And the Bride Wore Plaid (18 page)

Murien nodded, adding in a gentle undertone, as if loath to say more, “I am not one to gossip, and heaven knows I don’t blame poor Miss Macdonald. But if your attention is being engaged, then you have the right to know all.” She watched him from beneath her lashes, hoping he’d deny that his attention was anywhere near engaged.

But all he did was cross his arms, his coat stretching over his shoulders, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. She wet her lips. He was quite attractive, her equal in looks. They would make a brilliant couple, feted for their beauty, admired for their culture and breeding, and envied for their fortune. Well, it was his fortune now, but it could be hers if she played her cards correctly.

Resolution grew in Murien’s breast. She was not going to let Devon St. John get away. He was the perfect man for her, the one she’d been waiting for. “Mr. St. John, I wondered if perhaps tomorrow you might like to ride out with me and—”

“Do you ride?” he asked, surprised as if she’d admitted to vaulting off roofs as a hobby.

“Why yes. Of course I ride.”

“Ah. But do you ride
well
?”

What was this? She frowned. “Of course I do.”

His gaze narrowed, and she found herself fascinated with the way his lashes tangled at the corners of his eyes. It was unusual, black lashes and those blue, blue eyes.

“When
was
the last time you rode a horse?”

She wasn’t quite sure. All she remembered was that she had received several compliments and two impulsive proposals of marriage before she’d even mounted the nasty animal someone had saddled for her. “I think it was two years ago. Perhaps three.”

He laughed then, the sound startling her. She lifted her chin. “I fail to see what is funny.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, shoving himself from the wall and walking past her to his room. “I wasn’t laughing at you, but at myself. For being afraid of a silly legend. Apparently the St. John talisman ring can be beat, after all.”

With that cryptic comment, he went into his room, shutting the door and leaving her all alone in the hallway.

I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, when a truth was revealed to me. Mama, men are boils on the backside of the earth. If I had my way, I’d take a knife and lance them all

The once gentle Lady Lucinda, to her astonished mama, the Countess of Bradford, when that gracious lady came to see why her daughter did not appear at breakfast

“He is never here.”

Fiona pressed her fingers to her forehead where a raging headache threatened. “Murien, you have only been here a week or so. How can you—”

Murien whirled to face her. “Don’t be a fool, Fiona! How can I make him fall in love with me if he won’t even stay within arm’s reach? He has been riding with Malcolm’s sister three days in a row now. I
never
see him.”

Murien had a point and Fiona knew it. But her head ached too much for her to do anything but nod dumbly. Something was going dreadfully wrong with her plan; not only was St. John unaffected by Murien, but Malcolm, even though he was winning the wager, was becoming colder by the day.

It was as if the closer he came to winning, the angrier he became.

Her lips trembled and she hastily took a sip of tea to stave off the tears. Murien hated to see people cry.

Murien sank into the chair opposite Fiona’s in a cloud of pale blue muslin, a petulant expression on her face. “We have to think of some way to keep St. John here, at the castle. At least for an evening or two. I just know that if I could spend more time with him, he’d begin to see how well we would suit.”

Fiona sighed. “I don’t know what to say. St. John comes home every night, but goes straight to bed or closets himself with Malcolm in the billiards room. He’s only been to dinner twice in the time he has been here.”

Of course, part of that could be her fault. She had to admit that the cook was horrid—part of Fiona’s original plan to force Malcolm to remove from Kilkairn. How Malcolm managed to get such breakfasts out of the man was beyond Fiona’s ken. She imagined that the cook, like all of the other men in the household, was siding with Malcolm.

Murien’s mouth thinned. “My brother-in-law does not wish me well.”

“Nonsense. He merely enjoys St. John’s company and likes a good game of billiards.”

“Oh Fiona, stop it. Malcolm does not care for me; he never has. That’s fine with me for I don’t care for him, either. How you could marry such a—”

“
Don’t
.” Fiona wasn’t sure who was more surprised at the icy tone of her voice.

Murien recovered first. She leaned back in her chair, a placating smile on her lips that did not quite reach her eyes. “I was just teasing, sister. There is no need to get in an uproar.”

