Rebellion & In From The Cold (27 page)

She didn’t see the Prince, or the pews filled with the lords and ladies who had come to watch the ceremony. She only saw Brigham.

When her hand touched his, it stopped trembling. Together, they faced the priest and pledged.

The clock struck midnight.

The Prince had decided that a wedding, however hurried, deserved a celebration. Within minutes after becoming Lady Ashburn, Serena found herself being led to the picture gallery of the palace, where Charles had given his first grand ball on the night he had taken the city.

The long, wide room was already filled with music. Serena was kissed and congratulated by strangers, envied by the ladies, studied by the men. Her head was reeling by the time she was handed her first glass of champagne. She sipped and felt the bubbles burst on her tongue.

Exercising his privilege, Charles claimed her for a dance. “You make a lovely bride, Lady Ashburn.”

Lady Ashburn.

“Thank you, Your Highness. How can I thank you for making this possible?”

“Your husband is of great value to me, my lady, as a soldier and as a friend.”

Her husband.

“You have his loyalty, sir, and mine, both as a Langston and as a MacGregor.”

Brigham claimed her when the dance had ended, fending off complaints by others who would have
partnered the new bride.

“You are enjoying yourself, my love?”

“Aye.” Ridiculous to be shy, she thought, but she felt herself color as she smiled at him. He looked different in the wig, with the flash of jewels, she thought. Not at all like a man who would toss her over his shoulder and threaten to dump her in a loch. He looked as glamorous as the Prince himself. And nearly as much a stranger. “It’s a beautiful room.”

“You see the portraits?” he asked, leading her gently by the elbow for a closer look. “There are eighty-nine, Scottish monarchs all. I’m told they were commissioned by Charles II, though he never once entered Holyrood House, in fact never returned to Scotland after the Restoration.”

She knew her history, she thought irritably, but tried to show an interest. “Aye. This is Robert the Bruce, a fierce soldier and well-loved king.”

“I should have known a woman as well-read as you would know her history and her politics.” He leaned close to her ear. “What do you know about military strategy?”

“Military strategy?”

“Ah, so there is something yet I might teach you.” Before she could answer, he pulled her roughly through a doorway. She had only time for a muffled squeal before he swept her into his arms and began to race along a corridor.

“What are you doing? You’ve gone mad again.”

“I’m escaping.” As the music faded behind them, he slowed his pace. “And I went mad from the moment you walked into the abbey. Let them dance and drink. I’m taking my wife to bed.”

He mounted a staircase, not even bothering to nod at a servant who, wide-eyed, bowed himself out of the way. With Serena still in his arms, he kicked the door to his chamber open, then kicked it closed again behind them. Without ceremony, he dropped Serena on the bed.

She tried to look indignant. “Is that a way to treat your new bride, my lord?”

“I haven’t even begun.” Turning he shot the bolt on the door.

“I might have wanted another dance or two,” she said, smoothing her palm over the bed.

“Oh, I intend to dance with you, be sure of it. From now till dawn and after.”

She gave him a cheeky grin. “There’s dancing,
Sassenach
, and there’s dancing.”

“Aye,” he said, mocking her. “It’s not the minuet I have in mind.”

She smoothed the rumpled skirt of her gown. “What is it you have in mind, then?” She lifted her brow as she assessed him and wondered that he didn’t hear how fast and loud her heart was beating. “Gwen thinks you’re romantic. I doubt she’ll continue to think so when I tell her how you dropped me on the bed like a sack of meal.”

“Romance?” He lighted the candles that stood beside the bed. “Is that what you want, Rena?”

She moved a nearly bare shoulder. “It’s what Gwen dreams of.”

“But not you?” With a little laugh, he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a chair in a manner that would have made Parkins shudder. “A woman’s entitled to romance on her wedding night.” He surprised her by kneeling on the bed and slipping off her shoes. “I had no chance to tell you how magnificent you looked standing beside me in the lamplight of the abbey. Or of how, when I saw you there, every dream I have ever had came true.”

