The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride (26 page)

‘We stay and play it as seems appropriate.’ He emphasised the word play and her eyes widened with appreciation. ‘After all knowledge of what we are is on our side.’ Plus when he finally wrung what she was up to out of his mama it would be on his terms not hers.

Morven smirked. ‘I vote for that.’ She sniggered. ‘Oh to see their faces when we eventually tell them what we have done.’

‘Will you leave the leading of that scenario up to me?’ It was important he gave his mama a few qualms and a run for her money. He was no one’s puppet and neither was his wife. ‘I have a dislike of the way they toyed with us.’

His wife.
Those two words gave him a satisfied glow inside
. My wife. Mine.

‘Of course.’ Morven stood up, put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Shall I see what I can make for dinner?’

‘You cook?’ He laughed when she glared at him and stuck her tongue out. ‘Why am I surprised? You, my love, I’m sure excel at all you do. Damn we needed to be wed. I really fancy a wife who can cater to my every need.’

‘You might have one, who knows?’ She straightened up. ‘Wait until you eat to decide though. I’m the basic sort of cook and much prefer the reheating type of catering. Anything else I leave to the experts. Entertain the cat whilst I go and rummage. I’ll shout if I need you.’

Fraser slouched back in his chair and crossed his legs over at the ankles. Lucky lifted his head, clambered over the side of the basket and made his way to Fraser’s chest via Fraser’s boots and breeches.

Fraser stroked the kitten absently as he revised all he knew about what was going on. Which was precious little. The one certainty was he loved his wife and their chance of happiness was not going to be taken away from them.

****

Morven hummed in contented happiness once more, as she looked at the well-stocked larder. It was perfectly obvious that whoever gave order for those bulging saddlebags to be filled didn’t expect them home that night. But how on earth did their mamas—she presumed it was them—expect to make certain she and Fraser stayed overnight in the hunting lodge?

She found a crock of what she decided was stew and transferred the contents into a large saucepan, lifted it and staggered. It was heavier than she thought possible. She moved awkwardly with her burden, and set it on the side of the range. That along with bread would make a hearty supper. There were a couple of pies, one with a cleverly crafted pasty apple on it and one with what she hoped was a stick of rhubarb. Otherwise it looked like they had sweetbreads in a pie. She’d never been fond of those. Morven put the pies in the oven and made a mental note to look at them in a few moments. What else had to be done?

She glanced around the kitchen, noticed how dark it was and that the rain showed no sign of letting up when something else outside caught her eye.

A flicker of grey and black. Horses?

She leaned forward and rubbed a circle to clear some of the steam from the glass. Definitely horses. Theirs? Being led? It had to be; they weren’t able to undo bolts surely. Something, or someone was up to no good.

‘Fraser?’ Should she shout or whisper? She compromised with a loud hiss and hoped he heard her.

He didn’t.

Damn.
If she didn’t notify Fraser it would all be over. Horses gone, and no idea with whom or why. Morven threw caution to the wind. With a last glance out of the window, where nothing now showed except rain and some loose strands of ivy, she left the kitchen at a run and headed back into the sitting room.

Fraser looked up in amazement as he stroked Lucky and Morven drew to a panting halt in front of him. ‘Where’s the fire?’

‘No fire, horses.’ She put a hand to her side. Damn the stitch that hit her. Why couldn’t the kitchen and sitting rooms be next to each other, not at the opposite ends of the house? ‘Must go after them.’

‘Horses. Where?’

‘Gone. Ours just now.’ She wheezed and took a deep shuddering breath. It hurt. ‘Taken now, I saw. No idea who, why?’

Fraser passed Lucky to her. ‘Which way?’

Morven swallowed, picked up his wine glass and emptied the contents just so she could speak. ‘I think to the lane. I only got a glimpse—I think because Bonny swished her tail and it caught my eye. I didn’t see anyone.’

Fraser nodded as she followed him into the hallway and watched as he unlocked the front door. ‘Wait here.’

‘You’ll get soaked.’

He grimaced. ‘Luckily, I have a spare shirt.’

‘Hold on, you’ll need your pistol. Where is it?’

‘Drawer in the sideboard. You keep it; just don’t shoot me when I get back. Lock the door behind me. I’ll knock at the scullery entrance to get in.’ Fraser kissed her swiftly. ‘Perhaps now we know how they were going to keep us here.’ He went out into the downpour and disappeared around the side of the house in the direction Morven thought the horses had gone. She stared after him for several seconds then remembered his diktat and closed and bolted the large wooden door.