Fiona tilted her head in acknowledgment, mainly because she didn’t trust herself to speak again. Heavens, what had caused that reaction?

“This is all so very perplexing.” Murien placed her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her chin in her hand. Her brow pulled down as she considered her options. “I wish there was some way we could expose Kat Macdonald for what she really is, gauche and unformed.”

“Actually, she would have a very pretty figure if it was not for today’s fashions,” Fiona said absently. “They do not suit a woman with such curves.”

“Curves? I wouldn’t call them that. But it scarcely matters for the woman has no name, is practically two stone heavier than she ought to be, and has ruined whatever reputation she possessed. There is simply no reason for St. John to be dallying with her unless she is rewarding him in some way.”

Fiona’s cheeks heated. “Murien! Do not even suggest such a thing. I know Kat Macdonald and she’s nothing like that.”

Murien curled her nose. “Kat Macdonald hasn’t the least call to think herself worthy of St. John. She has no real beauty to speak of.”

Fiona didn’t understand it, either. Not that she harbored ill will for Malcolm’s half sister, for Kat had been very kind to Fiona when she’d first come to Kilkairn.

But Fiona had to admit that there were far more reasons that St. John would avoid a woman like Kat rather than wish to be with her, unless of course ... Fiona sat up straighten “Murien, do you believe St. John might have developed a true tendre for Kat?”

“Lud no,” Murien said, her lip curled. “He is just amusing himself at her expense. It is painfully obvious he is running from that blasted ring. He even said something to me about it. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense.”

“Oh? When did you speak to him—”

“It doesn’t matter. I think he is afraid of being forced to marry. And with Kat... how could she claim that she was ruined when she has already been so? She’s safe for him. Perfectly safe.”

“You don’t think he’s going to marry her?”

“No! He’s not a foolish man.” Murien’s impatience was clear to see. “If only he would spend more time here.” Murien leaned back in her chair, her gaze hard. “What we need is a reason to keep him here while proving how horridly unsuited Malcolm’s sister is, even for a flirt.”

Fiona tried to will her tired brain to think, but it was nearly impossible. She pressed her finger to her forehead. “Perhaps I should have a dinner party. A large one. Then we could invite Kat and he might see—”

“Fiona! That’s it! But not a dinner party.” A slow smile curved Murien’s mouth. “A ball. An honest-to-goodness ball. Oh, I can picture it now. All of Edinburgh will be here and we’ll dazzle them with Kilkairn Castle!”

Fiona looked around the room. Though it was one of the cleaner rooms in the castle, the rugs were still dusty and the mantel hadn’t been wiped in weeks. She’d thought of seeing to it that the house staff did a better job, but that would only pander to Malcolm’s comfort. Besides, why should she make such an effort to make Kilkairn a lovely place when Malcolm refused to allow her to live elsewhere for even part of the year?

She shook her head. “Murien, it would take weeks to get Kilkairn ready for a large ball. I don’t know how—”

“Then have a small one and hire help from the village. I don’t care. I just know that you have hit upon the perfect plan to show Miss Katherine Macdonald that she does not belong in the same room as St. John. That she is outclassed by far. Meanwhile ...” Murien tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, a sly smile on her lips. “Meanwhile, I shall do what I can to show St. John I am indeed the one to fear— that I am the woman he is to marry.”

“And how will you do that?”

“Leave that to me. You just take care of the ball. We’ll show St. John the pitfalls of having a consort like Kat.”

Fiona bit back a sigh, wishing Murien didn’t appear quite so happy about seeing Kat in such a humiliating situation. But Fiona would do it—she’d have the ball if for no other reason than to win the wager and keep her marriage intact.

Feeling miserable, she excused herself and went to her room to indulge in a good cry.

To the chagrin of more than one person, Devon came back to the clearing twice more over the next two days. Both times, despite Murien’s attempts to lure him into staying at the castle and Simon’s attempts to convince Kat that there was too much work to be done, Devon succeeded in carrying Kat off on Thunder. They rode far and wide, exploring pathways and galloping over meadows. And every day they’d have lunch beneath a tree of Kat’s choosing.

Devon kept the conversation light on purpose. And at the end of every ride, before they mounted up for the ride home, Devon would kiss Kat. Just once. Just enough to leave her—and him—wanting more.

