The Highlander's Accidental Marriage (Marriage Mart Mayhem) (18 page)

“Nay. I remember it well.
’
Tis proud I am of ye.”

She took him by the hand and led him to the bed where they both sat. “I have to be in London when my book releases. It is in the contract I signed with my publisher. My book will release very soon. Therefore, I cannot go to Rome because I must be in London.”

He stared at her as if she had just announced plans to join the circus. “Yer my wife. Ye go where yer husband goes. I’m going to Rome.”

She drew herself up. “And I’m going to London.”

He smacked his fist into his open palm. “This is my work.”

“And this is my work.” She leaned in until they were nose to nose.

Braeden threw his hands into the air and rose. “I’m verra happy for ye to have finished a book, and managed to find someone to publish it for ye. But now yer a wife, and you need to put aside your hobby and go with me on my expedition.”

She reared back as if he had slapped her. “My hobby!” No doubt the people at Dundas Castle stopped their work at the screech that came from her mouth.

“Aye. A hobby that ye can put aside now that yer married.”

“That is precisely why I didn’t want a husband.”

“Well,
’
tis too late now, lass, cause ye do have one.”

Her not-quite-recovered head would probably explode from the anger that surged through her. A hobby! He might as well have laughed at her. But instead of feeling the hurt she thought that attitude would elicit, she was so blasted mad, she could pommel his face.

“I refuse to argue with you, Professor McKinnon. Alice will pack my belongings, but I can assure you it will be to return to my sister’s home to await word from my publisher on when he requires my presence in London.” She swept past him, reaching the door before she realized this was their bedroom.

She turned back. “Please leave me so I may tend to my duties.”

“Yer duty is with yer husband.”

A knock at the door startled them both. “Yes,” Sarah said.

Alice opened the door. “A message just came from Bedlay Castle that your mother has arrived and is requesting you visit.” The maid’s eyes darted between the two of them and quickly hurried away.

Sarah raised her chin. “If you will excuse me, Professor, I will have Alice finish packing my belongings. If I may use the carriage to return to Bedlay, I would greatly appreciate it.”

He gave her a slight bow, his features tightened into a mask. “As you wish.” He turned on his heel and left the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him. His footsteps as they padded away beat in rhythm with her pounding heart.

“Alice!” She shouted from the doorway. She swiped at the liquid on her cheeks. She must be overwarm, and that was perspiration dripping from her chin. Smiling brightly, she looked around, making note of her things mingled with Braeden’s.

Don’t think about that.

Damn that blasted heat, her face was wet again, and shaky hands wiped her cheeks once more. And where in heaven’s name was Alice? She needed to hurry. Not sure why, but nevertheless, there it was. “Alice!”

The woman entered the room. “Is everything all right, my lady?”

“Perfect!” Her smile could light up the entire downstairs portion of Bedlay castle.

“Are you feeling well, my lady?”

“I feel wonderful, absolutely marvelous. Now we must pack.”

“Pack? We just arrived.”

“We must hurry and pack so we can return to Bedlay Castle.”

“Return to Bedlay Castle?”

“Really, Alice, has your hearing begun to deteriorate? You seem to be repeating everything I say.”

“If I may be so bold, my lady, your mother merely requested that you come for a visit. I believe she had tea in mind.” The maid looked at her, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she quickly closed it. Then she gave a slight curtsy. “Certainly, my lady. If that is what you wish.”

“I do.”

Damnation, why did she use those two words? And why was it so blasted hot in here that the perspiration kept dripping down her cheeks?

Chapter Nineteen

August 11, 1817

Dear Sarah,

This note is to inform you that we have arrived at our destination and have set up our camp. My direction is below in the event you need to contact me. This is where all of our mail goes to be collected once a week and delivered to the site.

Professor Braeden McKinnon

Piazza Venezia

Genzano Nuova, Italy

Braeden

B
raeden stared at the words. There was so much more in his heart. His heavy heart. He’d hated the way they’d parted. Anger on both sides. Of course he understood her pride in her accomplishment. Hadn’t he told her he was proud of her, too? But he was the man in this marriage, and a wife went with her husband. Even the Bible dictated that.

The morning she’d left the stone cottage she had appeared ready to shatter into a million pieces. Had he reached out and touched her, he was sure she would have crumbled. Yet, with her head held high, she had sailed out the door, determination in her every step. He had followed her to the carriage, but stopped when she never turned around, realizing she was not going to change her mind. With his duties awaiting him on the dig, he had no choice but to let her go.

He folded the missive and added it to the stack of letters leaving today to be carried to town for mailing. The responsibility for his part of the expedition was on his shoulders. He’d fought for this, and now he had a job to do. The distraction of his wife needed to be put aside.

If there were to be any changing of one’s mind it must come from her. Shaking himself from his malaise, he grabbed his notes and a pencil and headed to the excavation site.

