Raven McAllan - The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride

‘Mama,’ they both said at the same time.

‘How dare they!’ Morven exclaimed, her worry replaced by anger. The eyes that a few moments earlier had appeared pale and anguished were now dark as coal and seemed to be spitting fire. ‘How could my mama do such a thing? Or yours. It was my life. Our life. Mama sent me up here and left me alone all those months, happily enough. Was there any concern on her behalf then? Oh no, not at all.’

She shook her head and strands of hair the colour of midnight danced around her face. She blew out a puff of air to remove them from her cheeks and brushed those that hung over her eyes behind her ears with an impatient gesture. ‘Just off you go—Lady Napier is desirous of getting to know you better. You will enjoy yourself. And not once did she enquire if indeed I was happy. Out of sight out of mind, no doubt. One less to think about. Oh she… Argh…words fail me.’

Fraser laughed. ‘Actually, they don’t,’ he pointed out. ‘You are ranting most eloquently.’

Morven scowled. ‘Do not diminish this,’ she said fiercely. ‘I am not amused.’

He held his hands in the air in supplication. ‘I’m not making light of anything, love, I assure you. I am as unamused as you are. However, I did see the contradiction in your speech.’

‘Yes, well, even so…’ She broke off and smiled ruefully. ‘I accept I am somewhat agitated and tend to rant on. But really, Fraser, it beggars belief. Why, when I went back like a dutiful daughter, did she stop me hearing from you? Lord, did she open the letters? What was she thinking?’

‘The same as mine perhaps?’ Fraser said wryly. ‘That they had other plans for us. As in, me to Barbados—alone—and you…?’

Morven laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘Me to be the Duchess of Plumpton perhaps? However, I spoiled her plans. Marry Frederick Laker when I was in love with you?’

She loved me? Maybe she still does.

‘You didn’t want to?’ he asked cautiously. ‘Marry someone else?’ It would not be the best plan to spin her around in a circle and kiss her senseless saying thank goodness. Not yet.

‘Not a chance. He is amiable to a fault and has no original thoughts. Plus what we had was…’ she hesitated, ran her tongue over her lips and swallowed ‘…special. So even though I thought you’d forgotten me, I declined.’

All those years for what? Heartache and worry . Fraser kissed her cheek, and Morven sighed.

‘Where does that leave us now, I wonder?’

‘Well…’ Fraser hesitated. ‘I need to go to Stirling to discover that for sure.’

‘You do? Why, what do you need to find out?’

‘Whether we are really married or not.’

Chapter Four

‘Pardon?’ Morven saw stars in front of her eyes and there was a horrible buzzing noise in her ears. Louder than a wasp that flew around her head it gave her a hazy, out of the world feeling. Had Scotland got a new insect she knew nothing of? One that addled her brains?

‘Did you…’ It was ridiculous. Her hearing had to be defective. Fraser couldn’t have said he needed to discover if they were husband and wife, surely? She shook her head to try and focus. It didn’t help. Her skin prickled and goosebumps appeared.

Get a grip.

‘You…what?’ Lord she sounded a pitiful specimen. ‘I…’ Her ability to speak deserted her.

‘Put your head between your knees,’ Fraser said peremptorily as she experienced the sensation of being in his arms once more, and then deposited indoors, on one end of the soft-cushioned chaise next to the cushion she had so recently dropped. ‘I’ll get the brandy.’

Bile rose in Morven’s throat and she swallowed and grimaced. ‘Not brandy, water please. Brandy will send me to be sick,’ she said as Fraser pressed her head down, his fingers cold on her nape. She gladly let him take charge. The way she felt at that moment, she would be hard-pressed to dictate anything. ‘I never drink brandy these days.’ Brandy had, she surmised, been her downfall. One glass at the games, when the whisky had run out, and she’d eagerly followed Fraser’s lead. Look where that had left her? Nowadays she rarely drank at all, unless you counted holding and twirling a half full wine glass at balls and soirees.

Vaguely Morven heard the sound of liquid poured, and then a glass was pressed into her hand and said hand lifted to her mouth.

‘Drink this then. It’s only good, soft, Scottish water.’ Fraser didn’t let go of her hand or the glass as she let the welcome cool liquid slide down her dry throat. ‘Sip it slowly, don’t rush.’

Morven had no intention of rushing. The longer she took to compose herself the longer she had to come to terms with his words and think of a reply.

The seat of the chaise next to her dipped as Fraser sat and waited for her to look at him. Eventually, Morven decided she could shilly-shally no longer and held the empty glass out. ‘Thank you, I needed that. I’m sorry for my momentary weakness.’

‘Ah, love.’ Fraser took the glass and set it on the table. ‘Believe me, there is no need to apologise for anything. I imagine my news was not what you expected to hear.’ He leaned against the mantelpiece and looked down at her. Worry clouded his expression.

‘That, my lord, is the understatement of the year if not the decade,’ Morven said sarcastically. ‘And do not call me love.’ That sobriquet was more than one step too far at that moment. All those years ago she had thought it meant something, only to be disabused of that idea when she heard nothing from him.

But he says he wrote. That thought made her move uneasily. Was she being too hard on him? Perhaps, but Morven didn’t want him to call her love unless it was heartfelt and meaningful. At the moment she wasn’t sure that was the case. How could it be after no contact for so long?

‘You are my love, whether you like it or not,’ Fraser said earnestly. ‘Get used to it.’

‘ You are talking twaddle,’ Morven said crossly. ‘You don’t know me any more, if you ever did.’

The look he gave her could only be described as devilish. ‘I will soon, one way or another.’

The man had an answer for everything.

‘Oh stop it. Can you imagine the furore it would cause if you addressed me so in front of either of our parents?’ she retorted, waspishly. ‘Not to be thought of. They would have so many plots and machinations we wouldn’t know where we were.’

‘We can outwit them at any time. They’ll get used to it,’ he paused and said very emphatically, ‘ love. ’

Morven was having none of it. How dare he assume such a thing? Very easily she suspected. Also she knew that if she did not strengthen her resolve it would happen just as he said. She must not be so lily-livered. ‘Also balderdash. Do you want to be forced to the altar?’

‘If we are married it won’t matter,’ Fraser pointed out sardonically. ‘What would be the point?’ He raised one eyebrow. ‘Which is why I need to go to the minister at the presbytery in Stirling and ask for advice. If I asked the local minister it would be all around Kintrain before you could say “amen”. Old Scott is not renowned for his discretion.’

Morven scarcely heard him. Her mind was full of such scenarios of wedded, bedded, how her mama would react, how she herself would react, what on earth might be the truth that nothing registered except one thing. None of it made sense.

‘How can we be married?’ That was the most important point. ‘We didn’t exchange wedding vows in front of a cleric. No mamas wept into lacy handkerchiefs and no raucous males took bets on the birth of…ahhh…’ She broke off and bit her lip. That was going down a route she didn’t want to think about. ‘It, whatever it was, happened in a field at the games in between tossing the caber and the Highland fling.’ And it mattered to me. It had, she had thought on several occasions, been one of the most momentous happenings in her life. A golden moment of youth to look back on and savour. Even if for all these years she had decided it meant nothing to Fraser, it had still been something she cherished. Now though, she wondered exactly what it all meant.