It was the sort of seduction he’d never before carried out, one slowly paced and carefully planned. Every day was a tempting challenge, and Devon found that he was enjoying every minute of it.

Of course, he didn’t really think he needed to protect himself from Murien anymore ... her charms did not appeal to him, which somewhat surprised him since she truly was the exact type of woman he’d pursued over and over. Perhaps that was why Kat was so appealing; she was just... Kat.

It was nice, too, to get away from the castle. Fiona continually attempted to throw Murien in his way, even though he’d been plain in his desire to stay away from her. And Murien, the gold standard gleaming in her beautiful eyes, encouraged Fiona to do just that.

In the end, there was nothing for it but to avoid Kilkairn until the time came for him to leave for Edinburgh, a day he should be looking forward to, but strangely was not. In fact, he refused to allow himself to remember the exact day. Every time he began to think ahead, an uneasy feeling rose in him.

Kat, of course, could have told him exactly how many days until he was due to leave, for it was a thought that was never far from her mind. In fact, this very morning she had awakened and lay in her large bed staring up at the hangings overhead, her mind immediately humming. She went to sleep and woke up thinking about Devon St. John. Strange how some people came into your life and then left without making a mark, while others came for only a short time and made such a dent that it would take years to fill the hole. Kat knew she was beginning to care for St. John. Oh, not in a romantic way, of course, though she enjoyed his kisses. It took far more than a kiss to sway her heart. But she was beginning to value his friendship. Yes. That was what it was.

Still... though he made a good friend, he was only passing time, avoiding being at Kilkairn Castle, any fool could see that. Kat needed to remember that fact.

She sighed. Who was she fooling? “Thank goodness he leaves soon,” she muttered. That was the only reason she’d allowed the relationship to progress as far as it had; she knew that it would all be over in a week or so and her life would settle back down to the routines she’d developed. But for the rest of her life, she’d have memories of rides through the woods, picnics beneath the trees, shared laughter, and the enjoyment of a good friend. What could be wrong with that?

A brisk knock sounded on the door and Annie entered. The petite woman was dwarfed by the huge silver tray she carried in her hands.

Annie set the tray on the night table and began arranging the dishes. A pleasant clank and clatter filled the room.

Kat pushed herself upright, tucking her hair behind her ears. “What’s this? Breakfast in bed? But Annie, I am not ill!”

“Neither is the prince, but I daresay he has breakfast in bed every day.”

“Yes,” Kat said, “and look how fat he has gotten.”

Annie waved a hand. “Ye’re not fat, m’lady. Ye’re rounded. ‘Tis a different thing. As fer the prince, I would no’ know aboot him as I try to avoid the scandal sheets whenever possible.”

Kat laughed. Annie brought back every scandal sheet she could procure from her cousins in London. Kat knew because she’d read them all to Annie at one time or another. “So why did you bring me breakfast in bed?” She lifted first one cover and then another, the scent of hot bacon and ham wafting through the air.

“Whist now, Miss Kat. Can’t I do something pleasant fer ye without bein‘ accused of false pretenses?”

Kat raised her brows. “No.”

Annie sighed and took a seat on the edge of the bed, the mattress barely sagging with her weight. “Ye’re talkin‘ nonsense. Come, lass. We can coze a bit whilst ye’re eatin’.”

Here it came. “Yes?” Kat said politely, cutting her ham into small bites.

“I’ve been thinkin‘, I have.”

Kat took a bite.

Annie sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “See, Miss Kat, ‘tis like this; whilst I know ye think ye have everything under control where the Sassenach is concerned, I have to wonder if ’tis so.”

“Why is that?”

“Because there are signs ye’re not so immune to him as ye think.”

“Oh for the love of—Annie, I’ve only gone riding with him a few times. I’m not planning a hand fasting.”

“Aye, ‘tis a good thing, that, fer you’d not get it. From what I’ve heard, the Sassenach is a libertine.”

“A liber—Who told you that?”

“Me cousin, Janie. She said she heard Miss Spalding say Mr. St. John’s only purpose in comin‘ to see ye was—” Annie broke off, glancing away, her face red. “Ye know what I mean.”