W
hen Sarah had arrived at the castle it was to Sybil’s surprise. The only thing she’d shared with her twin and mother was that Braeden had accepted the expedition to Rome, and she was staying behind to await her publisher’s summons.

There had been a moment of absolute joy when she told her mother about her book. Dabbing at her eyes, she had hugged Sarah and told her over and over again how proud she was of her. Then she had immediately chastised her for not going with Braeden.

Did no one understand how important this was to her?

As was her mother’s way, after her initial outburst, she hadn’t pried, but watched her carefully for days. Sybil, on the other hand, had asked flat out what the devil she thought she was doing. It had caused the first serious rift between the twins. But Sarah had refused to be drawn into the argument. It was her decision, after all, and she’d made it.

August 27, 1817

Dear Braeden,

Thank you for the information. I have put your letter in safekeeping in the event it becomes necessary to send word to you.

No letter from my publisher as yet, but I am enjoying time with my mother. She is sorry she did not get to meet you. Perhaps another time. Mother is already madly in love with Sybil’s babes.

Sarah

S
arah stared glumly out the window at the darkening sky. She clamped her arms around her waist and rubbed her stomach to ward off the pain of her courses. Despite being late this month, their last week together had not produced a babe. She’d tried to convince herself she had been relieved when she’d spotted the specks of blood on her sheet that morning.

It had almost worked.

“Sarah, Alice said you were under the weather. Is everything all right?” Her mother stuck her head in the room after tapping lightly on the bedroom door.

“Yes. It is just my monthlies. You know how painful they sometimes are.”

“Ah, yes. Indeed I do. I always found it necessary to spend a day or two in bed. I must admit I am more than pleased to be done with it all.” She smiled at her daughter as she continued farther into the room and perched on the edge of the mattress.

“Of course, having six children did allow me to escape the trouble each month during the times I carried my babes.”

September 16, 1817

Dear Sarah,

The days are hot and the nights are long.

Braeden

W
hen he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he folded the letter and put it onto the stack to be driven into the village and sent on its way. Sadly, there was quite a bit more to add, but some things were better left unspoken. He was still hurt and confused by Sarah’s refusal to come with him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have referred to her book as a hobby, but his work was important. He had spent years of his life being educated and preparing for this expedition. How important was a romance novel? It was wonderful that she wrote one, and he was truly happy for her, but to compare the two was ludicrous.

However, his work was exciting—by his standard, anyway. He imagined most people would find it tedious and boring, examining bits and pieces of life and recording them. But discovering unknown facts about societies from many years ago was what kept him pushing himself day after day.

Truth be known, he also pushed himself in hopes that he would be able to sleep, and not spend his time staring at the tiny tear in the ceiling of his canvas tent and wondering where it had all gone wrong. They had the start of a good life together. Passion, common interests, and love. He loved her. It was that simple. And despite Sarah never saying the words, he kenned that she loved him, too.

However, the fact remained she had rejected him and their marriage, so he would just have to put it all behind him and allow his work to consume him as it had done for years.
’
Twas past time for him to stop brooding like a love-sick lad and accept things as they were.

October 3, 1817

Dear Braeden,

I took the twins on a stroll today in their pram. It amazed me how heavy two little babes are when one is pushing them uphill.

Duncan and Margaret came for dinner last evening. I enjoyed seeing my friend once again, but I found it necessary to retire early when my head began to ache.

Still no word from my publisher.

Sarah

S
he chewed on the end of her pencil. If she continued to write to Braeden, she would never accept her new life. She refused to abandon what she had worked so hard for, and received so much satisfaction from. Her second book was finished to her liking, and she would be proud to personally hand it to her publisher when she returned to London.

Her mother was very understanding of her need to express herself by writing, but made it quite clear she disapproved of Sarah putting her books before her husband. Everywhere she turned, it seemed she found acceptance mixed with censure.

October 21, 1817

Dear Sarah,

All those days conjugating Latin verbs and keeping imperfect and pluperfect tenses straight has made this assignment so much more enjoyable.

Braeden

“Y
e writing a letter again, lad?” Kevin MacGregor, a large Scot who was part of the expedition, stood a few feet from him, hands on his hips, his body blocking the sun. Although Braeden was an integral part of the team, he’d yet to get some of the older members to address him as anything other than “lad.” “Have ye a lass at home?”

“Aye. My wife.”

“Ah.
’
Tis a hard thing to leave yer woman behind.” Without invitation, the man sat on the rock next to him and raised a flint to his pipe, inhaling deeply. “My wife always traveled with me.
’
Twas hard when the bairns were little.”

Braeden snorted. MacGregor’s wife had traveled with the man even when they had bairns. With Sarah so concerned about her book and her publisher, there would likely never be bairns for them. A husband and wife needed to be in the same place in order to do what it was that married people did to bring bairns into the world.

