And the Bride Wore Plaid (31 page)

Devon’s head ached from the rock, and his heart ached from the last few wretched days. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Malcolm’s voice, suggesting that the best way to win over Kat was to win over her lads.

It was an unspoken right of passage for a man who wanted to judge another man’s mettle, to invite him to partake, and then see who could withstand the torture with the least effect. And Devon recognized the aged ploy now.

But this contest of manly wills had a purpose—to win the trust of Kat’s lads. If all he had to do was drink with a roomful of rowdies to win some time with Kat, he’d do it every night for a year.

“Very well,” he called down. “I’ll come. Wait for me there.”

Simon’s grin was evident even from upstairs. “Do that, Sassenach, but dinna keep me waitin‘ long. I’ve a powerful thirst as ’tis.”

“I won’t.” Devon started to close the window, but his gaze fell on the rock that had rolled to the edge of the bed. With a faint smile, he picked it up and then, after taking a second to judge the distance, he tossed it back out the window.

A faint grunt of pain and then a loud curse filled the air.

Grinning a little, Devon pulled on his boots and coat and headed out the door.

I don’t know how my son came to do such a thing, pinching a kitchen maid. I know he has never seen me do such a thing. I’ve never taken up with anything under a chambermaid in my life.

Duke of Draventon to his best friend, Lord Rutherford, while walking with that gentleman into the gallery at the House of Lords

“Bloody hell,” Devon said woozily. “I’ve died.”

“Not yet,” came a sharp feminine voice.

“Kat?” He started to lift his head, then groaned and dropped it back on the mound of pillows holding it. The movement made his stomach clench.

“Lie still,” she ordered.

As if he could do else. “My head ... did someone hit me?”

“The only thing that hit you was the brandy in the bottom of a bottle.”

She sounded angry. He opened his eyes again, but had to close them right away. “The room is spinning.”

“Put your foot on the floor.”

“What?”

Two capable hands picked up his foot and plopped it on the floor. After a moment things settled a bit and he was able to say, “That worked.”

“So will this,” she said. “Sit up and drink it.”

It took every ounce of effort that he possessed, but he lifted himself on his elbow and realized he was on a settee in a small room, most likely at Kat’s cottage. His head felt swollen to twice its normal size, and his body ached everywhere that didn’t feel ill.

Kat’s face swam before his eyes, and for a second he forgot his woes and said the first words that came to mind. “I love you.”

She had just picked up a glass holding some murky-colored stuff, but she paused, her clear eyes meeting his not-so-clear ones. “What did you say?”

What had he said? He blinked, trying to remember. Then his brow cleared. “I said I love you.” Damn, but his memory was good, even when drunk.

“I see. Here.” She placed the glass in his hand.

He was suddenly thirsty, so he took what she offered and brought it to his mouth. But before the rim could touch his parched lips, the scent assailed his nostrils, and he smiled. “This smells like a lemon tart.”

“It’s a tonic and it tastes horrid, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Horrid?”

“Horrid.”

He put the glass down, though it took him some time to make it land on the floating table. “Don’t want horrid tonics. Not today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow when I’m more the thing and horrid tonics won’t make me want to vo—”

The glass was rudely thrust back into his hand. “Now.” Irritation colored Kat’s voice. “I haven’t all day, Sassenach. Drink your tonic or get on your horse and go back to Kilkairn now.”

The thought of riding a horse made his stomach queasy again. He waved a hand. “No horses.”

“Then drink the tonic.”

Devon held out his hand, and the glass was once again placed in his grip. He peered up at her through his lashes. “You sound angry.”

“Imagine that,” she said, waiting for him to finish the horrid beverage. Finally, after much hacking and wheezing, he managed to choke down most of it.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Bloody hell, what’s in that? Horse urine?”

She took the nearly empty glass. “No, but only because I didn’t have the time to collect any.”

He blinked, and she could see that her wit was wasted. Sighing, she pulled the covers back to his chin. “Go to sleep.”

“Oh I will,” he assured her in a thick voice, the tonic beginning to do its magic. “I will go to sleep for you, though I’d rather sleep
with
you.” His eyes cracked open, and he offered a devilish smile. “Can I convince you to join me on the settee?”

