Her dismissive gesture didn’t work on Slade, for he continued to consider her closely. “Did he upset you?”
Phoebe licked her dry lips. Dear Lord, she was sweating and weak with queasiness. And she longed for the sanctity of her bedchamber where she could curl up alone and give in to the tremors threatening her entire body. Her stomach roiled, and she suspected if she didn’t calm herself soon, she would cast upher accounts right there in the middle of the road. She took a few deep, cleansing breaths then looked up. Slade’s cool green eyes held considerable concern. She blinked, for the sight of it squeezed the air from her lungs.
He’d taken on Ross as if the man was beneath him. He’d looked at the subject of her nightmares for the past seven years and treated him like he was an insignificant insect. Slade had instilled fear in Ross without raising a single finger.
The realization hit Phoebe like a blow to the midriff. If she were to survive any length of time in the Highlands doing Jacobite work for Falcon, she could run into Ross at any time, she would need Slade. She would need his protection. Phoebe made up her mind what she needed to do. However, it did not make the queasiness subside.
Slade eyed her expectantly. “Fifi?”
She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge her ruminations. “No, he did not upset me. I was just considering the fact that I have to visit the mantua-maker in Portree to get a wedding gown.”
A squeal of delight sounded from behind Phoebe, and it hit her that Aila was still seated in the wagon a few feet behind her and was listening. Aila was well aware of Egan’s and her parents’ dictate she marry Slade.
Peter smiled. He was atop his horse now, pulling on the reins, for the beast was snorting with restlessness. “Are you two giving in to Egan Dunbar’s ultimatum then … you will be wed?”
Phoebe’s heart pounded like the setting off of cannon fire. She faced Slade, his eyes intense and so sharp, they could cut glass.
“Yes, Slade and I are getting married,” she said.
CHAPTER 43
GARRAIDH CASTLE, ISLE OF SKYE, SEAT OF THE MACLEAN CLAN
Slade’s heart squeezed as if gripped by an iron fist.Slade and I are getting married, she’d said just days earlier. He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. But he could fail her like he’d done Sylvia, and she could die and leave him, broken, destroyed, and praying for death. That tended to happen to the women he loved. He had loved his mother. Even though he was very young when she died, she had been his world. He’d barely survived Sylvia’s death. Fifi’s death would kill him. It would drain the light from this world, burn the heavens to ashes and leave his soul in eternal hell. He blinked at the gray light outside a northwest-facing window of the fourth-floor solar breathing through the tightness in his chest. The silvery-blue waters of Garraidh Loch outside the window crashed onto barley colored sand.
But he couldn’t afford this fear of failure.
“I want you to take a wife and settle down,”his father had said to him in the library that same day before he and Peter had gone into Broadford and ran into Fifi and Faye Ross.
His father had explained.“Tara had a riding accident. She can no longer bear children. When Sadie comes of age and takes a husband, she will lose her movable goods throughher husband’s rights ofjus mariti. She’ll retain ownership of MacLean’s vast estate, but her management will be limited by law,” Chisolm had said.
So, Slade’s father was putting the MacLean’s estate in a trust for Sadie, to be managed first by Lachlan, second by Slade, and third by Slade’s male heirs.
Slade would do anything for Fifi. And he would do anything for his father and Sadie, and so, fear of failure wasn’t an option.
The deed had been done, this very day, three days after Fifi had saidSlade and I are getting married, and two days after he and Fifi had handfasted. He’d wanted his friend and clergyman Raghnall here, but because of old losses and animosities, his father had chosen the local minister most used by the MacLeans.
A knock sounded at the solar door breaking into Slade’s thoughts. He pushed away from the windowsill and strolled to the door, pulling it open. Light fluttered in from the lamps in the corridor. The faint noise of revelry and bagpipes filtered up from the lower floors of the south wing of the castle where lingering wedding banquet guests remained.
The MacLeans’ cook Iona stood outside the door. She was a heavyset woman in her fifties. Her round cheeks looked flushed, no doubt from being one of the busiest people of the day.
“What are ye doing here alone in the dark?” she asked.
Slade grinned at her when a warm cinnamon scent rose up from the covered tray she held. “I was waiting for this,” Slade said.
Her smile was crooked. “Ye’ll be telling me ye need plum pudding to seduce your new bride? What about using that handsome face the good Lord gave ye?”
He took the tray from her. “Well, I prefer to be fully armed with all available artillery tonight.”
She threw back her head, a hearty melodious laugh escaped her mouth. “Ye better get a move on. Your guests will come knocking soon to inquire about you bedding the bride.”
As Iona turned around and headed down the corridor, Slade made out three familiar silhouettes ascending the stairs, heading in his direction. The burly outline of Egan at the back of the three was easy to spot. Slade placed the tray on a nearby sideboard, turning to the trio. Egan’s attitude towards him had been chilly at best since the Black Hog’s. Next to him was the lean outline of Daegan MacDonell, his second favorite foster brother. The three of them had been inseparable during their training days with Angus MacDonell, until Slade had joined the army and left the Highlands.
Leading the three in his direction was Peter, who tilted his head towards Slade. “I was told Scots regard the groom’s bedding of the bride with importance. Can I be of assistance, Colonel?” Peter said.
Slade cocked his head towards his friend. “The day I need help from you to bed my new wife, I expect there’ll be snowflakes flurrying in hell,” Slade said.
Daegan, who stood behind Peter, guffawed. “I believe Peter here was referring to guard duty. Nonetheless, it appears you are standing at the wrong door. Why don’t we provide you with a safe escort to the door of the marriage bedchamber?” Deagan said, with a wink.
