Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance (14 page)

“Do I have to spank you again?”

A wicked grin crossed her face. “Well, not right this minute, no. But I wouldn’t mind it now and again…”

Amelia couldn’t quite believe what was happening to her, as over the next few weeks, she finally began to let go of her past and dared look toward her future.

Ian took great pleasure in showing her Kilmalochan, taking her around the vast estate with pride. He showed her the untouched hills where sheep grazed, the tenants’ homes, the fields they tended and the harvest that would be gathered soon.

They visited the village that bore the name of the Keep, and were toasted heartily by everyone in the local taproom. Which was most of the village, once word spread that the young Laird had taken a wife and they were about to down an ale or two at the Heather and Bells inn.

It was a different life for Amelia. These were experiences she’d never had. Upon reflection, she realized that as a DeVere, perhaps she
should
have had them. Or ones like them. Would her mother have done this? Shown her how to run a large household?

Were there facets of life that she hadn’t known simply because her mother had left her too soon and there was no one to take her place?

She found she could talk about it to Ian, and he concurred that losing a parent at a young age would be detrimental in so many ways. Then he kissed her and she forgot to pursue the topic.

There were so many things to see, to learn, things that fascinated her about Kilmalochan and about Scotland.

There was even a piper, whose strange-sounding music could be heard now and again. Katherine confessed that while she loved tradition, having the man filling her dining room every night with his somewhat squeaky renditions of Scottish melodies…well it tended to put her off her food.

So the proud gentleman donned his formal Scottish regalia on Sundays and piped the congregation into the local church. Thus satisfying the entire community and relieving Katherine of indigestion.

The Laird himself returned and within moments was slapping Ian on the back and complimenting him on the wisdom of picking a beauty for a wife. Wisdom which doubtless he had gleaned from his Papa who had done the same thing. He then kissed Amelia with affection, and Katherine with passion—which included a tweak to her backside.

Amelia laughed, understanding that this was indeed a merry household filled with wit and warmth. Completely unlike anything she could ever recall experiencing.

So was marriage.

Being wed to the young Laird gave her something intangible that it took time for her to understand. It gave her a reason to hold her head high. No longer did she need to pretend that she was unmoved, implacable and completely in control of her life.

All those things were meaningless, she realized. They were steadily being replaced by a growing interest in her home and her in-laws. She was developing pride in Kilmalochan and the fact that one day hers would be the hand that rang the big bell to begin the harvest.

She learned to appreciate the simple smiles and greetings from the villagers who looked upon her as theirs; part of the family that had arisen around an ancient Keep.

And when Harvest Sunday rolled around, she sat in the small stone church in the McPherson pew, surrounded by people she knew were
real
. There was no pretense, no affected laughter or false friendship. Everything that she’d known for most of her life in London had turned out to be nothing but a thin veneer of artifice, concealing people who had no idea how to be a friend, or care about their families.

It was all about money, status and power. If you had those three, you were
someone
.

Here, in the simple Scottish village of Kilmalochan, she had none of the things that mattered so far south. But she had everything she wanted here, and she had everything that would ever matter in her future.

It was a stunning realization for a woman who had reigned as an Incomparable of the Ton for several years. But oddly enough, that Amelia seemed to have slowly slipped away.  As she listened to the sweet sound of the choir and observed how the sun shone through the ancient stained glass windows, she knew she could never go back to being
that
Amelia.

She had found Ian, and she had found joy. The two went together in her mind, and turning away from either was impossible. She had also found herself.

Ian had given her the ruby the day it was returned. But he’d given her a different gift as well—the gift of self-awareness. She had begun to understand that she was worth something, even though she still had moments of doubt. She was beginning to believe he did indeed love her, and that was an accomplishment in and of itself.

That someone like Ian could actually love her—well, it was a miracle and it had taken some time for her to wake in the morning and know he would be there, not gone in the night like so many others.

“Ye’re not singing, lass.” Ian nudged her and whispered in her ear as they stood for the next hymn.

“I don’t want to scare the children,” she whispered back, loving the way his eyes crinkled at the corners every time he smiled. She also found herself laughing at his erratic Scottish accent that seemed to come and go without any kind of pattern at all.