“There’s not enough room,” she said, her heart suddenly pounding.

“There’s plenty of room if you lay atop me.” He moved so that he was flat on his back. “See? You’d fit just fine.”

“I have work to do today. Now no more talking.”

“Very well,” he mumbled. “I will sleep and sleep and sleep ... and ... sleep ... an—” His head lolled to one side, his long lashes cresting his cheeks.

Kat sat back on her heels, her knees unable to support her. She could scarcely believe it; Devon had said he loved her. Of course he was drunk, but still... had he meant it? And even if he did, would it last more than his usual month or two, if that?

Whatever he felt, her love for him would continue forever. A wave of loneliness struck her, and she had to wipe away a tear.

Simon stuck his head in the window. “How’s our Sassenach?” Behind him she could just make out Donald’s and Neal’s concerned faces.

“He’s drunk.”

An awed expression came over Simon’s face. “Do ye know that it took over seven pints to get him like that? Even Hamish cannot drink so much.”

“What’s more,” Donald added, “he’s not even a Scotsman.”

Neal pulled Donald away from the window, so he could have a better view. “ ‘Tis a record at the pub. We carved his name over the door.”

Kat wondered if any man truly grew up. “Thank you for that wonderful information. If he casts up his accounts, I’ll let you think about that while you’re cleaning it up.” Kat gathered the glass and stood.

“Come back in about three hours and you can return him to Kilkairn.”

“Aye, Miss Kat,” Simon said. “I’ll take him meself.”

“I’ll help,” Neal offered eagerly. In the background, Donald nodded.

That was the worst part, Kat decided. Whatever had happened last night, her lads were completely won over. Devon St. John had done more than drink his fill at the inn, he had also cajoled her men into believing him a man of epic proportions, or, as Simon had put it when he’d tenderly carried the Sassenach into the cottage that morning, “ ‘Tis a good one, is St. John. The lads an’ I have promised to teach him the glasswork oncet he’s feelin‘ better.”

With that, Kat realized she’d lost her only allies in her attempt to keep her heart in check. Thank God Annie was still on her side, else she would have been quite alone.

The thought cast her down, and it was with a heavy heart that she finally left Devon sleeping on the settee and made her way to the workshop.

Devon waved goodbye to Simon and Neal and ... well, whoever the other one was, then wandered into the castle, his head still swollen, though thanks to Kat’s tonic, the world had ceased to tilt.

Malcolm had been wrong that winning the lads was the way to Kat’s heart. Devon had won the lads, but somehow that effort had only seemed to infuriate their mistress until she would barely speak to him.

Or was she upset about something else? He tried to think what it might be, but could not hit upon anything. Perhaps he’d said something, but his memory was somewhat fuzzy.

Sighing, Devon picked his way through the sumptuous preparations for the ball and then found his bedchamber, glad he didn’t run into anyone who might require him to speak in a complete sentence. Once Devon reached his room, he fell into his bed, hoping to fall back asleep. He was too tired to think. Somehow, he’d find a way to solve all his problems, but not now.

As soon as he closed his eyes, it seemed that Tilton was there, shaking him.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Devon mumbled.

“Excellent, sir. Perhaps you could prove that by opening your eyes.”

Devon rolled onto his back. “What time is it?”

“After seven, sir. I ordered a bath so you could prepare for the ball.”

Devon lifted his head to see a tub sitting in one corner of the room, already filled. “It can’t be that late.”

“Oh, but it is. Shall I open the curtains and prove it? The sunset is quite brilliant this evening.”

“No! Do not open the curtains. My brain would shatter if I had to see a drop of sunlight.” Devon collected himself and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He waited for nausea or dizziness, but none came. Kat’s tonic had indeed helped; he felt much better. He managed to bathe and dress without too much fuss and allowed Tilton to assist him into his formal attire.

“Any word on the talisman ring?”

Tilton shook his head. “I don’t understand it, sir. You offered a substantial reward. I fully expected someone to come forth with some sort of information, but no one seems to know a thing.”

“Well, keep looking.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Tilton.” Sighing, Devon prepared to join his hosts, though all he really wanted to do was find Kat and make things right.

Soon, he told himself. Very soon.

