Arabella shuddered and nodded and he bent his head to hers again.
But he had not answered her and she could feel the carriage swaying, turning.
She broke the kiss.
“What are we doing?”
He grinned. Those dimples. He was teasing her. She cursed inwardly that she had taught him anything about flirtation. Where was her plain-speaking Scottish doctor when she needed him?
He must have seen something in her eyes because he relented. A bit.
“We are turning around.”
Arabella sat up. “What?”
“I decided that I couldnae wait to know if yer mother would consent. And if she dinnae, I couldnae wait a month. It would drive me mad.”
“But why turn around?”
“We’re going back to Scotland.”
“Why?”
“Because in Scotland there is nae need for a license or banns or permission from yer mother. I am going to marry ye, Mrs. Andrews, today, and then I am going to bed ye, Mrs. Andrews, today, and give ye the beginning of a redheaded baby and the issue will be decided.”
Thirty-Three
They crossed the border back into Scotland at three in the afternoon. They stopped at the first village with an inn. Alasdair insisted there must be an inn. He did not want to get back into the carriage with Arabella after marrying her. He wanted a bed.
The name of the place was Morebattle. Arabella told Alasdair she was surprised it was not Gretna Green, but he explained that it was actually the closest place in Scotland from where the carriage had turned around.
It was not one of the towns well known for elopements and ceremonies conducted in a Toll House. There was no large cottage industry here for hasty weddings. But Alasdair found the innkeeper was willing to perform the ceremony. Then he regretted that Ewen MacEwen had been left behind in England. Paterson was one witness. They needed another.
Alasdair found an only slightly inebriated Mr. MacDonald who was willing to sign as a witness if Alasdair lanced an abscess on his scalp. Alasdair agreed on the condition that the drainage of the abscess occur after the wedding. He rather thought Mr. MacDonald might try to wriggle out of his duties if the lancing happened before the ceremony. He also thought it would be better if his witness were not bleeding from a head wound that he had caused when he told Arabella that he would love and care for her forever.
The perfunctory but blessedly legal ceremony over, Alasdair lanced the abscess in the yard of the inn, where the late-afternoon light was best. He felt he did a rather neat job of it considering the pressure he felt to finish as quickly as possible. His wife was waiting for him, after all.
But when Alasdair went back into the inn, he was told that Arabella had been granted leave to use the only bathtub in the small coaching inn and she was still waiting for her hot water. Alasdair supposed he should not deprive Arabella of her wedding toilette, since there had been no church, no dress, no ring, no breakfast.
While he was waiting for her in their bedchamber, he added more coals to the fire. He wanted the room warm, very warm, for what would happen next. He washed his hands thoroughly and took off his tailcoat. Then he sat in a chair and removed his boots and his stockings. It didn’t seem right to take off more than that without her there. He felt quite shy suddenly. As well as impatient. Which made no sense. Hadn’t he coupled with her many times over?
But now she was his wife.
She came into the room and closed the door and locked it and leaned against it, her hands behind her back. She had redressed in her clothing, but her skin was flushed and her hair was down around her shoulders, the tendrils curling more tightly than ever from the humidity of the bath.
“I am yours, Alasdair,” she said.
“Aye.” He could not believe it. Arabella Lovelock was Mrs. Alasdair Andrews. The woman he had pined for. For four years. He stood from the chair, aching for her.
Arabella took a step toward him and leaned over to take off her own little boots and stockings. Then she straightened and reached around behind her back and unfastened something. She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and raised her dress over her head.
“I have learned,” she said with her head muffled in the dress, “only to have dresses I can take off and put on myself. I had no lady’s maid in Dunburn. We will not have that expense, Alasdair.”
Then the dress was laid aside and she untied her front lacing stays and loosened the laces and pulled the stays down, over her hips and her petticoat, and stepped out of them.
“Stop,” he said, his voice strangling. She stood there, in her chemise and petticoat.
“Do you want me to stay dressed, Alasdair?” she whispered.
