And the Bride Wore Plaid (10 page)

The look she turned on him was almost blinding in its luminance. “I know what we need to do to end this argument between us!”

“What?”

“You and I will make a wager. I shall invite Murien here and we shall see whose sister is more to Mr. St. John’s liking.”

Malcolm frowned. Murien here? Under his roof? “I don’t think I could stand it.”

“There is nothing wrong with her!”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

“At least
my
sister knows how to dress.”

“You have me there. Kat has never been one to toss her good sense after fashion.”

“No,” Fiona snapped, “just her virtue.”

Malcolm’s jaw tightened until it ached. “My sister may have made some mistakes in her youth, but you have to admit that she lives circumspectly now.”

“Circumspect? You call living with seven men in the middle of a forest—”

“They are her apprentices. I have explained that time and again.”

“Of course,” Fiona said tightly. “Do we have a wager then? My sister against yours.”

Malcolm considered this. He was so dispirited by their disagreements. Perhaps this would be a way to regain at least a little of his peace. “Done,” Malcolm said. “And the wager?”

“If I win, you will cease pestering me to have a child and we will spend every season for the next five years in Edinburgh.”

“The whole season?” he sputtered. “For
five
years?”

“All of it. And you will spare no expense.”

“That’s a steep wager.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

He ground his teeth. “No, I am not afraid to lose. I know Kat, and there are things about her that you wouldn’t understand. Things that make me certain she’ll win hands down over your whey-faced sister.”

“Oh!” Fiona stood in a faint rustle of silk. “Don’t you dare speak ill of my sister! At least Murien has manners. Kat goes about in clothes covered in wood curls and smelling of burned metal.”

Malcolm jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “
Enough
! My wager, madam wife, is to be allowed back in your bed until you bear the fruits of that endeavor. I shall have my son. One way or another.”

Fiona’s hand tightened about the back of her chair, tears threatening. “I know what happens to marriages once a child is born. My own father—”

“I am not your father. I would never leave you.”

“He didn’t leave, either. Not physically. Once he had his heir, he was just more interested in other things.”

Malcolm raked a hand through his hair. “Fiona, I will not—”

She took a step forward, her gaze almost pleading. “Malcolm, can you promise me that your feelings for me won’t change? Not even when we have a child?”

He opened his mouth to say the word, but then it happened. Could he care for a woman forever? She saw it in his eyes, a flicker of his uncertainty, dark and fearful. Fiona’s heart sank and it took all her pride to keep her head upright. She’d been right to deny him. Right to worry that his feelings for her were not immune to change.

She steeled her heart once again. He was angry with her decision not to have children. But she could stand his anger better than his absence. One day she might agree to have a child, just not now. Not while she was still desperately in love with her own husband.

Malcolm shook his head. “Madam, I await your answer. Do you agree to our wager?”

She hoped her lips didn’t tremble as she resumed her seat and reclaimed her brush. “Yes, I agree. And I hope with all my heart that I win.”

His jaw hardened. “We are settled then. I won’t burden you with my company any longer.” He spun on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.

Fiona scarcely waited for his footsteps to fade before she dropped the brush, jumped up and threw herself across her bed, where she cried until she could cry no more.

A man will vow to his dying day that he hates being chased by a woman. But let him meet one who will not chase him, one who barely knows he is alive, one who acts not only disinterested, but disgusted as well, and he will do everything in his power to fix her interest.

Earl of Stempleton to his neighbor Mr. Poole, while sharing a glass of port after dinner at His Lordship’s London house

After riding Thunder another two hours, over hill and through valley, Devon returned to Kilkairn. His disposition had not improved on the ride. That was twice now he’d been rebuffed by Kat Macdonald, and it was twice too many.

Not that he was giving up. Bloody hell no. If anyone deserved to be brought down a peg, it was that golden-haired waif who thought herself better than the world. Devon now had
two
reasons to visit the glen in the woods. One, to escape the threat of the ring, and two, to teach a certain high-handed miss a much needed lesson.

Devon strode into Kilkairn, his mind on the problem ahead. What could he do? If only—

“Devon!”

