“Iain, do you think it’s hurt badly?”
He looked up from the small bird in the palm of his hand. Wee Lady Elspeth peered up at him in worry, her brow creased, tears welling in her large blue eyes, eyes the same shade as her eldest sister’s. Behind her, Lady Millicent was openly crying, tears tracking down her pale cheeks.
“Nae,” he said with a small smile. “I daresay it’s just stunned. It will be soaring through the clouds in nae time.”
“Do you really think so?” she breathed, looking back to the bird.
“Aye,” he replied gently.
Both girls smiled at him then, as if he were a giant among men. His chest filled with emotion, though just whatthat emotion was he wasn’t certain. He felt as if he were glowing from the inside out. Confused, shaken, he looked to Lady Seraphina on his other side. It was then, as he was gazing at her sweet face, into her clear blue eyes that were filled with affection and pride and—dare he even think it?—something more, that everything seemed to fall into place. Happiness as he had never known filled him up until he thought he’d burst with it. And he knew, then and there, he wanted to marry her.
The memory swamped him, wrenching him back to a time that he wished with all his might he could forget. Shaken, he took a stumbling step back before getting hold of himself. “Aye,” he managed hoarsely, “I’ll nae let any harm come to her.”
“Thank you,” Millicent said fervently, stepping up beside her sister, taking her hand. “But we have delayed you enough. Please remember your promise to not tell Seraphina about any of this. Come along, Elspeth.”
With one last long look they moved off to the side of the road and melted into the shadows. He stared after them, feeling as if he was in some strange dreamland. And then one of the horses nickered, the sound echoing back from the thick brush and trees that lined the road, finally waking him from his stupor. Without a word to the driver—God only knew what the man was thinking after that strange interaction—he strode back to the carriage and heaved himself inside.
A mere ten minutes later and they pulled up into the front courtyard of a house. Iain, still shaken by Seraphina’s sisters much more than he would have ever admitted, did not comprehend the scope of the place until he stepped down to the gravel drive. Even then, his mind could notseem to fully take in what he was seeing. Sprawling and yet strangely intimate, the house looked like something out of a fairy tale, its brick exterior blending into the surrounding landscape and its many mullioned windows reflecting the blush of the dawn sky and giving the appearance of hundreds of shining will-o’-the-wisps. He looked to the open front door, eager to collect Seraphina and be gone.
It was not Seraphina waiting for him on the front steps, however, but one of the women who had come to her rescue that first day on Synne. The petite one with short curls and spectacles. Alongside her was a lean, dangerous-looking man who was much more awake than anyone had a right to be at this hour. And who appeared as if he would gladly leap down the steps and plant his fist into Iain’s face. Iain instinctively widened his stance, as if preparing for that imagined blow.
“Mr. MacInnes, I presume?” the small woman called out in clipped tones, her voice sharp and carrying.
“Aye,” he responded, not moving from his spot. “But you have me at a disadvantage, lass.”
The man—or, rather, beast—at her side took a warning step toward Iain. With seemingly little trouble the woman held him back with one small hand on his arm. He immediately settled back to his place at her side, though he did cross his arms over his chest, his muscles straining the fine cut of his coat.
“I am Bronwyn, Duchess of Buckley,” the woman said, her voice cold. She motioned to the man at her side. “And this is my husband, Ash, Duke of Buckley. Welcome to Caulnedy.”
He nearly laughed. There was not a hint of welcome in her. He was damn near tempted to introduce himself byhis title. But no, he was not here to have a pissing contest. He was here to make certain he got the divorce he needed. And reclaiming the dukedom now, something he had gladly eschewed upon leaving Scotland, would not help him one bit.
Instead of acknowledging their titles, Iain looked to the bright open doorway behind them. “Is Seraphina here then? Or are we to glare at each other for the foreseeable future?”
As he expected, the duke once more reacted, this time with a low growl. But he was not the one to move forward this time. No, his petite wife did, stalking down the steps, across the drive, until she was nearly toe to toe with Iain. Craning her neck back—truly, she was a tiny thing, barely coming up to the center of his chest—she glared up at him. Despite himself, he felt the stirrings of admiration. Most men quaked in their boots when they saw him. But this wee thing looked ready to do him harm, and happily at that.
“Mr. MacInnes,” she said, her mouth forming his name as if it were something disgusting and slimy, “we do not know exactly what you and Seraphina are to one another, or what the details of this trip north are. But whatever it is, it must be incredibly important to our friend. Therefore, we support her judgment implicitly. And we want you to know that Seraphina is very dear to us. She is fierce, and brilliant, and you shall rue the day if she is not returned to us as her fierce, brilliant self.”
“A common theme this morning, it seems,” he muttered to himself.
Her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. “What was that?”
“Nae a thing, Your Grace,” he said smoothly. “I shall return her in one piece, I vow it.”
Her expression said she did not believe him one bit. Butshe nodded sharply and, her lip curling as if she could not wait to get away from him, she made her way back to her husband. That man gazed at her as if she were the most beautiful, precious person in the world and wrapped his arms about her.
“Wife, you never cease to leave me in awe,” he said.
Her expression changed, a softness taking over her narrow features. “Liked that, did you?” she asked archly, her arms going about his waist.
“Oh, yes.”
“Good.” She grinned, her gaze drifting to the duke’s lips.
Was it just Iain, or did the two look as if they were about to kiss? Face heating, he loudly cleared his throat and was about to demand where the blazes Seraphina was—God knew he had no wish to watch these two go at it—when a clattering trailed out from the open doorway behind them. He had not thought it possible to feel relief at seeing his estranged wife again. And so it was almost with eagerness that he turned to greet her.
Which was not the wisest mentality to have when dealing with his wife, a fact that was proven as his body reacted in a wholly unwelcome manner to the mere sight of her. His heart leapt in his chest, his breath stalled, and his legs tensed, as if they meant to stride toward her. And every inch of skin went electric, aching to touch her.
Which is probably why, when he finally managed to gain control over both his mental and physical states, his fury at himself was even stronger than before. Well, no more, he vowed as their eyes met. He’d be damned if he allowed her to catch him off guard again. No, they would get through this damned road trip, he would get his divorce. And then he would never have to see her, ever again.