His time with Sarah and their lovemaking had been vastly different from his prior encounters. They’d assuaged his lust, but at the same time had left him with a sense of something missing. Now he kenned his love for his wife had made their time together powerful and satisfying. He’d not been left with the emptiness that had marked his prior beddings. He wanted that fulfillment again. Over and over.

There was only one woman who could do that.

He came back to himself when he realized MacGregor was still talking.

“Even though my Bessie trailed along with me, I came to believe
’
twas not the best life for a family.” He shook his head. “’Twas hard on her.”

As he nodded at the man, not really listening to his words, Braeden continued to ruminate.
’
Twas best to push thoughts of Sarah from his mind. He’d wanted this spot on the expedition and had worked hard to get it. His focus was best placed in his work. Where he had always felt secure and confident, and dinna second guess his every move.

November 1, 1817

Dear Braeden,

I was unsuccessful with Latin. English, Italian, and French were enough of a challenge for me.

Sarah

S
arah tossed the pen down. This was utterly ridiculous. There was absolutely no reason for them to be writing back and forth and saying nothing. Everything she wanted to say was locked inside her, where she hoped it would die a slow death and not trouble her anymore. So far she’d received two notes from her publisher about delays in the printing. The longer it took for her book to be published, the more she missed Braeden.

There, perhaps she hadn’t said it out loud, but she’d thought it out loud. She missed him. Missed the facts he spewed at her from nowhere. Missed his smile, his silly jokes, his kisses. She missed his lovemaking most of all.

She set the letter aside and walked to the window. The Highlands was such a beautiful place. Mysterious, and in some ways frightening, at the same time. It was no wonder there were so many tales of ghostly happenings. Yet with her emotions being mysterious and frightening, it seemed this was where she belonged.

Sybil seemed happy in her marriage and had settled in quite nicely to the Scottish way of life. Whatever issues she and Liam had at the beginning had been resolved. As time went on, Sarah grew more uncomfortable in their presence. The love they shared was so strong and beautiful it made her ache.

I could have that.

It had been there for the taking, but she’d refused it, and had sent her husband away with the notion that her book was more important than him. She had told him that. The pride of seeing her name in print on the cover of a book in London bookstores, and the nonsense about being an independent person, along with the reception her publisher planned, had all meant more to her than the man she loved.

She missed him so much. Despite her mental machinations, it came down to the simple fact that she loved Braeden. The uncomfortable idea that she’d made a mistake had begun to take root.

As the tears slid down her cheeks, she could not convince herself that the room was merely too hot and this was perspiration.

“Sarah, join us for tea?” The sound of Sybil’s voice jerked her from her self-pity. Wiping her cheeks quickly before she turned, she said, “Yes, of course.”

They joined their mother in Sybil’s sitting room where a tray of cups and saucers, along with small cakes and tiny sandwiches, sat on a low table in front of a settee and two chairs. This was the babes’ nap time, so the women generally gathered for conversation over tea.

“Are Lady MacBride and the girls not joining us?” Sarah took the cup of steaming liquid from Sybil’s hand.

“No. They have gone into town.”

The Dowager Duchess of Manchester eyed her daughter over her teacup with a steely look that Sarah had only seen a few times in her life. “My dear, when are you going to stop this foolishness and join your husband?”

That look still had the power to cause her stomach to flutter. Not in the way Braeden’s lazy smile could, but as if she were a child caught with one of Cook’s tarts clutched in her hand before dinner.

“What do you mean?” She opted for ignorance, knowing full well that would not work with her mother.

“Your place is with Braeden, and you know that. I had hoped I raised you girls better than to put anything before your marriage. I am quite sure that was not the example your father and I provided for you.”

Sybil stood and shook out her skirts. “I think I will check on the babes.” She squeezed Sarah’s shoulder in support before she left the room.

Her mother reached her hand out and pulled Sarah down alongside her on the settee. “It is very obvious to this mother’s eye that you are miserable, Sarah. I know your marriage came about in an unusual way, but Sybil and Liam both assure me you and Braeden care very deeply for each other. Is this book of yours—of which I am extremely proud—more important than your husband?”

“Yes. Well, no.” She jumped up from the settee. “I honestly do not know anymore.”

“What I do not understand is what is keeping you away from Braeden. Unless I’ve been grossly misled, Rome is not exactly the ends of the earth, and I’m sure somewhere in that city you can find pen and paper to continue your writing.”

“It’s not just the writing, Mother. My publisher is holding a reception for me. He has set up newspaper interviews to make my book known. He would like me to visit bookstores and autograph my books for readers.”

“I see. So your pride is involved.”

Sarah gaped at her mother. “It is not that at all!”

She raised her brows. “No?”

“No. Well not really. At least I don’t think so.”

“Then when Miss Austen’s books went into print, she also had a reception and waltzed around London, visiting bookstores so everyone could admire her work?”

Sarah raised her chin. “I have no idea.”

“I do. She did not. Miss Austen leads a very quiet life in the country.” She reached for her cup and took a sip of tea.