And the Bride Wore Plaid (13 page)

She pulled her hand back, her face shuttering once again. “Work is good for the soul, Mr. St. John. Perhaps one day you’ll try it and see.”

“I may not have cut firewood for a living, but I’ve done my fair share of work.”

“Indeed?”

“I’m solely responsible for various aspects of the St. John holdings. More than any of my brothers other than Marcus, I have safeguarded the family fortune and helped it grow.”

“That’s not work.”

He thought of the countless meetings he’d sat through, some lasting days, of the hard-won negotiations, of the endless hours he’d spent traveling to their holdings. “Tell me, Miss Certainty, have you tried it?”

She pursed her lips. “No. I suppose I shouldn’t speak, then.”

“No,” he agreed. “Any more than I should make assumptions about your glasswork.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Perhaps one day you can show me the glass shop. I wish to see how it all works.”

She shot him an uncertain look. “No one has ever asked me that.”

“Well, I’m curious. Especially after your brother showed me some of your efforts.”

“I could spit on a glass and tell Malcolm it was a lantern shield and he’d think it was the best thing he’d ever seen.”

Devon smiled. “That’s what brothers are for.”

She nodded, her lips curving into a returning smile. For a moment, a simple sort of harmony seemed to build between them. Perhaps it was the cool breeze that kept tugging her dress and fanning the fringes of her hair. Or perhaps it was gradual realization that they were not quite as different as they thought. Whatever it was, Devon found himself lingering, wanting to stay a little longer. And a little longer yet.

Kat scuffed her toe on the ground. “How many brothers do you have, St. John?”

“Four. And a sister.”

Her eyes widened. “That many?”

“My father said we were his army, and indeed our house was often like an army camp.”

She looked at him wistfully, but didn’t say anything.

“You and Malcolm seem unusually close.”

“He’s been a good brother to me.”

“And I’m sure you’ve been a good sister.”

“I try,” she said softly, “though he does so much—” She bit her lip.

“I daresay you do more than you realize.”

A horse could be heard coming down the path. Devon recognized Malcolm the same instant Kat did.

“Blast it,” Devon said with a sigh. “Your brother has an uncanny way of showing up when he’s least wanted.”

“It’s a trait he’s had his whole life,” she replied in a grim voice.

Devon pulled Thunder closer. “I shall see you tomorrow then?”

“At ten,” she agreed.

“Excellent.” He took her hand and placed one last kiss on the back of it.

Kat had to fight a shiver as his lips brushed her skin. Her entire body seemed to tighten whenever he was about, and when he touched her, she had to clench her teeth against a tremor that traced her spine.

“Till tomorrow, Miss Macdonald.” With that, he left her and remounted Thunder.

Kat watched him go, a dashing figure on the black horse. A horse that tomorrow she would be riding. And oh, what a horse. She eyed it greedily, almost giving a little hop of excitement. Only the knowledge that Simon was most likely standing in the window, watching, made her hold it back. She wasn’t really excited about seeing Devon St. John, she told herself; all she wanted to do was ride that beautiful horse.

Still, she could not deny that it would be pleasant to have someone with whom to while away a little time now that the earl’s windows were done. There were more orders to fill; there always were. But none so urgent.

Malcolm had pulled up to speak to St. John, and she stood there a moment, watching them and feeling strangely bereft.

All she had for company were the lads and Annie and Malcolm, whenever Fiona could spare him from the castle. While they were all good people, Kat sometimes wished for more. Something was vaguely disquieting about the way things had settled in her daily existence. Kat thought that perhaps a conversation or two with Mr. Devon St. John might help her discover what that was.

Of course, she’d make good and certain those conversations were held in broad daylight. She’d also make certain St. John’s hands stayed closer to his person than to hers. Not that she was worried; she had experience in such matters, and St. John already had one bruise to prove it.

Malcolm and St. John said their good-byes, and Malcolm turned his horse toward Kat. He hopped down from the large bay and gave her a broad smile.

“What’s that all about?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“What?” he said, blinking innocently, though his grin dimmed not one whit.

“That smile. I don’t trust it. You never smile like that.”

