The Devil Wears Plaid (24 page)

Keenly aware of all the eyes upon her, including those of her family in the front pew, Emma held her bouquet of dried heather in front of her, her hands no longer trembling but as steady as they’d once been on the grip of Jamie’s pistol.

Since her own wedding gown had been destroyed during her abduction, the earl had generously offered to let her borrow one of the moldering and woefully outmoded gowns worn by his second or third wives during their weddings to him, but she had opted instead to don one of her own gowns—a simple walking dress of snowy white India muslin with a high waist and lace cuffs.

Her bridegroom appeared at the back of the church, garbed once more in the ceremonial kilt and plaid of the Hepburn laird. Emma’s eyes narrowed. If the earl’s plot had succeeded, she wouldn’t be wearing
a wedding gown on this fine spring morn, but a shroud.

There was such a bounce in his step as he marched up the aisle she was surprised his bony knees didn’t clatter together. He even deigned to wink at his nephew as he passed the family pew. Ian Hepburn stretched one arm out along the back of the pew and returned his uncle’s greeting with an enigmatic smile.

As her bridegroom joined her, the minister opened the Book of Common Order and pushed his steel-rimmed spectacles up on his nose with a trembling finger, plainly remembering the last time the three of them had stood before that altar.

Just as he opened his mouth to begin the ceremony, the double wooden doors at the back of the abbey came flying open with a mighty crash. Emma’s heart soared as a man appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the sunlight like a champion from another age.

O
H, HELL,” THE MINISTER
muttered, the color draining from his face. “Not again.”

This time he didn’t even wait for Jamie to draw his pistol. He simply tossed the Book of Common Order straight up in the air and went diving behind the altar.

The Hepburn’s guests huddled in their pews, wide-eyed with both apprehension and anticipation. Emma’s father rose half out of his seat as Jamie came striding up the aisle, but her mother placed a steadying hand on his arm, shaking her head. Emma’s sisters couldn’t stop themselves from preening a bit as he passed.

“What are you doing here, you insolent whelp?” the Hepburn demanded, shaking a bony fist in the air. He began to inch away from Emma, his hopeful expression belying his outrage. “Have you come to finish what you started?”

“Indeed I have, auld mon,” Jamie replied.

“I suppose there’s nothing I can do to stop you.” The earl huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “You won’t be satisfied until you’ve murdered my bride in cold blood right before my eyes.”

Those eyes brightened even more as a dozen redcoats came streaming into the abbey behind Jamie.

“And what’s this? More uninvited guests?” He shot Jamie a triumphant smile. “These fine officers of the Crown must have followed you. I should have known they wouldn’t let a rogue like you elude their clutches forever.” As the British soldiers came marching down the aisle, he addressed the officer in their lead. “I suppose you’ve come to nab the culprit who shot my bride, Colonel Rogen? Excellent work, men. Take him into custody.”

“We already have,” the officer replied, his lean face grim.

The earl gasped as their ranks parted to reveal a snarling Silas Dockett. One sleeve of the gamekeeper’s coat was torn clear off his shoulder and his brawny arms were secured in a pair of irons in front of him. A nasty bruise shadowed his jaw and his lower lip was swollen to nearly twice its normal size.

“I don’t understand,” the earl croaked. “What is the meaning of this?”

Colonel Rogen said, “We have several witnesses who claim that
this
is the man who shot your bride.”

“That would be me,” Bon said as he came swaggering up the aisle. He gave Ernestine a ribald wink as he passed the Marlowe pew, eliciting a titter from Ernestine and scandalized gasps from her sisters.

“And me,” Graeme added, a particularly pleased smirk on his lips as he limped after Bon.

“And us,” Angus and Malcolm called out in unison, shoving their way through the ranks of the soldiers.

“Witnesses?”
the earl spat, eyeing them as if they were beetles that had just crawled out of a pile of sheep dung. “I am a peer of the realm and the laird of these lands. Surely you don’t expect me to believe you would take the word of this… this… Highland riffraff over mine? Why, they’re naught but a bunch of filthy, no-good
Sinclairs
!”

“Colonel Rogen might not take their word, Uncle, but I can promise you that he was more than eager to take mine.” A collective gasp went up from the crowd as Ian Hepburn rose from his pew and sauntered forward, offering Emma a courtly bow and his uncle a lazy smile. “I, too, was in the glen on the day Miss Marlowe was shot and I have already presented Colonel Rogen here with a letter confirming with absolute certainty that Mr. Dockett here was the culprit who shot her.”

“You swivin’ bastard!” Dockett shouted, straining against his chains. “I’ll ’ave your balls for breakfast, I will!”