The Strathmore ball was an unusual event. Not only was it being held out of town in the midst of the season, but it was also being held at His Lordship’s ancestral home. It was the first truly formal entertainment at Kilkairn in over one hundred and fifty years.

Added to that, the ball was given in honor of Mr. Devon St. John, and all of Edinburgh society was anxious to meet such a wealthy, eligible bachelor.

Fiona had planned everything carefully. She’d rented large pots of flowers in varying hues of violet and blue, so many that the room looked like a garden. Long silver swaths of material floated down the ancient walls, reminding one of waterfalls and reflecting the light of a thousand candles. She’d had the servants make bowers over each doorway and had threaded even more flowers there.

She’d also ordered ices, a large quantity of punch, and no fewer than three hundred iced cakes which were to be distributed at the first ring of midnight, each baked with a favor hidden inside. Most of the favors were worthless—small pairs of dice, a trumpery bit of jewelry, or some such nonsense—but three cakes had real jewels in them. The guests were already excitedly buzzing about the coming treat, many hovering over the table, wondering which cakes held the prizes.

The ball was bound to be a smashing success.

Devon caused quite a stir when he finally appeared. Fiona had been thorough in inviting all of society, and the great hall sparkled with beautiful people. Appearing somewhat harried, she introduced him to the guests. Devon instantly felt like a prize poodle on display, especially when he saw the avaricious gazes of the many unmarried women who had attended.

What was worse was that if Fiona had latched on to his left arm, Murien had positively stuck herself on to his right. He was most uncomfortable, especially when he read the possessive note in Murien’s voice.

Devon decided to let them have their way—for now, at least. He was far too busy looking for Kat to worry about Murien, anyway.

Kat, meanwhile, was still at the cottage. The dress Annie had made was beautiful; straw colored silk over sky blue ... the colors made Kat’s hair gleam. She’d been astonished when she’d first caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror for Annie had altered the current style just enough to compliment her full figure.

She stood before the mirror in the sitting room now, trying hard not to glance at the clock over and over. She’d thought to go at ten, but Simon had not yet brought the cart. “Where is Simon? I’m going to be late.”

“ ‘Tis fashionable to be late,” Annie said calmly as she pinned a blue silk flower in Kat’s hair. “He’ll be here soon. Just ye wait.”

“If he’s much longer, I shall saddle Trusty and ride over there myself.”

Annie snorted. “Ye wouldn’t dare! Not after I spent so much time a-stitchin‘ that gown.”

Kat sighed. She really shouldn’t go. People would talk; they always did and Kat hated it. But this was her last chance to see Devon. Perhaps ever.

Her heart pained her at the thought and she realized that she’d been right not to spend any more time with him other than these few moments in public. She was no longer in command of her own heart; she hadn’t been since she’d realized she loved him.

A knock sounded on the cottage door and Annie bustled to open it. Simon stood on the stoop.

Kat blinked. He was dressed in his Sunday best suit of broadcloth, his hair meticulously slicked back from his forehead, his skin scrubbed fresh and clean.

“St. George’s dragon,” she said softly, blinking.

He reddened. “Aye, I look a fool. But Annie said ‘twould be nice if’n ye had a way to the ball other than the old cart, so the lads and I got ye a surprise.” He stepped back and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Kat peered past him into the dark. Neal and Hamish stood awkwardly beside an old carriage. The two lads were dressed in their Sunday best to match Simon’s. Kat raised her brows, first at her lads, then at the carriage. “Isn’t that Dr. Lambert’s?”

“Aye,” Simon answered. “The doctor loaned it on the condition that the lads and I help raise his new barn next week.”

Annie nodded her satisfaction. “Off with ye now, Miss Kat. Now ye’ve a carriage like a proper lady should.”

Kat shook her head, her heart filled to overflowing. “Simon ... Annie ... I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say a word,” Simon pleaded. “This collar is about to choke me. Just climb in and let’s be on our way fer we’re already late.”

Thus it was when Kat made her appearance at the Strathmore ball, it was to find Fiona already looking wan and pale, Malcolm nowhere in sight, and Devon surrounded by society beauties, with Murien purring along beside him, looking like the cat who ate the cream.