And the Bride Wore Plaid (12 page)

With all her heart, Fiona hoped Murien would succeed. If Murien was right about Fiona’s marriage already being over, she had to win the wager. She simply
had
to.

Murien clasped her hands together, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Devon St. John at my sister’s house. And with no competition to contend with.”

“Well, there is some competition. A little, anyway.”

Murien whirled on her, her eyes blazing, her face contorted in sudden fury.

Fiona drew back, saying hastily, “It’s only Kat.”

“What? Malcolm’s half sister?” Murien laughed. “Good God, I thought you were serious.”

“Well, I am in a way. You see ...” Fiona hung her head. “Murien, this is more important than you know.”

“Why?”

“Because Malcolm and I made a wager.”

“A wager? On me?”

“I hope you don’t mind, but he was so smug, saying that Mr. St. John had shown a decided interest in Kat and positively
gloating
about it, so I... well, I made a wager that you were more St. John’s type and that you could attract his interest much quicker than his sister.”

Murien merely smiled. “I hope you wagered something of great import.”

“I did,” Fiona said. She wet her lips nervously. “Murien, if I lose, I fear my marriage will indeed be over.” It hurt, just saying the words aloud.

Murien frowned. “You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

Fiona blinked back the tears. “No! No, of course not.”

“Good. I hate it when you cry. But you needn’t worry. If I have anything to do with it, I will not only attract Mr. St. John’s interest, but I will secure it.” She held up her hand and looked at it as if admiring a ring. “By this time next month, Mr. Devon St. John will be mine.”

Fiona gave a sigh of relief. Once she and Malcolm settled this one argument, their relationship could go back to the way it had been when they’d first gotten married. She knew that once she got to Edinburgh, she would be merry again, and then so would Malcolm. “Thank you, Murien! I knew I could count on you.”

Murien smoothed her hands over the front of her dress, pressing her breasts up, her eyes gleaming softly. “Indeed you may, Fiona. You will win this wager. Devon St. John won’t know what has befallen him.”

I love you. I really, really love you. Like the stars in the sky, like the water in the oceans. You, my dear, are everything to me and there will never be another.

Mr. Poole to Lady Lucinda Sutherlund, while stealing a kiss beneath the stars on the veranda at the Sutherlund rout

“Ye’re sure ye’re feeling well?”

Kat turned from where she’d been supervising the loading of the cart. They’d finished the earl’s final window late last night and had spent the morning grinding off the uneven edges and cleaning the glass until it gleamed. Now all the windows were safely packed in frames and were ready for delivery. “I’m fine, Simon. I’m fine now. And I was fine five minutes ago when you asked me then.”

He reddened. “Sorry aboot that, Miss Kat. I was just wonderin‘—” He clamped his mouth closed. “Never mind.”

She waved good-bye to Alistair and Donald, who dutifully waved back. Alistair was, as usual, grinning from ear to ear, while Donald, ever the soothsayer of doom, was muttering about the bad roads ahead and how his left knee told him they were in for a fierce storm.

Kat waited until they were well down the path before she turned to Simon. “I’m ready now. You may begin.”

“Begin what?”

“Whatever it is that has been worrying you all day. Out with it before you explode.”

“Nothing’s worrying me, Miss Kat. I was jus’ wonderin‘—” He scratched his neck. “ ’Tis not my place to say anything, but from what I’ve heard aboot the Sassenach, you’d best have a care.”

“Have a care about what? I’ve only spoken to him once.” That Simon knew about. Kat didn’t see the need to inform him of the other time as it would just raise unnecessary questions. Questions she wasn’t sure she could answer.

“I know, missus. But he seemed a wee bit determined to take you for a ride when he was here a few days ago. I’d thought he’d be back by now.” Simon’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“Well, I said no, didn’t I? So you have nothing to fear.”

Simon looked at her.

“What?”

He raised his brows, his gaze fastening on her gown.

Kat flushed, her hand smoothing her skirt. “So I wore a different gown today than I normally do. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Ye’ve worn a nicer gown every day since he last visited. Are ye wishin‘ he would return?”

“No! Not at all.”

Simon raised his brows again.