But she was becoming used to it. Yesterday, she’d even managed a quite respectable “Aye” to a young boy who’d asked if she was the young Laird’s lady. It was a proud moment for both her, and the young Laird who overheard the conversation.

The hymn over, they resumed their seats. “You look pretty, love.” He glanced at her little miniature nestling in the lace at her neck. “A nice piece.”

She touched it. “It was given to me to cheer me up. I like to think it worked, or at least kept me going until you came into my life.”

He reached over and folded her hands in his, remaining silent as the Vicar began the sermon. But he squeezed her fingers, telling her without words that he was moved by her statement.

That was something else she was learning—how many ways there were for a man to express his feelings, his emotions, without words. Her husband was teaching her more every day.

Just the simple touch of his hand like this, or the way he kept his hand at her waist, protectively, when they walked the hills. The quick kiss he was wont to steal when she least expected it, and the outrageously wonderful moments when they loved, deep in the deserted Scottish hills.

Just as she had learned what it was to love and be loved, she had also learned what it was to make love. And it was, without question, the most wonderful thing ever.

Smiling at the memories, she found her gaze drawn to the altar, and for the first time she could remember, she offered up a little prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening. Her life had turned around and she made a silent promise to be worthy of the joy she had been given.

The service ended and with a bright smile, she stood, following the Laird, Lady Katherine and Ian down the aisle out into the bright sunlight. The air was sharp now, a harbinger of winter, and the time was right for the harvest, as was the weather.

She watched as Katherine walked to the end of the church drive and opened a large box that sat on a post. There it was—the harvest bell. Symbol of a tradition that had lasted several generations, Katherine held it carefully and then began to ring it.

Cheers arose as the sound echoed around the crowded churchyard, and a buzz of conversation followed. Amelia caught the words, knowing that hay and barley and pigs and sheep were an integral part of the life of these folk; every bit as important as what the Prince Regent was doing that evening.

More so, in fact. She no longer cared about any of the Court or the courtiers, all the way up to the Prince himself.

When little Jenny Dugan came up to her and held up her hand, Amelia took it, charmed at the innocent smile, the missing tooth and the freckles. “Wanna see ma kitty, m’Lady?”

“I’d love to, Jenny.”

Ian chuckled next to her. “You make sure her Ladyship doesn’t want one of her own, wee one. They’re a big responsibility, you know.”

“They cuddle nice,” lisped the little girl.

“So do you,” Ian whispered in her ear.

“Sshh.” Amelia felt the blush climbing up her cheeks.

They walked on, little Jenny running ahead, presumably to collect her kitty. Although where it might be, Amelia couldn’t even begin to guess.

A distinct rumble sounded in the distance, and several people turned their heads; more as the rumble grew nearer.

Finally, in a bit of a dusty cloud, a large black enclosed carriage drew to a halt, and three uniformed men climbed out.

“We’re looking for Lady Amelia DeVere. Anyone know where she is?”

Silence fell and Amelia’s heart tripped several beats. Ian’s arm surrounded her as she walked over to the men.

“I’m Ian McPherson. Lady Amelia DeVere is now Lady McPherson. My wife.”

The men looked at each other, but then shrugged. “Well sir, we’ve orders from Whitehall to arrest Amelia DeVere and transport her to London for trial.”

Amelia gasped. “On what charge?”

One officer looked at her, a gaze of disdain. “Theft, Madam.”

“You came all this way to arrest my wife on a trumped up charge of theft?” Ian’s voice hardened. “I’m a Bow Street Runner, man. Best be careful where you throw your accusations.”

The man paled, but stood his ground. “I didn’t know that, sir, but it makes no difference. I’ve got the warrant, properly signed by the Magistrate and handed to us by the Chief Constable. She’s to come with us and answer to the charges.”

“What am I supposed to have stolen?” Amelia spread her hands wide. “I have nothing except what my new family have given me.”

The officer pointed. “That, Madam. You’re brazenly wearing that pin. It was reported stolen several weeks ago from the estate of the late Lady Mabel Springer.”

