bride, not talk to her."

"So you believe the rumor is true?" Mary gasped.

"No," Jamie answered, immediately contrite. "I was just jesting." She closed her eyes, said a quick prayer for patience, then turned to Agnes. "It was most unkind of me to get you upset, sister, and I do apologize."

"I would certainly hope so," Agnes cried.

"Papa, let Jamie look at this missive," Mary suddenly demanded.

"No," the baron blurted out. He immediately softened his tone, lest his angels become suspicious of his true motives. "You needn't bother, Jamie. 'Tis simple to tell. There be two Scots coming week next, and two brides going home with them."

Needless to say, the baron's daughters didn't take this added news well. The twins started howling with as much indignation as sleeping babies who'd been pinched awake.

"I'm going to run away," Mary shouted.

"It would seem to me," Jamie began in a voice meant to penetrate the noise,

"that we must immediately form a plan to dissuade your suitors."

Agnes stopped bellowing in mid-scream. "Plan? What are you thinking?"

"I have thought of a deceitful plan and I'm almost afraid to mention it, but your welfare is at issue and so I'll tell you that if I were the one doing the selecting, I'd certainly stay away from any contender who was… afflicted in some way."

A slow grin transformed Mary's face. She was always the quickest to catch Jamie's thoughts, especially when they were of a devious nature. "Or so ugly as to be painful to look upon," she said with a nod. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. "Agnes, you and Alice may be afflicted. I'm going to be fat and ugly."

"Afflicted?" Alice asked, clearly puzzled. "Do you understand what she means, Agnes?"

Agnes started to laugh. Her nose was red from rubbing and her cheeks were raw from her tears, yet when she smiled, she looked very pretty. "A dread disease, I do believe. We must eat berries, sister. The rash will only last a few hours, so we must time this well."

"Now I see," Alice said. "We'll make the dull-witted Scots think we always have terrible lumps on our faces."

"I shall drool," Agnes announced with a haughty nod, "and scratch until they think I'm infested with vile creatures."

The four sisters laughed over that picture. Papa took heart. He smiled at his angels. "There. Do you see, now? I told you it would work out." He hadn't said any such thing, of course, but that fact didn't bother him at all. "I shall go and have my morning lie-down while you continue with your plans." Baron Jamison couldn't leave the hall fast enough.

"These Scots might not care what you look like," Jamie advised, worrying now that she might have given her sisters false hope.

"We can only pray they're shallow," Mary returned.

"Is deceiving them a sin?" Alice asked.

"Of course," Mary answered.

"We'd best not confess to Father Charles," Agnes whispered. "He'll give us another month of penance. Besides, we're deceiving Scots, if you'll remember.

God will certainly understand."

Jamie left her sisters and went to talk to the stable master. Beak, as he was affectionately called by his friends because of his large hawklike nose, was an elderly man who had long ago become Jamie's confidant. She trusted him completely. He never carried her thoughts to others. He was wise in his years, too. He'd taught her all the skills he thought she'd need. In truth, she was more of a son than daughter to him.

They disagreed only when it came to the topic of Baron Jamison. The stable master had made it quite clear that he didn't hold with the way the baron treated his youngest daughter. Since Jamie was content, she couldn't understand why Beak would feel this way. As they could not agree, they carefully avoided the issue of her father's character.

Jamie waited until Beak had sent Emmett out of the stable on an errand, then told him the full story. Beak rubbed his jaw again and again during the telling, a sure indication he was giving the matter his full attention.

"This is really all my fault," Jamie confessed.

"How do you figure that?" Beak asked.

"I should have seen to the collection of taxes," Jamie explained. "Now my dear sisters will have to pay the price for my laziness."

"Laziness, my arse," Beak muttered. "The only chores you ain't responsible for are the taxes and the keeping of the watch, my girl. You're half dead from the work you do. God forgive me for ever teaching you anything. If I hadn't shown you how to ride like the best of them and how to hunt like the best of them, you'd not be acting like the best of them. You're a fair lady, Jamie, but you've taken on the chores of a knight. 'Tis I who am to blame."

Jamie wasn't at all fooled by his forlorn expression. She laughed right in his face. "Many a time you've boasted of my abilities, Beak. You're proud of me and that's that."

"I am proud of you," Beak said with a grunt. "Still, I'll not be listening to you blame yourself for your father's sins."

"Now, Beak…"

"You say you ain't included in this wife-bidding?" Beak asked. "Don't you think that's a mite odd?"

"I do think it's odd, but our king must have his reasons. It isn't my place to question his decisions."

"Did you happen to look at this missive, Jamie? Did you read it?"

"No, Papa didn't want me to bother with it," Jamie answered. "Beak, what are you thinking? You've got that mean look in your eyes all of a sudden."

"I'm thinking your papa's up to something," Beak admitted. "Something shameful.

I've known your papa a mite longer than you have, girl. Remember who trailed after your mama when she wed the baron. I was wise to your father's ways afore you could walk. Now I'm telling you your papa's up to something."