Kat’s face heated even more. “By St. George’s dragon, I’m not about to apologize for wearing something other than one of my old gray work gowns! Besides, it’s not as if I came to work dressed for a ball or anything ridiculous.”

Of course, it was a better quality of gown than the ones she usually wore. Of soft dove-gray cotton, it fell in fuller, more graceful folds. And the neckline, while not precisely fancy, did have a thin stitching of trim.

Kat self-consciously traced the stitching. “I wear this gown all the time.”

“To church, mayhap. But not to work in. ‘Tisn’t practical as ye’ll get soot on it and the sparks’ll mark it.”

There was something in what he said; Kat didn’t own a work gown that didn’t have at least one small hole burned in the skirts.

Simon crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Know what I think?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“I think ye were hopin‘ the Sassenach would come a-callin’.”

“I did no such thing,” Kat replied hotly. Although, to be honest, there had been a moment yesterday when she thought she’d heard horse’s hooves clop-ping on the path and her heart had pounded a bit harder than usual. She sighed to herself. Very well... perhaps she
had
hoped to see the Sassenach again. He’d been much in her thoughts. But she’d be damned before she admitted such a thing to Simon.

Of course, she was a little chagrined that St. John hadn’t returned before now. Perhaps he wasn’t as interested as he’d pretended. The thought pricked at her pride.

“Lass, ye’re dreamin‘ if ye think this Sassenach will come a-callin’. Not that ye’re not a lovely woman, fer ye are. But the Sassenach didn’t look like the kind of man who’d take the time to act like a proper gent—” Simon’s gaze moved past her, his brows lowering until they met over his nose. “Bloody hell!”

Kat turned, though she already knew what she’d see. And there he was—Devon St. John, riding across the clearing. He was hatless, the sun gleaming off his black hair, limning the bridge of his nose and touching the plane of each cheekbone. Dressed in a blue riding coat with buff breeches, he looked far too handsome to be in the woods.

There! She’d been right to wear one of her better gowns. She cleared her throat. “Simon?”

“Aye, lass?” It was a testament to how upset he was that Simon’s voice was more of a rumble than actual words.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the lads and begin cleaning the workshop. I’ll be there in a trice.”

Simon glowered. “I don’t like leavin‘ ye with His Namby-Pamby Lordship. Ye need a chaperone.”

“Out here? In the middle of the clearing? What’s he going to do? Throw me to the ground and have his way with me in front of all of you and the house staff?”

“I wouldna put it past him, the bounder.”

“Simon, you’ve gone daft, you have. Now off with you. I’ll be there to help shortly.”

“But—”

“Please.”

Simon sighed. “Very well,” he mumbled. He slowly turned on his heel, glaring at Devon as he went.

Devon pulled Thunder to a halt as Simon walked by. It didn’t take a man of unusual discernment to read the message on Simon’s craggy face. Devon hoped that the fact that he returned the look without flinching sent a message back.

He reached Kat and dismounted. She looked especially lovely today, her hair a little tousled by the wind, her gown hugging those luxuriant curves.

It made all his efforts worthwhile. He thought he discerned the slightest bit of excitement in her green gaze, a hint of warm welcome that was quite different from the calm dismissal she’d last given him. Good. Though he’d wanted nothing more than to storm back to the clearing after their last meeting, he’d decided that Miss Kat needed some time to decide what she wanted. He’d hoped that being alone in the woods with her work—doing the same thing she always did, talking to the same people she always talked to—would make her yearn for something out of the ordinary. Something special. Like an Englishman with a ready smile.

He smiled down at her now, bowing a little. “Good morning.” Last night he and Malcolm had whiled away the evening playing billiards and drinking brandy. As soon as night fell, Devon excused himself and went to his room, where he began to formulate a plan, all the while feeling the onerous presence of the talisman ring. With the information he’d garnered from Malcolm, added to his own innate knowledge of women, and the little he knew about Katherine Anne Macdonald, Devon was fairly sure that by the end of the week, if he was not in her bed, he’d be close to it. She was a hot piece, and all he had to do was break through some of the barriers she’d erected around her heart.