“I thought you looked like a prince,” she murmured, then shivered when he ran his fingertips along the arch of her foot.

“Tonight I’m only a man in love with his wife.” He brushed his lips over her ankle. The scent of her bath clung to it and spun seductively in his head. “Bewitched by her.” Slowly he skimmed his mouth along her calf to trace the pulse at the back of her knee. “Enslaved by her.”

“I was afraid.” She reached for him, gathering him close. “From the moment I stepped inside the nave I was afraid.” Then she sighed as he ran kisses along the edge of her bodice, moistening and heating her skin.

“Are you still?” With sure fingers he unfastened her gown, then watched as it dropped silently to her waist.

“No. I stopped being afraid when you picked me up and ran with me through the corridors.” She smiled, and her hands were as confident as his as she pushed the waistcoat from his shoulders. “That was when I knew you were my Brigham again.”

“I am always yours, Rena.” He lowered her gently to the bed and showed her how true his words were.

They were three more weeks at court. Nothing could have been more splendid than Prince Charles’s Holyrood. The food was sumptuous, as was the music, the entertainment, the people. It was a gold and gleaming time, when the great halls echoed with laughter and dancing, when frivolous games and affairs of the heart were played with equal abandon.

From all over the country came elegantly dressed men in their powdered wigs, and glamorously gowned women to flirt with them. Holyrood was gay and glittering, and in it Charles lived those weeks a true prince. It was a place and a time that would never be forgotten.

Serena watched Brigham meld into this world he had been born for, while she, fueled by determination more than by confidence, adjusted to the life of beauty and glamour.

There were new rules to learn, a new pattern to the days and the nights. Here, at the first court to grace Scotland in many years, Serena discovered what it was to be Lady Ashburn. There were servants to attend her whether she wanted them or not. Because of Brigham’s position, they were given a gracious chamber hung with tapestries and appointed with elegant furnishings. She met more people in a matter of weeks than she had in the whole of her life, many of whom had come out of curiosity, but more still who had come out of loyalty.

Court life continued to make her uneasy, and often impatient, but the people who comprised it made her proud of her heritage, and her husband.

Serena had the first true inkling of Brigham’s wealth when he presented her with the Langston emeralds. With the help of his contacts in London he had them transported from Ashburn Manor and gave them to Serena less than a week after they had exchanged vows.

The necklace was as stately as its name and glimmered with stones as green as the lawns of his estate. It was matched with a bracelet and ear bobs that made Maggie’s jaw drop. To accent them, Brigham commissioned a dressmaker. Serena found herself gowned in silks and satins, in soft lawns and wispy lace. She discovered what it was like to wear diamonds in her hair and scent her skin with the finest of French perfumes.

She would have given it all for a week alone with Brigham in a Highland croft.

It was impossible not to enjoy the splendor, impossible not to revel a little in the envious glances of other ladies as she was escorted into a room by Brigham. She wore the gowns and the jewels, dressed her hair and felt beautiful. But as the days passed, she couldn’t shake the sensation that it was all like a dream. The lights, the glamour, the tinkling laughter of women, the sweeping bows of men, her own easy relationship with the Prince.

But the nights were real. Serena clung to them as tightly as she clung to Brigham in the privacy of their marriage bed. She knew it was temporary, and that its continuation was in God’s hands. It was only a matter of time before Brigham would leave. They did not speak of it. There was no need to speak of what they both understood. If force of will alone could bring him back safely to her, she could be content.

At night she could be his wife freely, in heart, mind and body. By day she often felt like an impostor, masquerading in fashionable gowns as a lady while in her heart she remained a product of the Highlands, longing to kilt up her skirts and race through the autumn trees surrounding the park as the wind tore the leaves from the branches for a dizzying dance. Instead, she walked sedately with the other women while the men held council or rode to the camp.

Because she loved, she put her heart and soul into being the kind of wife she thought Brigham should have. She sat, desperately struggling to be attentive, through musical evenings. Though she found it absurd, she never complained about the necessity to change from a morning dress to an afternoon dress, then again for evening. Only once, when she was sure she wouldn’t be noticed, did she accompany Malcolm to the stables to admire the horses.

