Page 66 of The Widow Wore Plaid

Smiling, Jane shook her head. “The sheriff’s taking him to the jail in Strathpeffer. He’ll remain there, awaiting trial.”

One more thing he needed to do, and soon. He must write a letter asking for clemency for his kinsman. Even if his actions ended in Gareth’s ultimate demise, he believed his cousin of unsound mind. Not that his letter would carry a lot of weight, but he’d feel better if he wrote it. Sooner as there might not be a later. “And his wife, Kitty? Where is she?”

“I’m not sure.” Jane shrugged. “This morning she had gone, all their belongings packed in a trunk. Grant said the coachman said she asked to go to Inverness. Is that their home?”

“I don’t think so. Uncle Ian’s home, where they’ve been staying since his death, is in Invergordon.” He took her hands and twined their fingers together. “She didn’t go to Rory in Strathpeffer?”

“It seems not. Perhaps she couldn’t face being at his trial.”

“A man shouldn’t be alone when he dies.”

Jane leaned forward, until her face filled his vision. “You will not be alone, Gareth, even though you are not going to die. It may take some weeks for you to regain your strength, but you will not die. And I will be right here the whole time.” Her mouth trembled a little. “It will mean we cannot marry immediately, but there is time—”

“No, love, there’s not.” He stroked her cool cheek. “We need to marry today, this evening, rather, for I need to send for Mr. Ross and my solicitor, to draw up the marriage settlements. Lathbury can help with those.”

“Gareth.”

Her voice had the tone he’d come to know quite well. The “I-know-better-than-you-do” tone. Only this time she didn’t.

“I’m sorry, my love, but I have to insist.” He squeezed her hand, then let go, his strength ebbing after the exertion of so much talk.

Worry leaped into her face and she rose from the chair, her lips in a tense, straight line. “Then I must go catch Mr. Robbins to ask if he thinks you are strong enough to do this today. If he says no, then it is no, my love.”

“I’m sure he’ll say yes.” He smiled up at her, though his eyelids were heavy. Needed to close them for a few minutes.

“Gareth.”

A shake of his arm brought him back from the brink of unconsciousness. “Jane?”

Her lips brushed his in a light kiss. “You don’t go anywhere, you hear me? I’ll be right back.”

Nodding sleepily, he savored the memory of the touch of her lips for the briefest moment, before the darkness claimed him.

* * *

Dread pushing her to race down the staircase, Jane tried to hang on to a modicum of hope that Gareth’s request for them to marry today was not an indication that his life was in jeopardy. The sight of him just now, however, had scared her badly. The terrors of the past forty-eight hours didn’t hold a candle to the growing fear that he might not survive their ordeal.

She arrived in the foyer in record time and dashed outside, peering about for Mr. Robbins. No horse or carriage of any sort stood in the driveway and she cursed under her breath. It would take too long to change into her habit and go after him herself, so she’d have to send a groom. Whirling around, she ran back into the castle, her gaze darting here and there looking for a footman or Grant. Luckily, the butler was just coming out of the library, decanter in hand to filling. “Grant. I need a footman or groom, someone to fetch Mr. Robbins back immediately.”

The butler’s face paled and he set the decanter down on a table with a shaky hand. “Is Lord Kinellan worse, my lady?”

“I’m not certain, but I think so. I didn’t see the doctor and Kinellan isn’t telling me what he said. Can you send someone after him?”

“Immediately, my lady.” Grant hurried toward the rear of the castle, abandoning the decanter.

Jane picked it up, sniffed it, the sweet aroma seductive in her present state. Had she a glass to hand she’d indulge despite the hour and that it was frowned upon for women to imbibe spirits. At this juncture, with Kinellan so ill, she cared not a jot for Society’s strictures.

“There are glasses and a full decanter in here, if you’d like to drink with me.” Lord Lathbury leaned out of the library, his countenance schooled into pleasant lines, though there was a tension about him she’d wager was concern for Gareth.

She put the empty bottle down and entered the cool, dim library, the smell of leather and old books comforting somehow.

Matthew had already poured a liberal dollop into a glass for her and was now pouring an even more generous one for himself. “You’ve seen Kinellan then? Is he no better?”

“Worse, I believe.” Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a cautious sip. It had been years since she’d done so, and that in the privacy of her boudoir in the presence of her husband, the night before he’d gone off to war. Strange how strong drink was connected to the men she might be about to lose. “His fever is back and higher. He’s sluggish, sleepy. Although the doctor’s giving him laudanum, so that may account for that.”

“How is the wound?”

“Kinellan wouldn’t say.” Jane bit her lip, but it had to be said. Gareth wanted to talk to Matthew, so he’d find out anyway. “But he wants our wedding to go forward today.”