Not too many, of course, for he had no intention of becoming the focal point of that heart. All he wanted was the pleasure of her body, a brief taste of her spirit. Her heart she could save for whomever she came to love, as long as it wasn’t Devon.

But first, before he did anything, he had to win her trust. After that, he would woo her with a thoroughness that would leave them both panting and pleased. Malcolm had said Kat needed the truth and Devon was ready.

He bowed, glancing up at her through his lashes.

Her cheeks flushed pink beneath the cream, though her gaze did not waver. “Perhaps we should skip the civilities and go right to the reason you are here.”

Devon had to smile. “I came to ask you once again if you would come for a ride with me.”

“No.”

“Poor Thunder. He would have enjoyed having such a lovely rider.”

Her mouth formed a no, but it never came out of her mouth. Instead her gaze went over his shoulder to where the horse was tied, the sun gleaming on the gelding’s pure, strong lines.

After a long moment, she turned her gaze back to Devon. He was amused, as well as chagrined, to see that some of the admiration that had sparkled in her gaze when she’d looked at the horse had disappeared when she focused on him.

Devon had to bite back a sigh. Kat was so different from the women he usually met; like Malcolm’s sister-in-law, for example. Murien Spalding was everything Malcolm had warned of—she was small and feminine and exuded a helpless charm—exactly the sort of woman Devon knew he should avoid, though it had been difficult. Murien seemed determined to waylay him every chance she got, which made Kat’s reluctance all the more appealing.

Kat looked at him now. “If I ride
your
horse, what will
you
ride?”

He shrugged. “I daresay you have any number of animals in your stable that could hold me.”

“None are as fine as Thunder.”

“No, but I will be justly compensated by your lovely company.” He knew he’d made a mistake the second the words were out of his mouth. Kat Macdonald didn’t want flowery phrases and empty words. She wanted ... He almost frowned. What
did
she want?

Her expression had shuttered, and he could see that she was already pulling away. There was nothing for it but the truth. “Miss Macdonald—Kat, please. I am a stranger in Scotland. And while I am thankful for your brother’s hospitality, it is rather tense in the castle.”

Her expression softened just the tiniest bit. “Fiona and Malcolm are still at it?”

“Oh yes. So far I haven’t had the opportunity to witness them do anything other than snip at each other, though I’m sure they were a charming couple when they first wed.”

She tilted her head to one side, curiosity making her eyes appear lighter. “You don’t sound as if you approve.”

“Of what? Marriage?”

She nodded.

“I don’t believe in it. At least not for me.”

A faint smile touched her lips, the first one today. For some reason, Devon felt as if the sun shone a trifle brighter just because of that tiny upturn of her generous lips.

“So you aren’t a marrying man.” Her eyes were bright with amusement. “I’m surprised you admit that.”

So was he, though it was the truth. Had he made such a statement to a society miss in London, one with a matrimonial gleam in her eye, he would have been labeled crass and unfeeling. But Kat merely nodded. “I don’t think I believe in it, either. Not anymore.”

A faint hint of sadness touched her smile. Devon knew she was remembering her past, and he was hard-pressed not to ask her about it. He certainly didn’t know her well enough to ask such personal questions, but somehow he knew that if he did, she would answer. There was no pretense or artifice about Kat. There was ... just Kat herself.

Thunder whickered in indignation at being made to stand, and he pawed the ground impatiently.

Kat chuckled. “You had better go. He doesn’t look happy.”

“He can stay where he is until I’ve had my answer. Will you ride with me?”

She turned her head to give Thunder a final, lingering glance. Devon knew the instant she made up her mind, for her shoulders straightened.

“Very well. I will ride with you. But it cannot be for long. I’ve work to do.”

“I know that. We’ll make it an hour, no more.”

She raised her brows.

“Half an hour then. Later this afternoon?”

“No. Best make it tomorrow.”

He’d hoped for today, but if he wanted to breach the walls Kat had built, he’d have to let her set their pace. So instead, he took her hand and turned it over in his. “Shall we say morning? At ten?”

“Fine.”

He uncurled her fingers and pressed a kiss to her palm. Her skin was warm and firm beneath his, her fingers roughened. He ran his thumb over hers and smiled into her eyes. “You work far too hard.”