Graeme limped right up to the man who had beaten him with such brutal enthusiasm. Thrusting his face into Dockett’s, he said, “I’d mind that cheeky tongue o’ yers, mate, or someone just might cut it out for ye.
Before
ye’re hanged.”

Ignoring Dockett’s feral growl, Ian continued. “My letter also confirms that Mr. Dockett has been in my uncle’s employ for a number of years and that he was acting solely on my uncle’s orders on the day Miss Marlowe nearly lost her life.”

“Seize him,” the colonel ordered, nodding toward the earl.

The crowd watched, paralyzed with shock as two of the young soldiers hastened to obey their colonel’s command. Ignoring the Hepburn’s incoherent sputtering, they tugged his bony wrists in front of him and clapped them in irons.

His sputtering rose to an enraged howl. Emma watched without an ounce of pity in her heart as they began to haul him away from the altar. But they had failed to take into account just how skeletal his limbs were. As they dragged him past Jamie, he slipped one wrist out of its iron cuff and snatched the pistol from the waistband of Jamie’s breeches.

As he whirled around and pointed the weapon at the snowy white bodice of Emma’s gown, a muffled hush descended over the abbey. The redcoats fell back, plainly afraid of spooking him into firing.

“You cunning little
bitch,
” he spat, the pistol wavering wildly in his palsied grip. “You knew about this ambush all along, didn’t you?”

Despite having a pistol pointed at her heart for the second time in that abbey, Emma felt strangely calm. “Of course I did. I’m the one who planned it. With a little help from your nephew. And your
grandson
.”

The Hepburn’s face went from beet red to eggplant purple. “Just because his whore of a mother lured my son into her bed, that doesn’t make that miserable bastard my grandson! I should have known you were no better than her. You just couldn’t wait to spread your legs for the first randy young buck that came along, could you?”

Emma’s father surged to his feet. “I say now, sir, that’s quite enough of that talk!”

“Indeed it is,” Jamie said softly, reaching around to give the earl’s wrist a vicious twist.

Several screams echoed from the rafters as the pistol discharged, splintering one of the windows. As a shower of glass came raining down, Emma ducked, covering her head with her hands.

When she straightened, Jamie was standing in the middle of the aisle with the pistol in his hand and murder in his eyes. The earl slowly backed away from him, clutching his injured wrist.

“What are you doing?” Emma cried.

Jamie lifted the weapon, closing one eye to sight the earl’s
bony chest down its long, black barrel. “What someone should have done a long time ago.”

“I thought you said your pistol only held one shot?”

“I lied,” Jamie said, drawing back the hammer of the pistol with his thumb.

Before his finger could squeeze the trigger, she shouted, “Wait!” and darted around him, placing herself between the two men.

Jamie immediately lowered the pistol. “Stand aside, Emma.”

Ignoring him, she smiled sweetly at the earl. “There’s one thing I neglected to tell you, my lord.”

“
Emmaline,
” Jamie growled.

“As it turns out,” she said brightly, continuing to advance on the earl, “you never had any need of a bride after all.”

“What in the bloody hell are you talking about?” the Hepburn ground out.

She drew closer to him, hypnotized by the sight of the ripe purple vein pulsing in his temple. “It seems that you had an heir all along. Prior to Jamie’s birth, your son Gordon married Lianna Sinclair before a rightful minister of the kirk. I have the page from the marriage register to prove it. She was never his whore, you black-hearted old goat.” He stood frozen in place as Emma leaned close to his ear, her hissed whisper audible to every ear in that abbey. “
She. Was. His. Wife.”

“His
wife
?” the Hepburn choked out, his breath beginning to rattle in his throat.

“Out of my way, sweeting,” Jamie commanded.

Emma held up one finger in a plea for more time. The Hepburn clawed at his throat, his rheumy eyes bugging out as he struggled for air. A thin line of spittle trickled from the corner of his mouth. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped like a stone to the floor of the abbey.

While Emma dusted off her hands, a satisfied smile curving her lips, the rest of them crept closer, gathering around to gaze down at the earl’s motionless form.

But only Bon dared to nudge him with the toe of his boot. “What do ye know aboot that, Jamie? I do believe the lass just spared ye the trouble o’ shooting him. I always said he wasn’t worth the powder it would take to blow him up.”

“Or the rope it would take to hang him,” the colonel added dryly, signaling his men to drag both Dockett and the earl’s body from the abbey.

“Hold on just as minute,” Ian said as they lifted the earl. He yanked the Hepburn plaid unceremoniously from his uncle’s shoulders. “I don’t believe he’ll have need of this where he’s going. I’ve heard it’s quite warm there.”

