Page 10 of The Lyon and the Lass

“Talk? That’s all you want to do?”

He snorted. “Nay, that’s no’ all I want to do, but I did promise, and ’tis no’ a good way to start off a marriage with broken promises.”

She nodded and moved closer to him again. He rested his arm around her shoulders and slid them both down, so they were lying on their backs. He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

“And I do want a good marriage, Christine. I ken we dinna start off in the normal way, but I think we can have a happy life. I think ye will be content as my wife at our castle. Ye will be ableto run things the way ye want to run them. Right now, Llioni, our cook, has been doing the duty of both cooking and seeing that the castle runs smoothly. She will be verra happy, I am sure, to give up the duties to ye.”

Duties? He expected her to take over duties? It seemed she hadn’t given this marriage business enough thought. While Kerrigan was very charming, indeed handsome, and had the greatest way to warm her in a way that didn’t need a fire, she hadn’t thought beyond keeping her fortune from Uncle Carl. What exactly did a wife do? All the mothers of her friends had spent their time paying calls on other women, visiting the modistes and shops and hosting dinner parties and balls while trying to marry off their daughters to do similar things.

But a wife in the wilds of Scotland would have other duties, she was sure. Did they host dinner parties and balls? Was there even a decent modiste in the area? Would she have a carriage for her use to make calls?

Fatigue once again washed over her at that thought, along with the strain of planning her escape from Uncle Carl, convincing Mrs. Dove-Lyon to help her and getting herself married before she was forced to marry the dreadful Lord Newton.

The soothing sound of Kerrigan’s voice as he spoke of his home lulled her as she lay against him. The warmth coming from him and the soft rumble of his voice brought her closer and closer to sleep. She shifted so she was plastered against her husband’s body like an old, familiar pillow and drifted off.

After a fewminutes of speaking of his life in Scotland, Kerrigan realized his wife’s breathing was becoming deeper. He lookedat her slumbering body under the bedclothes, feeling sorry for himself for not being able to uncover the lushness waiting for him, but reminded himself that he would have many years to enjoy her body. He shifted so he was able to blow out the candle next to the bed.

Making sure she was tucked securely next to him, he yawned, expecting to take a while to fall asleep with the day he’d had. The thought had barely gone through his mind when he was sound asleep himself.

“I demand tosee my niece right now. I don’t care who you are and whose house this is.”

The shouting startled Kerrigan awake, and he sat up in bed. Christine remained asleep, so he climbed from the bed and padded to the bedchamber door. The shouting continued, along with the soft, modulated voice of Stevens. Kerrigan grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair near the door and slipped it on.

“What is all this racket?” He asked as he made his way downstairs, tucking his shirt into his braies.

“Oh, thank goodness, Laird. This man”—Kerrigan noticed the butler did not refer to the person at the door as a “gentleman”—“insists on seeing Lady Lindsay.”

The man leaned forward, stabbing Stevens in the chest with his index finger. “That is where you are wrong, man. I don’t wish to see Lady Lindsay, whoever she might be. I want to see my niece. Lady Christine Spencer.”

It didn’t take too much consideration on his part to realize Christine’s Uncle Carl had arrived for a visit. The man was florid with anger, his double chin jiggling as he spoke. Another man stood behind him, looking bored.

“Excuse me, sir, but I wish to ken who ye are and why ye are making so much noise while my wife and I wish to continue our sleep.”

The man turned his attention to Kerrigan. “I have no idea who you are, or who you think you are, but I’ve come to retrieve my niece, Lady Christine Spencer.”

Kerrigan rubbed his chin and looked at a very unsettled Stevens. “I will handle this. You may return to yer duties.” After the butler’s hurried departure, Kerrigan gave his attention to the irate visitor. “I’m no’ sure ye are at the right house, sir. There is no Lady Christine Spencer here.”

Spittle flew from the man’s mouth. “Do not play with me. I know Christine is here and I intend to bring her home. Now.”

“Uncle Carl?” Christine’s soft voice caused Kerrigan to turn to see his wife coming down the stairs, tying the belt of her dressing gown. He wanted to tell her to turn back and return to the bedchamber and let him hand the bully, but after the way she’d reacted the night before when he ordered her to never go out alone again, he thought it best to allow her to speak to her uncle.

However, he would certainly keep himself between his wife and the deranged man.

“Why are you here?” Chistine asked.

Apparently, the man decided to try another tactic. In a softer tone he’d not used up to that point he said, “I was worried about you, niece. It took me some time to track you down, and now what I’ve found you, I’ve come to bring you home.”

Kerrigan reached out and pulled Christine to his side. “I’m afraid ye are mistaken, my good man. This woman is my wife, and she is going nowhere with you.”

“I am married, Uncle Carl. You can no longer force me to marry Lord Newton. This is my husband, Laird Kerrigan Lindsay.”

The lass’s uncle pulled the man standing behind him forward. “No. You are not married, and as your legal guardian, I have brought a doctor here to examine you.”

“Why?”

“So we can apply for an annulment since I am certain you have not had time to consummate this farce of a marriage.”

Chapter Six