Love Came Just in Time (24 page)

“Oh, Gideon.”

“It's just a placeholder,” he said. “Thorpewold isn't exactly a buzzing metropolis.”

“No, it's beautiful.”

He ducked to catch her gaze. “I can't guarantee I'll be perfect,” he admitted, “but you've seen quite a bit of me at my worst. I'll still have to work, but I'll work less. Much less.” He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face up. “I know you won't marry me for my money or my title, and that will confuse my father greatly, but,” he said, with a smile, “will you marry me for my time? I'll make it worth your while.”

“Somehow, I imagine you will,” she said, returning his smile. “And yes,” she added, “I will marry you.”

And then she learned just how much time he planned on lavishing on her as he took many, many minutes to kiss her breathless.

“If we could get out of this damned chair,” he said, when he came up for air a very long while later, “we could adjourn to another room and see how much more time we could spend at this. I mean, after all, we're engaged now, and there really isn't any reason . . .”

“Why, there'll be none of that!” Hugh gasped. He appeared behind the chair and looked down at Gideon with marked disapproval. “Imagine that! The thought of visitin' me wee one's marriage bed 'afore the ceremony!”

Gideon blinked. “What did you say?”

Megan shook her head. “I didn't say anything.”

Gideon scratched his head, then shrugged. “Well, what do you think—ouch, damn it!”

Hugh had given Gideon what Megan could only term a thorough boxing of the ears.

Gideon looked down at her hands that were captured handily enough in his own, then raised his gaze to hers slowly.

“You didn't do that,” he stated.

“ 'Fraid not.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “I don't suppose you would know who had, would you?”

“I suppose I would.”

Gideon shivered. “All right,” he said, to the middle of the room. “I take the hint.”

Hugh harrumphed and disappeared. Gideon looked at her and laughed uneasily.

“I don't suppose we'll have any privacy on our wedding night either.”

“I think they know where to draw the line.” Or so she hoped.

“Will I pass muster if I limit myself to kissing you? After all, it is Christmas Eve. I think it's tradition.”

“And we wouldn't want to break with tradition,” she said, the moment before she found much more interesting things to do with her lips besides form words.

And between kisses, Gideon briefly described the makings for Christmas dinner he'd found. He polled her opinions on what other holiday traditions she thought they could indulge in to distract themselves until they could arrange a wedding.

“Yule log,” he offered, then kissed her thoroughly.

“Bing Crosby on the stereo,” she managed when he let her breathe again. “Counts as Christmas caroling.”

“Wassail and other trappings,” he said, winding his fingers through her hair.

“It's a Wonderful Life
,” she suggested.

He smiled. “It certainly is.”

Megan started to tell him that he didn't understand what she meant. Then she saw the look in his eye and realized he understood completely.

And it certainly was.

 

 

IT WAS VERY late when the fire had burned down and Megan woke, only to realize she'd fallen asleep in Gideon's arms. He was sound asleep, still fully trapped in the chair's embrace. Megan blinked as she saw Fulbert come up behind the chair. He gave her a scowl that wasn't as scowly as his former expressions, then plopped a red bow on top of Gideon's head. He huffed something under his breath, then turned and went to join Hugh and Ambrose who were standing next to the fireplace. Hugh was beaming. Ambrose looked perfectly satisfied with his work.

“Stocking stuffer,” Ambrose clarified.

“Thank you,” Megan said, with a smile.

“Hmmm?” Gideon said, stirring.

Megan kissed him softly. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Once he had drifted off again, Megan looked at the small collection of gifts on the floor next to the fallen tree, gifts that represented the time Gideon intended to commit to their relationship. The last glowing embers from the fire sparkled against the thin gold band on her hand, a symbol of love found in the most unexpected of places.

Then she looked at Gideon and decided that he was by far the best Christmas gift of all—even if he was too big to fit into her stocking.

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes, content.

AMBROSE MACLEOD, GRANDFATHER several generations removed, escorted his granddaughter down the aisle. Her sire walked on the other side, preoccupied with not tripping over his daughter's flowing medieval gown.

“Good grief, Megan, where did you come up with all this medieval hoopla?” her father muttered.

“Oh, Dad,” Megan said, with a little laugh, “the inn just seems to inspire it.”

Ambrose looked down at her and felt pride stir in his breast. Of all the places he could have been, this was the best. Of all the posterity he could have matchmade for, this lass was the sweetest. She looked up at him and smiled brilliantly. Ambrose returned the smile proudly.

He turned his gaze to the front of the chapel. Gideon stood there already, resplendent in his medieval finery. Fulbert stood to one side, his hand on his sword, Artane pride etched into his very bearing. Fulbert had made his peace completely with Megan over the past month, once he'd realized she actually increased Gideon's capacity for proper labor. The office Gideon had installed in the inn had satisfied them both. Ambrose knew he would miss Megan when she and her love made for London, but Gideon had given his word they wouldn't stay overlong. Of course, Gideon had been looking in the wrong direction when he'd said as much, but Ambrose had accepted the gesture just the same. The lad's vision would clear up soon enough.

Hugh stood next to Megan's sisters Jennifer and Victoria, clutching a beribboned nosegay of conservatory flowers. Megan smiled fondly at him. Hugh pulled a snowy linen cloth from his sleeve and blew his nose into it with a honk.

Gideon jumped half a foot and whipped his head around to stare straight at Hugh.

Then he seemingly caught sight of Fulbert's blade and jerked around to stare at him.

“Uh oh,” Megan said, looking up at Ambrose. “The jig's up.”