Now what? First get the pistol. She made her way back into the sitting room, retrieved the gun and checked it was loaded. Luckily Brody, her elder brother, had taught all his siblings to shoot and follow all the necessary safety procedures as soon as they were old enough to understand all the ramifications and dangers a gun could bring. Even so she wasn’t sure if, when push came to shove, she could shoot to kill. However, if Fraser was threatened it might well be a different thing. Whatever Fraser said she intended to watch his back.

She put the kitten in his basket in front of the fire and found a shawl that had been placed over the back of a chair. It gave as much protection as her riding jacket, perhaps more. Morven headed for the scullery, found and lit a lantern and dragged an old wooden stool near to the door. She’d give him ten minutes and then go and look for him. What if he’d been overpowered? Left wounded in the rain? Dumped in a ditch in the downpour and presumed dead?

It didn’t matter that she knew Fraser was more than capable of looking after himself. She had the gun. What did he have other than his fists and guile? Morven counted the minutes with mounting anxiety, tied the shawl over her head and wiped her clammy hands on her skirts. She stood up ready to draw back the bolt when a loud hammering on the door made her jump and press one hand to her jittery heart.

‘Morven it’s me, and only me. Let me in.’

Oh gracious, she hadn’t even thought about it possibly being Fraser accompanied by heaven knew whom. Morven put the pistol onto a convenient shelf behind the door, not easily seen, but easy for her to get to, and fumbled with the bolt. Typically it was old and rusty, but eventually it drew back with a scrape and a screech that set her teeth on edge. Why had he chosen this door to come in by?

‘It is open.’ She stepped back, retrieved the pistol and pointed it at the doorway. Just in case, she told herself firmly, she had been duped. She hadn’t and she sighed with relief as Fraser came inside, water dripping off him like he’d stood under the pump.

‘Nothing,’ he said disgustedly in reply to her unspoken question. ‘A few hoof prints in the mud, but it’s disgusting out there.’ He noticed what she was holding and put his hands in the air. ‘Don’t shoot, I come in peace.’

‘Don’t be an idiot. It was in case you were not you.’

‘Oh it’s me and only me. I had no chance to see where I was let alone in which direction they went. I suspect, however, we now know how we were to be forced to stay overnight. No horses and the sun, if there was any, would not stay out long enough for us to get home. Anywhere else we could walk comfortably, but from here? The quickest way can only be attempted in clear daylight and the way we came too long. We have, I believe, been conned. The rain must have been seen as a godsend.’

Morven shrugged. ‘Surely they would have needed to take them earlier? And we would have walked?’ The timing puzzled her. If they had intended to leave for home, they would have done so an hour or so ago.

Fraser shook his head. ‘It’s too far. Up and over the hill and then up the pass. I agree I would have expected the cattle to go before now, but I assume the weather changed things. I don’t imagine whoever it was thought they would be seen. After all it was chance you were in the kitchen then. They would have assumed we would eat earlier, and then no one would be on this side of the house.’

Morven sniffed. ‘Argh, eating. Food. The stew, oh my, the pies.’ She dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a cloth to move the saucepan to the side of the range away from the flames, and to take the pies from out of the oven. ‘Phew, caught just in time.’ She swallowed. Hollow-mouthed and with a throat that felt like it had not tasted water for a month as she glanced at Fraser. He had draped his wet shirt over the wooden rods hung from the ceiling for that purpose.
Oh my.
His torso glistened with raindrops and his hair shone like burnished copper.

Damned if she didn’t want to go to him and lick him dry.

My goodness.
The indecent thought should have shocked her. It didn’t; it made her knees go weak and her body throb with passion.

‘Hold on.’ She rummaged in a drawer and found some more of the coarse linens he’d used for Lucky’s bed. ‘Not very soft but they will help.’

‘Th…thank yo…ou.’ Fraser stuttered, took hold of the pile and promptly dropped it. ‘Oh Hades.’

Morven studied him closely and swore. ‘Hell, love, you are blue with cold and shivering.’ She picked up one sheet, wrapped it around his shoulders and with another began to towel his hair briskly. ‘I can almost see icicles forming.’