“No, no.” Amelia protested. “This was given to me by an elderly gentleman in London.”

“I’m to believe that?” The officer laughed. “According to the warrant, that is a commissioned miniature of Lady Mabel at her debut. It was executed by Mr. Richard Cosway.” He paused. “It is estimated to be worth
twenty-five thousand pounds
.”

Amelia stumbled, falling against Ian. “It can’t be true. He gave it to me, Ian, I swear. That day you found me crying in the park. He gave it to me…”

“I believe you, love. We’ll clear this up, I promise.” He looked at the officer. “I understand you have to do your duty. But may I accompany my wife? I can assure you that Bow Street will vouch for me.”

The man shook his head. “Order are orders, sir. Mine are to escort the lady in this here carriage back to London. Alone. Our stops are already planned. She’s to eat and tend to her needs, of course, but we have to deliver her as scheduled.”

“Oh God,” she slumped. “
Oh God
.”

Ian gripped her hand. “I can follow though, without causing anyone difficulties?”

“We can’t stop you from doing that, sir.” The officer sounded apologetic. “And I must now do this, Ma’am.” He removed the pin from her jacket and tucked it away in an inner pocket of his uniform.

Ian turned to Amelia. “I’ll be right behind you, love. I’ll not let you go, do you understand me?”

She nodded, her mind whirling, her throat choked. “Yes,” she whispered. “I love you, Ian.”

He kissed her quick and hard. “I love you too.”

“This way, Ma’am.” The officer took her arm and led her to the carriage, helping her inside and then fastening a metal shackle to one wrist. The other end linked to a hook securely attached to the side of the vehicle.

She looked at him. “Is this necessary?”

“Sorry, Ma’am, but yes.” He exited, shutting the door firmly behind him and then sliding a bolt home on the outside.

She let out the sob she’d held back.

Ian yelled for his horse as they moved off—it was a small comfort to hear his voice—and within moments she was on the road south, alone, in a dark locked carriage, chained to the wall.

She was under arrest.

Ian fought back panic and did his best to slip into his official Bow Street mode as he took off after the carriage that held his wife.

This was a trumped-up charge at best; a malicious attempt to ruin Amelia at worst. He believed her about the miniature, since she’d barely mentioned it other than to tell him the same story she had just told the arresting officers.

Someone—an elderly gentleman, she said—had given it to her after seeing her sadness.

He’d very much like to know exactly who that “someone” was.

They held to a steady pace, not as fast as they could have, but then again, the government wasn’t inclined to spend large amounts of money on the finest horses.

So he knew he could stay close to Amelia over the next arduous day or so of their journey. If he was right, they’d stop after several hours, refresh themselves, then travel on until dark or the nearest inn. He’d made the trip himself once on official business, and had a pretty good sense of where such stops would be made.

They were all well-travelled inns, and most were happy to serve as stops for official business. The income was welcome and it was customary to give the lads in uniform a free pint of ale as a thank you for their bravery.

Not that it required bravery to arrest Amelia, although Ian amended that thought. When he’d first met her, she’d have carved up anyone who dared put her in such a situation.

He managed a tiny grin. She’d learned so much in such a short time, and he hoped she felt the better for it. Certainly she smiled more these days and it was a real smile, not the cool twist of the lips which had passed for a smile in London.

Damn it all to hell
. Just when everything was falling into place, this had to happen.

After the first stop, when he got chance to wave to Amelia and give her a thumbs-up sign. It made her smile and that warmed Ian’s heart. She was all right, and would be all right once this mess was sorted out. She had been quickly hustled into the back of the inn—a room reserved for official business.

He hadn’t had chance to speak with her or ask her so many of the questions thundering inside his head.

What did she recall about the elderly man who gave her the pin? Was he well-dressed? Well-spoken? What exactly had he said?

This line of inquiry could be so valuable in tracking down whoever orchestrated this outrageous accusation, and also perhaps offer a motive of some kind.

They finally stopped for the night at a busy posting house, but Ian would’ve slept in the stables if he had to, just to stay close to Amelia. Luckily he didn’t need to make that sacrifice, since there were several small rooms still available.

