Page 34 of The Lyon and the Lass

He finished tacking Fergus up just as the thunder of horse hooves going very fast sounded in the distance, growing close to the castle. Kerrigan swung his leg over the saddle and rode toward the rider coming at him.

By the time they were a few falls apart, he recognized the man as Rupert, one of the men helping with repairing the cottages. It was then that he remembered the man had walked away earlier in the day and never returned. With Christine missing, he’d forgotten about the disappearance of the man.

“Laird!” Rupert pulled up on his horse’s reins, the animal prancing alongside him. “You must come. Lady Lindsay’s uncle has her at an ale house in Edinburgh and is planning on visiting with a magistrate to have your marriage declared illegal.”

With both Rupert and Christine missing, it didn’t take Kerrigan long to figure out how Christine ended up in Edinburgh.

Kerrigan growled. “Ye had the nerve to take my wife, yer lady, from her home and bring her to Allenby?”

The man straightened his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Yes. And for that I am very sorry. When I first spoke with Lord Allenby about snatching your wife, I needed the money.When you’re hungry and have no roof over your head, you don’t think about the end result of what you are paid to do.”

Kerrigan nodded “Before I beat you senseless, stay right here.”

“Yes, Laird.”

Kerrigan raced to the keep, up to their bedchamber and slammed the door open. He strode to the wardrobe and grabbed the box on the floor. He pulled out the marriage certificates from both England and Scotland and shoved them into the pouch strapped around his waist.

Not sure if Sanders would be waiting for him or not, he was pleasantly surprised to see the man sitting on his horse where he’d left him. “It is not a long trip, but I have no idea when he plans to see the magistrate.”

Kerrigan waved him on. “Let’s ride.”

After Newton draggedher upstairs, making sure everyone within hearing distance assumed they were husband and wife, she kicked him as the door to the bedchamber closed, aiming for his man parts, but hitting his leg instead. “Bitch!” He slapped her in the face, the power of the blow knocking her to the floor.

She scooted backward, her face throbbing, looking around the room for something to use as a weapon. Now that the drug Rupert had given her had worn off, she was so angry she felt as though her heart would explode in her chest. There was no way she would allow this slobbering idiot anywhere near her.

“Take off your clothes. Once we ‘consummate’ our marriage, and we see the magistrate, we will return to London where you will be the subservient, obedient wife I want.”

She continued backward until she hit the wall. “You will never ‘consummate’ anything with me. I am married, bedded—many times—and am in love with my husband.”

He stalked over to her and grabbed her by her hair. “Iam your husband. Ask anyone in this inn. You know the laws of Scotland. Your uncle referred to you as my wife, and we are now upstairs in our bedchamber, alone.”

“I don’t care if you tell everyone in Scotland that we’re married. It’s a lie and I will not return to London with you.”

He stood up and brushed the sleeves of his jacket. “We will see. Your uncle will visit with the magistrate tomorrow and it will all be legal. Now take off your clothes.”

Kerrigan and Rupertjumped from their horses and raced into the alehouse. Kerrigan almost took the door off its hinges as he opened it. The few men and one woman sitting at the tables looked up at him.

He looked at Rupert. “Which one is the uncle? I didn’t get a verra good look at him when I broke his nose.”

He didn’t need Rupert to tell him which one the bastard was because one of the men sitting at a table with a plate of food in front of him turned a pasty white and stood, looking back and forth for an escape.

Kerrigan raced after him as he turned, heading up the stairs. Kerrigan jumped over the banister and grabbed Allenby by the neck. He shook the man like a bairn’s ragdoll. “Where is my wife?”

Allenby pointed to the second floor. Kerrigan shoved the man down the stairs and looked at Rupert. “Doona let him leave.”

He took the stairs three at a time. “Christine!”

“Kerrigan,” she screamed, the sound coming from behind the third door on the left. He found it locked, but laughed at that. No one, and no door, was going to keep him from his wife. Leaning his shoulder to the thin wood, he shoved it open, breaking it apart.

Christine was on the other side of the bed in the room, her dress torn, the side of her face bruised. She held a jug in her hand.

With a bellow as he flew through the air, Kerrigan landed on Newton, fists flying. At first the man tried to fight back, but when it became obvious he had no chance, he covered his face with his hands.

After a few minutes, Kerrigan felt the innkeeper pulling him back. “My laird, stop. Ye donna want a murder charge,” the man said.

Kerrigan leaned back on his heels, panting to catch his breath. “He hit my wife.”

Christine raced over and threw her arms around him. “Oh, husband. I knew you would come.”