“You said you love this wench?” Gordon queried. “Perhaps, then, you’re even considering a marriage?”
“Her name is Madeleine,” Garrett corrected him, “and yes, that is my hope, if she’ll have me. After what Hawley did the other night, she’s more likely to spit in my face.”
“It’s perfect,” Gordon said to himself. “That might be exactly the point to sway him.”
“What are you talking about?”
Gordon set down his glass and came around the desk to stand in front of Garrett. “You’re a fool if you think the king will restore a forfeited estate to a pardoned criminal,” he said harshly. “What guarantee does King George have that she won’t begin her disruptive activities again?”
Garrett shook his head, unable to answer.
“Exactly. So what I propose is this. Offer the wench a choice. If she agrees to marry you, she’ll be granted the king’s pardon and the estate will be restored in your name. You’ll be stationed permanently in Strathherrick, where you’ll complete your commission, and King George will rest easy knowing she’s wed to an Englishman who will keep her under firm control.”
“And if she doesn’t agree to marry me?” Garrett asked grimly, though he already sensed the answer.
Gordon shrugged. “Then she chooses her own death sentence.”
Furious, Garrett grabbed Gordon’s velvet coat, wrenching his brother to within inches of his face. “That’s not good enough, Gordon,” he grated, his voice dangerously low. “Either she lives or you’ve lost Rosemoor forever. I’d burn it down rather than have you ever set foot in it again.”
Gordon’s face was ashen, though he didn’t flinch. “Let go of me,” he demanded quietly, belying his barely controlled rage “Don’t threaten me again, Garrett. I’m your only hope, and you damn well know it. Do you think I’d rest this entire agreement on the fickle whims of a woman?”
He staggered back as Garrett roughly released him. His expression was grim as he straightened his coat, his gray-green eyes darkened to the same hard slate as his younger brother’s. “You said she has five kinsmen who were captured with her.”
Garrett nodded, too angry to speak.
“It’s simple, Garrett. Tell Mistress Fraser that if she doesn’t agree, her kinsmen will share the same fate as her own. Do you think she will so wantonly throw away their lives? I doubt it. From the way you’ve described her, she’d do anything to save them.”
Gordon moved away at the sound of tapping footsteps in the outer hall. “I share the same Scots blood as you, Garrett,” he added quickly. “I’ve heard grandmother’s countless stories of clan loyalty. If Mistress Fraser knows her kinsmen will also be pardoned if she agrees to a marriage, then you’ll have a wife before the day is out.” He threw back the last of his brandy. “I only hope she’s worth it to you.”
Suddenly the door swung open, and a tall, blond woman in a beribboned gown of rose satin walked gracefully into the room.
“Oh, forgive me, darling,” she said, stopping abruptly. “I didn’t know you had a visitor.”
Garrett turned around, his gaze meeting cool ice-blue eyes in an exquisite porcelain face. “Celinda,” he said, swallowing his ire. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Garrett,” Celinda said, clearly stunned. She walked stiffly toward him. “What a surprise.” She cast a look at her husband as Garrett kissed her hand lightly. “Gordon, you didn’t tell me your brother was due in London. I would have planned a dinner, made arrangements—”
“It was as much of a surprise to me, my dear.”
“It’s only a short visit, Celinda,” Garrett replied, seeking to ease some of the tension in the room. “I trust I will be on my way back to Scotland tomorrow, after my business here has been completed.” He glanced meaningfully at Gordon, who slightly inclined his head.
“Well, I hope you’ll share supper with us,” Celinda said graciously, having recovered herself and her impeccable manners. She accepted Garrett’s proffered arm. “Do you have lodging? If not, we’d be delighted to have you stay with us, wouldn’t we, Gordon?”
Garrett found himself smiling. Celinda was as beautiful and imperturbable as ever. He had long ago forgiven her for her slight, realizing she had meant him no ill will. She had evidently always wanted to be the wife of a member of the House of Lords, something Garrett could never have offered her.
He walked with her from the library, thinking how fortunate he was that Celinda had chosen Gordon instead. It had left his heart free to love his wild Highland beauty.
Garrett felt his heart lurch in his chest at the thought of Madeleine in a cold prison cell.
God willing, he prayed fervently, King George would sign the pardon, and he would arrive in Edinburgh in time to save her from the gallows by making her his bride.
***
It was three days before the precious document was placed in Garrett’s hands, three days that had passed like the slowest torture.
“His highness was reluctant to sign,” Gordon stated matter-of-factly, “no doubt anticipating Hawley’s displeasure. It was his high regard for my good judgment and the marriage clause that finally convinced him, though he quipped that you must be mad to take on a Highlander as a wife. He trusts you’ll keep her well in hand.” He sighed meaningfully. “I hope the delay does not prove costly to us.”
Garrett made no comment as he read every word carefully, at the bottom of the page tracing his finger over the king’s florid signature and the royal seal. His blood roared in his veins and he felt light-headed with relief, scarcely believing it.