He tipped a young groom and asked him to be sure and wake him as soon as those uniformed gentlemen rose. He told them he was escorting them, which was almost the truth, impressed the young lad, and ensured that Amelia wouldn’t leave without him.

And then he tried to sleep.

But still the questions circled his tired mind.

He couldn’t avoid the largest one—was this all part of a scheme created by whoever stole Amelia’s ruby?

And if so, why?

He tried to see a connection, some kind of logic that might result in both these actions. But try as he might, no answers flashed through the murk to illuminate his thinking.

None of it made sense.

But it had to make sense, because somebody had done it. Somebody had stolen her ruby, which was more understandable. But then an elderly man had given her a stolen brooch. Did he know it was stolen? Or perhaps he was as innocent as Amelia in this debacle.

Ian had a headache by the time he finally sank into a restless sleep, and when he awoke to the groom’s quiet knock, he felt as tired as he had the night before. But the journey would go on, and so must he.

Fortunately, he had time to pen several notes and put them in the hands of two people he knew at the inn…fellow Bow Street Runners who had just finished up a case.

He begged them to deliver the letters at the earliest possible moment, and they assured him they would. They were travelling solo, and eager to get back to town, so Ian hoped they would arrive a day or so before Amelia.

It might do no good, but at this point he wanted to make sure he explored every possible avenue.

As he mounted his horse for another day’s travel, he was very aware of one inescapable fact.

Someone was trying to harm Amelia. And what harmed her, harmed her husband as well.

That was not to be tolerated.

He squared his shoulders, set his boots firmly in his stirrups and clicked up the horse. The person or persons behind all this were in for a heap of trouble. He’d see to it. Personally.

*~~*~~*

Amelia had ample time to do her own thinking and worrying. Catching glimpses of Ian reassured her that at least she had one person on her side in all this chaos.

The journey was hard, long and lonely, but she resolved to not waste it by crying. Even though she wanted to and the tears were too close to the surface for comfort.

She closed her eyes, ignored the bumpy ride of the poorly sprung carriage, and went back in her mind to that moment when the elderly man had walked up to her—and set this abysmal plan in motion.

“
You remind me of my daughter
.”

He’d said those words before giving her the pin. They came back to her quite clearly.

So he was a man who had lost his daughter.

That set her brain to work, thinking over her acquaintances, the people she’d met regularly as she circulated through Season after Season.

Did she know of any woman, around her age, who had passed away? That was a question that kept her occupied for quite some time.

She recalled a young lady who had just returned from a trip to Europe…what was her name? Miranda. Miranda Slocombe. Yes, Miss Slocombe had passed away, about a year or so ago. But then she remembered that it was apparently from a fever she had contracted while away. So it was unlikely that anyone related to her would feel angry enough to want to punish Amelia. She’d never been to Europe, or had any kind of foreign ailment.

A large bump jolted her out of her contemplation and she realized they were slowing. Happy for a respite, she made a mental note to let Ian know what she had been thinking about, if she could get a word with him.

She prayed, meaningless words that couldn’t express how much she wanted to see her husband.

The carriage lurched, bumped and pulled to a halt. There were voices outside, but she couldn’t see who was talking or where they were. The leather curtains were tightly fastened, blocking out the light. They also blocked the dust, since there was no glass in the doors, so it was a mixed blessing. But even so, she felt grubby and then blinked and squinted as the door opened.

“Come, love.”

It was
Ian
.

He was holding out his and and hers shook as she reached for him. Then the manacle stopped her. “I can’t…this thing…” She rattled it in frustration.

“Let me, Ma’am.” An officer stepped in and unlocked the shackle. “Your husband is very persuasive. You may have an hour with him. Lunch. And one of us will be in the room at all times.”

“Oh
thank
you.” She could have kissed him. “I am very appreciative of your kindness, sir.”

The man blushed as he helped her out and handed her over to her husband. “Just an hour now, mind.”

“Indeed. An hour will be wonderful.” She gave him her biggest and best smile, dazzling him into clumsy awkwardness.

He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat. “Well then.”

Ian walked up. “Thanks Stedman. I mean it. We owe you and we remember our debts.” He shook the man’s hand. “Now dear wife. Let’s get some food in you and share what few moments we have.”