She envied her young brother the freedom to take wild rides, but set her teeth and determined to enjoy her own demure ones.

“Do this, do that,” she muttered as she paced alone in her bedchamber. “Don’t do this, don’t do that.” Swearing, she kicked a chair with the toe of the pretty slipper that matched her violet morning dress. “A body could go mad trying to remember the rules, then madder still trying to live by them.”

With a hiss of breath she dropped down into the chair, skirts billowing. She wanted the loch, the peace of it. She didn’t just want to look out at the hills and crags. She wanted to climb them. She wanted her breeches, she thought, and her boots. She wanted …

Sighing, she braced her elbows on her knees and cupped her face in her hands. Not an attitude suitable for Lady Ashburn, but Serena didn’t feel like Lady Ashburn at the moment. She was being selfish and ungrateful, she told herself. Brigham was giving her things many another women would have swooned over. He was promising her the kind of life only a fool would toss aside.

And she was a fool, Serena decided, because she would have done just that if it wouldn’t have meant losing Brigham, as well. Living with dignity and propriety was a small price to pay for love. But oh, she had nearly botched it a dozen times already, and they had only been married three weeks.

She heard the door open and popped up like a spring, smoothing her skirts. A breath of relief escaped when she saw that it was Brigham. She would have hated for a servant to gossip below stairs about how Lady Ashburn sulked in her room with her elbows on her knees.

Brigham lifted a brow when he saw her. He would have sworn she grew more beautiful each day, though he did wish from time to time that she could wear her hair loose and free so that he could bury his hands in it at will.

“I thought you were going for a walk with your sister and Maggie.”

“I was just getting ready.” Automatically she reached up to pat her hair, afraid her pacing had loosened the careful arrangement. “I didn’t expect you back until much later. Is the council over?”

“Yes. You look exquisite, Rena. Like a wild violet.”

With a laugh that was half sob, she raced into his arms. “Oh, Brig, I love you. I love you so much.”

“What’s this?” he murmured as she pressed her face against his neck. “Are you crying?”

“No—aye, a little. It’s only that whenever I see you I love you more than the last time.”

“Then I’ll take care to leave and come back several times each day.”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“And risk fatal injury?” He tilted her head back so that he could kiss her properly. “No, my dear, I shan’t laugh at you.”

She saw it in his eyes, and knew then that she had seen it the moment he had come into the room. The courage she had promised herself she would show wavered, but she willed it back. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

He brought her hand to his lips. “Come, sit.”

“There is no need,” she said steadily. “Just tell me.”

“We march in a matter of days. Tomorrow you must leave for Glenroe.”

Her cheeks paled, but her voice remained strong. “I would stay until you go.”

“I would go with an easier mind if I knew you were safe at Glenroe. The journey will take longer because of Maggie.”

She knew he was right, knew it was necessary, and tried to live with it. “You march to London?”

“God willing.”

With a nod, she stepped back, but she kept his hand in hers. “The fight is mine, as well as yours, doubly so now that I am your wife. I would go with you, if you would let me.”

“No. Do you think I see my wife as a camp follower?” The look, the very familiar look, in her eyes warned him to change tactics. “Your family needs you, Serena.”

What of my needs? The words sprang to her tongue and were bitten back. She would do him no good by following him into battle. She looked at her hand and cursed the fact that it was too weak to wield a sword, to protect him as he would protect her.

“You’re right. I know. I will wait for you.”

“I take you with me. Here.” He brought their joined hands to his heart. “There is something I would ask of you. If things go wrong—” She shook her head, but a look from him stopped her urgent protest. “There is a chest in my chamber, and a strongbox. In the box is gold and enough jewels to buy your safety and that of your family. In the chest is something more precious that I would have you keep.”

“What is it?”

He traced a fingertip along her cheekbone, remembering. “You will know when you see it.”

“I won’t forget, but there will be no need. You will come back.” She smiled. “Remember, you have promised to show me Ashburn Manor.”