He paused to see Malcolm standing in the doorway to a room off the great hall, a brandy glass in his hand. “Malcolm! How was your day? I took a ride—”

“Come and have a drink with me,” Malcolm said, lifting his glass and gesturing. “Finest batch of brandy I’ve ever had. And there’s plenty where this came from.”

A glass of brandy would be welcome, Devon decided. He followed Malcolm into the room, finding a snug library of sorts, lit by a large, warming fire. It bore only a few signs of the slovenly care that infested the rest of the castle.

Malcolm went to a sideboard and splashed a generous amount into a fresh glass, then touched up his own drink. “There you go.”

Devon took the drink and then made his way to the brace of leather chairs that sat by the crackling flames.

Malcolm joined him, stretching his legs before him. He eyed Devon a moment, then said, “Where have you been today?”

Devon thought about prevaricating, but something about Malcolm’s expression made him pause. “I went riding. And I found your sister’s cottage in the woods.”

Malcolm’s eyes brightened. “Did you indeed?”

“Indeed.” Devon shrugged. “She was very busy, and I didn’t get to speak with her much.” It would be different next time; Devon would see to that.

“Busy?”

“Yes,” Devon said in what he hoped was a firm voice. He really didn’t want to continue this topic of conversation. “I rode about the lands some. You have a magnificent property here.”

“It’s nice,” Malcolm said absently. “While you were visiting the cottage, did you get a chance to see some of Kat’s work?”

“The stained glass? No. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it at breakfast this morning.”

“I should have, but I was rather taken aback that she’d allowed you to kiss her.”

“Had I known she was your sister—”

“Pssh. It wouldn’t have made any difference.”

Devon met Malcolm’s gaze. After a moment, Devon grinned. “You are right, of course.”

Malcolm chuckled. “I know I am right. Kat’s a lovely woman but she’s stubborn as they come. Frankly, there’s no way in hell you or anyone else will ever get more than a startled kiss out of her.”

Devon paused in taking a drink. “No?”

“No,” Malcolm said firmly. “She’s a strong-willed lass, is Kat. She’ll have nothing to do with a man who doesn’t appreciate her for what she’s worth. And most men wouldn’t prize her independence. Most men would stupidly want a woman who was more like Fiona... or that sister of hers, Murien Spalding.”

“
I
don’t believe I’ve met Miss Spalding.”

“Count your blessings,” Malcolm said darkly. He glanced at the open door, then leaned closer to say in an undertone, “She’s a bloody witch, make no doubt. Oh, she looks well enough. Like Fiona, she exudes helpless fluttery womanliness. But unlike Fiona, Murien’s heart is made of marble, her soul so chilled, the devil fears to take her to join him lest she freeze the flames of hell.”

Devon chuckled. “Bloody hell, she can’t be as bad as all that.”

“Wait and see. Her grandest wish is to marry and marry well.” Malcolm eyed him for a moment. “You might be safe, for you’ve no title. But then there is that blasted St. John fortune ...”

“That sounds dire indeed.”

“Aye.” Malcolm shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Fiona invites her to come. Best you avoid her like the plague, that’s my advice.”

And good advice it seemed. The thought of the talisman ring still resting in the candle dish on his night table made Devon shift uneasily.

“Meanwhile,” Malcolm continued as if unaware he’d just caused Devon concern, “you might be able to help me with a small problem I have myself.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. ‘Tis about Kat, too. And since you seem to know her—”

“Barely.”

“Enough,” Malcolm continued, undeterred. “I thought you might have some insight to the problem.”

“Which is?”

“It’s become clear to me that Kat will never marry. Or so she says.”

Good for Kat, Devon thought, silently toasting her with his brandy.

“But I can’t help but think I should bring her to the notice of some potential suitors, just to be certain she’s not rushing into a life of being a stained glass master and nothing else.”

“Is she happy?”

“Doing her stained glass? Lord, yes. Do you want to see some of her work?”

Devon nodded before he could catch himself. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of work Kat did as it might give him another connection to her.

Malcolm brightened and jumped up. “She’s magical, she is. Just look.” He set his glass on a small table, then went to the farthest window and pulled back the drapery. There at the top was a round window, hidden by the uppermost foot of curtain.