She slipped her arm through his, a restrained movement when what she really wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and kiss him silly.

“Are you all right, lass?”

She shuddered at the words. “Yes. Hearing your voice, having you next to me, your arm in mine…yes. I’m all right.”

“That’s my girl.” He squeezed her forearm tightly with his and led her into the inn. “We’re to dine in the ladies’ snug. It’s been cleared for us I hear.” He nodded to a small door at the back. “Over here.”

They sat at a small table and ate, although Amelia couldn’t for the life of her remember what. The food was unimportant. What mattered was that Ian was there, near her, keeping his promise to stay with her.

Had she worried perhaps that he might not follow? Maybe. Maybe somewhere in the vestiges of the old Amelia was the whispered thought that she wasn’t worth the trouble.

But that last doubt disappeared over a simple lunch in a tiny room at the back of an inn.

“I’ve been turning this over in my mind, love.” Ian took her hand as she pushed her plate aside. “Someone has set a careful plan in motion to cause you trouble.”

“And it’s worked,” she agreed. “I’ve had time to think as well. And I cannot connect the theft of the ruby with this accusation, no matter how much I turn it over in my mind.”

He smiled. “We’re of like minds in this. I canna link those two acts either. If one person is responsible, then he’s got a mind so twisted I could not begin to fathom it.”

“So let’s work on the idea that there are two villains out there. My necklace – well, that was a major troublemaker for me, but I would sooner accept that it was done out of greed, given the price of the damn thing.”

She found herself thinking aloud, Ian’s eyes on her as she put her thoughts into words.

“That means that this warrant, and my arrest, has come from someone else. That elderly gentleman.”

Ian nodded. “Yes. Tell me what you recall, Amelia. Every tiny detail. Even the smallest thing could help.”

She closed her eyes and tried to recreate those moments in the park. She narrated the incident for Ian, answering his questions as best she could. Yes, he was well spoken and well dressed. He wore a quiet jacket, brown, and trousers, as if he was going to his club, perhaps. Smart but not overly fashionable.

His cravat. “He wore a deep blue cravat with some kind of emblem pattern.”

“Can you describe it?” Ian leaned forward.

She focused, feeling the sadness that had overwhelmed her. She had reached for her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes…and that’s when he’d spoken to her.

“Green. Green and gold. Like a shield sort of shape. A crest? It was worked into the fabric. A weave.”

“Good girl.” He reached up, pulled her head close and gave her a quick hard kiss. “God, I can’t do that again. I want you too much.”

Her throat closed on a clog of emotion and she simply leaned against his shoulder for a few moments to collect herself. Then she coughed a little and straightened. “We have our lives ahead of us, Ian. I won’t let this—this
annoyance
interfere with that.”

“Agreed.” He sighed. “So that cravat might lead us to something useful. A club, perhaps. Or some kind of organization.”

“I also tried to think of anyone I knew who had passed away during my Seasons in London. Someone about my age.” She frowned. “But the only one I could remember succumbed to a fever she picked up somewhere in Europe. And I refuse to take the blame for that.”

He chuckled. “I agree on that as well.”

“But as of this moment, I have not been able to recall anyone else. And that annoys me because it’s important. He said his daughter had died.”

“Yes, but the miniature was of Lady Mabel somebody. And it sounded as if she’d lived to old age.”

Frustrated, Amelia clenched her teeth. “I feel so damn helpless.”

“Ma’am? Sir? It’s time.” Stedman came up to them. “We must be on our way.”

Ian sighed. “I know, lad. And we both appreciate your consideration.” He stood and went around behind Amelia’s chair, helping her rise. “Not much longer, love. Once we get to London we’ll sort this out.”

“I hope so.”

She dreaded getting back into that dark and uncomfortable little prison, but the knowledge that Ian would always be just a little way behind helped her rally her nerve.

She kissed him briefly, a butterfly touch of her lips to his cheek. “I love you, husband. Thank you.”

Then she walked away, not daring to turn back and look at his dear face lest she lose the tiny shreds of control that kept her from breaking down in front of everyone.

It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.