He nodded, sneezed, and used the towel around his neck to pat down his torso. ‘As you said earlier, no one has thought to remind the weather it is summer. That sleet is not only bloody hard, it is hellish cold as well.’

Morven leant on his back and took the towel from him. ‘Let me warm you up.’

He stiffened. ‘I can think of a better way than rubbing me with an old piece of coarse material.’ He turned around and faced her. ‘Want to know what it is?’

Morven dropped the towel. ‘Oh yes.’

Fraser grinned. ‘I’m so glad,’ he said huskily and swung her into his arms. ‘Because I’m going to show you.’ He headed for the door with long-legged ease.

Even in her aroused state of sexual tingling awareness and very little awareness of her surroundings, Morven had the nous to check the food wouldn’t burn. Satisfied she snuggled into his arms and nuzzled his neck. ‘Oh how?’

‘It’s a surprise.’ He moved one hand to stroke the curve of her hip.

‘Ohh good,’ she said softly. ‘I do like surprises.’

‘You’ll love this one I hope.’

She sniggered and walked her fingers down his torso to stretch her fingers around the thick outline of his staff. He batted her hand away and shifted her higher in his arms.

‘If you do that I’ll drop you and we’ll both be disappointed. Let me get to where we are going. Then you can grapple with me.’

She groaned deep in her throat and was rewarded by the way his eyes darkened with desire. ‘I think I will hold you to that. Grapple. I like the sound of it.’

‘Good, not long now.’ He climbed the stairs to the one furnished bedchamber, kicked open the door and shouldered it closed behind them.

Morven gasped. She hadn’t realised he’d lit this fire as well, and the room was warm and inviting. The firelight filtered soft and exciting shadows over the walls. The bed appeared large, soft and inviting and the pillows plump and waiting to be used.

‘Fraser, if you believe nothing else, believe this. You can surprise me in this manner any time you want.’

He set her down on her feet next to the bed. ‘This is our real wedding night, love. Will you let me make it special for us both?’

Morven nodded, suddenly shy. Why she had no idea. They had lain together and loved together before. Somehow though this seemed different. Now they were married, not just over the brush, but with a piece of paper to say they had pledged their allegiance to each other. Man and wife, lord and lady. It was enough until they shared vows in the chapel at Welland and satisfied the English authorities. Fraser had assured her, no one, but no one would separate them again. It was their time. She believed him.

‘I would like that more than anything.’ She held her hand up to the light so the jewels sparkled and glittered and put it next to his cheek. ‘This I know is not usual, but to see we are both part of the whole is something that more than warms me.’ She stroked his skin and watched as he swallowed and his throat rippled. ‘It more than pleases me to be able to show the world I am yours, and you are mine. But now—’ she swept him a deep curtsey ‘—my lord, will you show me how we are one?’

‘Heart to heat?’ He bowed. ‘My honour and my pleasure.’ Slowly, reverently, he began to undo every tiny lace, ribbon and button on her blouse.

Morven sagged against him. Every tiny touch seared her, imprinted itself on her skin and her heart. His breath on her skin added to the friction as he drew the silky material down her arms, pinned them to her sides and nuzzled each nipple, nipped and sucked until they were proud and hard, whilst she writhed beneath him and moaned in a helpless arousing. ‘I want more.’ Morven couldn’t see clearly, as she smiled like a houri, enticing him, urging him on. ‘I need to touch you.’

He groaned steadily. ‘Not yet. This will be a long slow wooing. Not until we are both at the edge, shivering and quivering, mad for each other, aching with that need to give everything, take everything and shatter together.’

‘What?’ When her body was alight, her mound throbbed and her channel wet? ‘Noo, I
need
you in me. I
need
to hold you.’ Morven’s breath hitched on a sob. Damn him she was on fire, high on desire and longing and all he could say was wait? ‘Now,’ she added for good measure. ‘Lord please now.’

‘Not yet.’ He paid attention to her neck, stroking it from nape to chin, and followed the caress by tiny butterfly kisses. How could she bear it?

‘Please not too long.’ She’d be a wreck within minutes she was sure. ‘Soon.’

‘Not soon. Very long,’ Fraser said. ‘A promise. Another vow. An assault on our senses.’ He took a step back and swept her skirts to her waist, and kilted them there. ‘Oh my, red silk garters and gossamer-thin stockings. More than a man can hope for.’