Ambrose felt Gideon's eyes on him and he returned the lad's startled look.

“Come on, Dad. Gideon's going to faint if we don't hurry up.”

Ambrose stood back and let her hasten to her blanched groom's side. It was rather touch-and-go until Fulbert barked for the lad to stand up straight. At that, the boy stiffened as if he'd been skewered up the spine.

Ambrose didn't relax truly until the vows had been spoken, the rings exchanged and the kiss given. Then he sat down wearily next to Megan's father and his own kinswoman.

“Where does she come up with these things?” the man asked, shaking his head. “All this medieval hocus pocus. Look at me, Helen, I'm in a kilt!”

“Yes, dear.”

“It's that damn MacLeod blood, Helen.”

“Of course it is, dear. It's a family trait.”

Ambrose smiled at his daughter, many times removed, then blinked in surprise as she looked straight at him and winked.

“Well, I'll be damned,” he whispered.

 

 

IT WAS SEVERAL hours later that Megan and Gideon were sent off on their honeymoon, the guests were all put to bed and Ambrose could finally relax in the kitchen. Even Hugh and Fulbert seemed at peace. They were only hurling mild insults at each other. No blades were bared.

“I say we turn our sights to those two sisters of hers,” Hugh said, clutching his cup. “I'm thinkin' they'll be a far sight easier to see settled.”

Fulbert snorted. “Didn't you mark that Victoria? By the saints, Hugh, she's a bleedin' garrison captain!” He shivered. “I wouldn't cross her if me life depended on it.”

“Ambrose?” Hugh prodded. “What think ye?”

“I'm leaving it up to you two for a bit,” Ambrose said, rising and stretching.

Hugh and Fulbert gaped at him.

“Where're ye off to?” Hugh asked.

Ambrose stared off into the distance thoughtfully. “The Highlands, I believe.”

“But ye can't,” Hugh gasped.

“We've more matches to make,” Fulbert spluttered.

Ambrose smiled fondly at his two compatriots. “They'll keep well enough until I return.”

“But—”

“How can you—”

“Lads, lads,” Ambrose said, shaking his head. “A well-earned rest is nothing to take lightly.”

“A holiday?” Hugh's ears perked up.

Fulbert tossed his mug aside. “I'm for France.” And he vanished.

“The Colonies,” Hugh announced, standing and tilting his cap at a jaunty angle. “I'm feeling quite the risk-taker at the moment.” He made Ambrose a quick bow and disappeared.

“And I'm for the Highlands,” Ambrose said, feeling his pulse quicken at the very thought.

Home.

And, of course, the precise area Megan and Gideon had chosen for their getaway.

After all, a grandfather's work was never done.

Ambrose smiled, set his mug on the table and made his way from the kitchen, turning out the lights behind him.

Scotland
,
1313

 

IAN MACLEOD LAY in the Fergusson's dungeon and, not having much else to do, contemplated life's many mysteries.

How was it that the Fergusson could be so hopelessly inept at growing grain or raising aught but stringy cattle, yet have the knack of producing such a fine, healthy crop of rats? Ian would have been annoyed by this if he'd had the energy—especially given the fact that one of the rats was currently making a nest in his hair while the rodent's fellows sat in a half-circle around Ian, apparently waiting for the nest maker to finish and invite them to have a closer look at his building skills—but Ian didn't have the energy to even shake off the offender, much less muster up a good frothy head of irritation.

Secondly, he gave thought to the location of his sorry self. It wasn't often that a MacLeod found himself in a Fergusson hall, much less in his pit.

It wasn't as though his kinsmen hadn't made attempts to liberate him from their bitterest enemy's dungeon. They had and he had appreciated their efforts, even though they'd been to no avail. He would have liked to have forgotten about the entire affair, and the accompanying indignity of it, but he was, after all, the one sitting amongst the vermin, so thinking on it was almost unavoidable.

And then lastly, and by no means the least of any of the things clamoring for his attention, he thought he just might be dying.

That, however, was the only good thing to come of the past two months.

Ian settled back against the wall—or pretended to, as there wasn't much movement in his once finely fashioned form anymore—and gave thought to the whole business of dying. It was actually the only thought that had cheered him in days. His time in 1313 was obviously over and no one would miss him if he perhaps managed to elude death's sharp sickle and sneak off to the forest near the MacLeod keep. And if by some miracle he reached that forest and happened to find the exact spot that would carry a man hundreds of years into the Future, well, who would begrudge him that? What would one fine, manly addition to the Future hurt? It was either escape to there or toast his backside against the fires of Hell.

Unfortunately, Ian had no illusions about his sins. He'd spent too much time at the ale kegs, wenched more than any man should have without acquiring scores of bastards, killed with too much heat in his blood, and—surely the most grievous of all—wooed Roberta Fergusson to his bed and cheerfully robbed her of her virginity.

It was the last, of course, which had earned him a place in Roberta's father's dungeon.

It wouldn't have mattered so much had Roberta possessed any redeeming qualities besides her virginity. More was the pity for Ian that she sported a visage uglier than a pig's arse and the temper of an angry sow. Her guaranteed virtue had been her only desirable trait and she possessed that no longer.

Ian suspected that her new unmaidenly condition didn't trouble her overmuch. After all, he had taken great care with her and spared no effort to make the night memorable for her. ‘Twas rumored, however, that her father had been less than enthusiastic upon learning of the evening's events. Ian had known there would be retribution. He also knew that'twas almost a certainty that the Fergusson was in league with the Devil, which left him wondering what conversations the two had already had about him.