Malcolm did a little jig, pumping his arms in a ridiculous way. “There,” he said, coming to a stop, panting hard, though the smile still lit his eyes. “I never dance, either, but I am today.”

She had to laugh; she felt a little giddy herself. For a mad moment, she wondered if this was all from St. John’s presence. But then she realized how silly that was. “So, Malcolm, what has you in such a good mood? Did you and Fiona solve your differences?” Kat immediately wished she hadn’t mentioned Fiona, as some of the light left Malcolm’s face.

“Not yet.” A set look touched his mouth. “But hopefully soon.”

“I hope so, too.” And she did. She knew how much he cared for his wife. Though Fiona didn’t seem capable of seeing it, it was painfully obvious to everyone else.

“Did you get the windows off to the earl?”

“Aye. You just missed them.”

“Excellent.” Malcolm rubbed his hands together. “I have a favor to ask you, Kat. A big one.”

“What?”

“I need you to entertain St. John a wee bit—” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to deny him. “Only during the days. No more.”

“Why?”

“Because Murien arrived at the castle earlier this week.”

Kat pressed her lips together. “Murien has her sights on St. John.”

Malcolm nodded. “And you know what she is. She won’t stop until she has him.”

“Surely he can avoid her if he wishes—”

“He might, but then there is that blasted talisman ring.” Malcolm shook his head solemnly.

Kat caught him looking at her from beneath his lashes. “What talisman ring?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“No.”

“Och now, why hasn’t he done so? I suppose he’s a mite embarrassed.” Malcolm sighed heavily. “Poor Devon. His family is cursed with a ring that seems to cause marriage.”

“Marriage?”

“That’s what happened to three of his brothers. And they each had the ring in their possession when it happened, too. Devon fled London, hoping to escape the ring, but he found it in his carriage after he’d left, and so here he is, stuck with the blasted thing.”

“Malcolm ... surely you don’t believe in this ring?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“I don’t.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “Not at all?”

“Not even a little.”

“Good!” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object. “Since you don’t believe in it, you won’t mind trying it on.”

Kat blinked down at the small circle that lay in the palm of his hand. Silver with tiny runes etched in the surface, it appeared innocuous. “Does St. John know you have that?”

Malcolm looked slightly shame-faced. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? Och, Malcolm! He’s your guest.”

“Whist, Kat! I am going to put it back. I was just curious.” He held the circlet up to the light. “You must admit ‘tis pretty.”

It
was
pretty, glistening in the sun. As Kat looked at the ring, the urge to touch it began to simmer through her.

She shook her head. “I want nothing to do with it.”

“Damn, Kat! Must you be so stubborn?”

“Yes,” she answered implacably.

A sigh burst from his lips. “You are the most irritating woman I know, with the exception of Fiona.”

“Thank you. I’ll treasure those words.”

“I only borrowed the ring; I did not steal it, so you can stop glaring at me.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I was curious to see it. Don’t you fash, I’ll have it returned to his room before he knows what’s toward. Meanwhile, hold out your hand and let’s see if the ring fits.”

“Fits?” Her brow lowered. What was he doing? “Why would you want to see if it fits?”

“Because I’m curious, is why.” Malcolm reached out and grabbed her hand. Before Kat could say another word, he’d slipped the ring over her finger.

For an instant, she felt nothing. Not even the tang of cold metal against her skin. “It’s noth—” She caught her breath. A slow, almost insistent heat was beginning to radiate from her finger.

“What is it?” Malcolm asked, leaning forward, his gaze fastened on her face. “What do you feel?”

“I feel...” Bloody hell, what
did
she feel? Her entire hand was warm, her arm tingled, and now her breasts were beginning to shimmer with heat.

Malcolm blinked. “Kat, love. Are you well? Your face—” He gripped her arms. “Kat?”

She gasped. Heat arced from her breasts to her stomach and then lower. Somehow, she saw St. John. Saw his face above hers... felt his hands on her body ... felt his hips against hers ... She clenched her teeth against the onslaught of emotion and feeling. It was as if every thought she’d ever had, every feeling, was suddenly thrown into her heart at once. It was almost too much to bear.