Devon rose and went to stand beside Malcolm. It was exquisite. Even with his lack of knowledge, he knew it was quality work.

The glass formed a picture of a large stag on a bluff, antlers pointed toward the sun as he stood proudly surveying the rolling grasses and forest below him. There was something about the combination of colors, the line of the bluff, and the stag’s proud head that drew the eye and kept it. “It’s beautiful.”

“She’s a master of the craft. There are twenty-six such windows at Kilkairn; old arrow awls used to fire on attackers in the early years of the castle.”

“Ah, the charm of an older residence.”

“Indeed. They used to have wood shutters over them and let in far too much cold before Kat began replacing them. I’ll have to show them all to you one day.” Malcolm dropped the curtain, and he and Devon returned to their chairs.

Devon absently took a drink of brandy. Kat Macdonald was a complex woman, and he was only beginning to realize how much. “Do you think your sister is happy living in the woods?”

“No one is happy alone.”

“She’s not alone.”

Malcolm’s face creased into a sudden smile. “Och, you met her merry lads.”

“Merry? They looked as if they wished to kill me.” The next time Devon went to the cottage, he’d arm himself with a cudgel, just in case.

“Well, they’re merry when you’re not about. I’ve seen them myself and they don’t mind me in the least. ‘Tis to strangers that they’re so forbidding.”

“I suppose they’re better protection than a pack of wild dogs.”

“Aye. That they are.” Malcolm took a drink of his brandy. “You know, if I was to mount a campaign to win over Kat, the first thing I’d do is gain the approval of her lads. Though she rules them with a velvet glove, they are a strong-willed lot and make no bones about telling her what they think.”

Devon looked into his own brandy, the light of the fire reflected in the amber depths. There was something in what Malcolm was saying. Not that Devon wished to “win” Kat over. That sounded far too much like wooing and not enough like seducing.

“And then,” Malcolm continued, as if unaware that anyone else was in the room, “then I’d work on Annie.”

“Annie?”

“Kat’s housekeeper.” Malcolm glanced about the library, a wistful look on his face. “I tried to steal her away, for she’s a stern hand on the household and keeps it neat as a pin, but she’s loyal unto death to Kat.”

“You tried to steal your sister’s housekeeper?”

“I was desperate. I still am.” Malcolm gestured to their brandy glasses. “You see these? I had to wash them myself. There wasn’t a servant to be found anywhere.”

Devon grinned. “I daresay it was good for you.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll be damned if I’ll see to my own laundry.” Malcolm scowled into his drink. “Devon, never marry a dainty-looking woman, for they’re anything but. They’ll ruin your peace of mind, empty your house of its comforts, and then complain they’ve naught to do and wish to return to town.”

“Fortunately for all concerned, I don’t plan on getting married. Ever.”

“We’ll see what the talisman ring has to say about that.”

“I don’t care what it has to say. I’m not getting married and that’s that.”

“Hm. Well, speaking of rings, I don’t think Kat is at all fond of jewelry. If I was to get her a gift, ‘twould be something for her glasswork, or for her house.”

Devon set down his drink. “Malcolm, if you’re thinking I’m about to engage a campaign to win your sister, you’re wrong.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened a ridiculous amount. “By the saints, what gave you that idea?”

“You did. You and your ‘if I wanted to win Kat over’ ideas.”

“Well, you’re far and away from the truth, my laddie. Know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t a chance in hell of garnering her interest. You, my lad, are the exact type of man she is least likely to take up with.”

Devon didn’t know whether he’d been insulted or not. “What does that mean?”

“Only that she’s run up against libertines before and she—”

“I am not a libertine.”

“Rakehell, then. Or do you prefer rogue?” Malcolm asked politely, laughter in his gaze.

Despite his irritation, Devon found himself smiling a little at this. As soon as he relaxed, he realized, reluctantly, that there might be something to what Malcolm said. Devon sighed. “She’s had a bad experience, eh?”

All of the laughter left Malcolm’s face. “The worst. I think it hurt her even more than she let anyone see. Which is why she’s turned her back on all men. Especially those with a silver tongue like yourself.” Malcolm sighed. “There’s only one thing that will remedy that.”