When the redcoats and his uncle’s body were gone, Ian draped the plaid over Jamie’s shoulders as if it was
the mantle of a conquering king. “Congratulations, Sin! It only took the Sinclairs five centuries to win back their castle. I hope you realize that since you’re now legally my cousin and the new earl of Hepburn, I have every intention of sponging mercilessly off your extensive fortune. As a matter of fact, there’s this little property just outside Edinburgh that’s recently come to my attention…” He trailed off, peering into Jamie’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you already sulking because I forgot to address you as ‘my lord’?”

Jamie was fingering the rich red and black wool of the Hepburn plaid as if he’d never seen it before. He slowly lifted his head, his gaze sweeping the pews. Every eye in that abbey was fixed on him as the wedding guests struggled to absorb the astonishing news that their new laird was not only a Hepburn but a Sinclair.

He wheeled on Emma, panic dawning in his eyes. “Bluidy hell, lass, what have you done? I told you this wasn’t what I wanted!”

Emma stood her ground, facing him just as boldly as she had faced the Hepburn. “Just what do you want? To spend the rest of your life hiding on that mountain? To shield your heart from every risk, every ache, until you end up old and all alone just like your grandfather?” She shook her head. “Don’t you see? This isn’t about what you want. It’s about who you are. Your parents dreamed of ending the
feud between the Hepburns and the Sinclairs and they succeeded beyond their wildest imaginings. They created a link between the two clans that could never be broken. And that link is you.”

He touched a hand to her cheek in a lingering caress, his eyes shadowed by a fierce sorrow. “I’m sorry, lass, but draping me in plaid and calling me a Hepburn doesn’t make it so. I’ll always be a Sinclair at heart. I can’t be caged by castle walls.”

Tugging the garment from his shoulders, he tossed it back to Ian. Emma could only watch in stunned disbelief as he turned his back on her and went striding toward the door, rejecting not only his destiny but her love. She drew his mother’s necklace from the bodice of her gown, taking comfort in the weight of that ancient cross in her hand.

“I know what you believe,” she called out, both her heart and her eyes spilling over with love for him. “But your parents’ love didn’t destroy them. It saved them. Because it was their love that created you and as long as you live on in this world, there’s a part of them that will always survive.”

Jamie just kept walking.

As he approached the pool of sunlight spilling through the abbey doors, Emma discovered that the Sinclairs didn’t have a monopoly on either revenge or tempers. “Go ahead and run, Jamie Sinclair! Run away from the only woman you’ll ever truly love. Why, the
Hepburn was right about you all along! You’re nothing but a miserable coward! But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with nothing but your memories and your pride to warm your bed during those long, cold Highland winters. And your
sheep
!”

Jamie froze in his tracks.

“Aw, hell, lass,” Bon breathed into the stunned silence that had fallen over the church. “Why’d ye have to go and say that?”

Jamie’s men began to back away from her as Jamie slowly turned, gazing at her with such scorching intensity she wondered how she could have ever thought his eyes were cold. Everyone else seemed to disappear. It was as if they were the only two souls in that abbey, the only two souls in the world.

Shaking his head, he came striding back toward her, his eyes narrowed and his jaw as hard as granite. She had seen that look on his face before, the very first time he had driven his horse down that aisle to steal her away from another man.

“What are you doing?” she whispered as he drew nearer, torn between hope and alarm.

“Making the biggest mistake of my life,” he said grimly, before dragging her into his arms and claiming her lips in a wild and desperate kiss that stole both her breath and her heart away.

It was the kiss of a lover, the kiss of a conqueror, the kiss of a man who was not only willing to seize
his destiny but to fight for it—and for her—with every breath in his body until the day he died.

By the time he finally surrendered her lips, she was light-headed with desire and giddy with joy.

He cupped her cheek in his big, warm hand with devastating tenderness, no longer trying to hide the desperate desire—or the love—shining in his own eyes. “I wasted so many years searching for the truth when I should have been searching for you. I didn’t ruin you, lass. You ruined me. Ruined me for any woman that isn’t you.”

She gazed up at him through a shimmering mist of tears. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to marry you, do I? Because no one else will have you.”

His brow furrowed in a mock scowl. “How do I know you’re not just a greedy English lass marrying me for my title and fortune?”

“Oh, but I am! I want it all! Jewels, furs, land, gold… and a strapping young lover to warm my bed.”

“Only one?”

She nodded solemnly. “The only one I’ll ever need.”

As their lips met for another wild and tender kiss, Bon leaned over to peer behind the altar.

The minister was still cowering there, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands clasped in fervent prayer.

“Now that yer prayers have been answered, sir, I do believe the new earl and his bride are goin’ to have need o’ yer services.”