Her entire body trembled and ached, and it took every ounce of her strength to grasp the ring and yank it from her finger. The second it broke free, she sagged, her breath wrung from her lips.

“My God, Kat!” Malcolm’s arm was the only thing that kept her from falling down. He took the ring from her lax fingers. “Are you well? What happened? Is it your heart? Good God, Kat, talk to me!”

“I—I’m fine,” she said, her voice trembling. “I just didn’t have any breakfast and I—” She couldn’t finish the falsehood. She took a shuddering breath and pushed his arm free of her shoulders, moving back, away from him, away from the ring. “I’m fine now. Really I am.”

His face was pale. “Are you certain? Perhaps you should go into the cottage and lie down a bit.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I just got a wee bit dizzy was all.” Her entire body ached, her heart still raced.

Malcolm looked at the ring a long moment, a queer expression on his face. Then he slid it into his pocket as carefully as if it had been made of crystal. “I will return it.”

“Yes.” She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to still the turmoil in her mind. What had just happened? She’d never felt such a reaction, such heat, and certainly never from a mere ring. It almost felt as if... Her cheeks colored. No. Surely not.

Malcolm untied his mount from the railing and led it forward. “I’m sorry, Kat. If I’d realized ...” He paused, a dawning look spreading across his face. “Kat! If the ring gave you such a strong reaction, then you must be—”

“The wrong woman for Mr. St. John,” she said, far more steadily than she felt.

Malcolm shook his head. “No, no! If the ring—”

“Malcolm, think a moment. If the ring finds St. John’s future wife, then it would have to be someone other than me. I am not going to marry. I’ve told you that time and again.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. I have no need for a husband. I like my freedom and my solitude. Besides, what man would let me have my lads and the glasswork? I can no more leave that behind than you can stop caring about Fiona.”

He grimaced. “Don’t—”

“ ‘Tis true and you know it.”

Malcolm sighed. “I had hoped that you and St. John—”

“Well, we’re not. Besides, he’s no more a marrying man than I’m a wedding woman.” She smiled at her thin joke.

Malcolm pulled the ring from his pocket and looked at it. “I suppose you are right. It didn’t seem to have a
good
effect on you, anyway. Are ... are you certain you’re well?” Concern tightened his expression. “You looked as if you were in pain.”

It hadn’t been pain, but pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure. Kat managed a smile she was far from feeling. “I’m fine.”

He eyed her a moment more, then tucked the ring back into his waistcoat pocket. “I hate to ask this, because you’re still a little pale ...”

“What?”

“Remember to keep St. John about this week. For his sake, if not mine.”

A feeling not unlike panic nipped at her. “St. John is not in need of a nursemaid.”

“You don’t know Murien well enough, then. She’s unscrupulous, that one, and I don’t trust her.”

“St. John can take care of himself.”

“How can you say that? He’s used to the frail misses of London. Murien would devour him with her tea and crumpets, and he’d never know what had happened.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Kat, I would not put it past Murien to try and trick St. John into her net. I think she’d even claim ruin, if she had to.”

Kat paused. The rules regarding a woman’s reputation were murky and gray at best, which made them all the easier to break. In truth, since St. John’s family was so high and mighty, all Murien would have to do was trick Devon into being alone with her and arranging for someone to “discover” them. All told, in a castle the size of Kilkairn, it was an easy enough feat. Especially if Fiona was to assist Murien.

Kat sighed. “If she cried foul, even if he’d done nothing, it’s possible he’d be forced to marry her.”

Malcolm nodded. “And a bloody, sad shame it would be, too, for I cannot imagine two worse matched people in all of the earth.”

Kat had to admit Malcolm had a point. Her gaze dropped to his waistcoat where the ring was now safely tucked away.

There was so much she didn’t understand. Why had that ring affected her so? Why did her body warm every time St. John was about?

Kat had never considered herself a particularly sensual woman. But somehow, every moment she spent with St. John seemed to prove her wrong.

She had to find out more, discover what the ring was and what it meant. And she needed to know who Devon St. John really was.

“Very well,” she heard herself say. “He’s coming to ride tomorrow. I will see if he’ll stay for a wee bit of lunch, too.”