Arabella was glad to see that neither Ewen MacEwen nor Paterson looked any the worse for wear. Particularly Ewen.
“I am a Highlander, miss,” Ewen said, rubbing his hands in front of the fire. “We are descendants of the Vikings. Ice and snow are in our blood.”
“We’ve never had a storm of snow like this in Northumberland,” the lodgekeeper said. “Not in my lifetime. So much and it is still coming down. I think we’ll be digging out for days.”
“You are very good to take us in,” Arabella said to him. She still sat next to Alasdair on the bench, but the bench was now farther from the fire. She was surprised how quickly she had come to feel the fire’s heat and had had to ask him to move the bench away from the hearth. In the snow, it had been impossible to think of being too hot.
Of course, part of the warmth she was feeling might be due to the man at her side. To be sitting next to him, thinking of what had passed between them, how he had told her that she was not ruined. And how he had kissed her so tenderly, even when she had been so wanton with him and hurt his feelings.
He was good. There was no other word for it. Good. Much too good for her, foolish and hasty and cruel as she was. But he was at her side now. And she was not going to let him go.
She continued to hold his hand, not caring what Paterson or Ewen McEwen or the lodgekeeper thought.I will use his behavior as a guide. He does not object to our hands being linked. He does not pull away. Therefore, my hand can stay here.
“I told one of the grooms to go up to the main house and let them know we had some visitors.” The lodgekeeper was speaking. “Once we get you warm, I’ll be taking you up there to see the master. There is a whole house party here but it’s an enormous house so there will be room, of course, for two more. I’ll get the lad and your coachman settled with the grooms.”
“And who is yer master, so that I may thank him for the hospitality when I meet him?” Alasdair asked.
“Lord Morpeth, sir. This is his barony. And now for something hot, I think. I’ll get the teapot ready. A nice cuppa will do a wonder, I should think.” And the lodgekeeper left the room.
Arabella’s heart had stopped. She thought she might cast up her accounts. She dropped Alasdair’s hand and clutched his sleeve. She stood up from the bench.
“We must go,” she said.
Alasdair looked at her. Her face was pale.
“We cannae do that, I fear,” he said. “What has happened?”
“I ...” she faltered. She sat down again heavily and looked at him. Her eyes moved rapidly over his face and she chewed at her bottom lip with such vehemence that he worried she would cut it open.
Suddenly she turned her head and looked at Ewen MacEwen and Paterson. She spoke rapidly and in a low voice.
“What did you tell the lodgekeeper, what did you tell him about us? About me and Dr. Andrews?”
Ewen shrugged. “I said nothing.”
“I said that there was a doctor and a young lady with us,” Paterson said, scratching his head, “and the young lady likely needed to get inside sooner rather than later.”
“Did you mention my name? Did you use my name? Did you say Miss Lovelock?”
“Nae.” Paterson shook his head.
“And we,” she looked at Alasdair, “and we did not give him our names, yet.”
“Nae, we dinnae.” Alasdair wanted to know why she was so agitated, where this was leading.
She looked around the room. “Quickly, we must all agree that the doctor and I are married. Ewen. Paterson. I am Mrs. Andrews, I am not Miss Lovelock. I am his wife.” She looked at Alasdair. “I am your wife.”
“But—” She quieted him with a finger to his lips as she had done before in her cottage in Dunburn. He remembered that moment so vividly. How she had urged him to stay with her, despite there being no chaperone present.
“Please, Alasdair,” she breathed.
Again, his first name in her mouth. And the suggestion that they might be man and wife. Which was, of course, his most hoped-for wish for the future. His mind briefly touched on all that being man and wife might entail. He could not help himself and he had to shift on the bench. She took her finger from his lips.
“Why, Miss Lovelock?”
“No,” she said. “That is my old name. Now I am Arabella Andrews, your wife, Mrs. Andrews.”
Her eyes pleaded with him. Did she not know he would do anything for her? True, he thought honesty a virtue, but for Arabella, he would lie a million times over.
