REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) (69 page)

Chapter 2

Aryen MacCalium stood there for a long moment looking down at the little slip of a woman who had just proposed, nay demanded, marriage to him. He shook his head in utter bafflement. So this was Abigail Castlerey, the girl his father had promised him to over a decade ago. He had been barely eleven years old at the time, and thought nothing of it. Of course, over the fifteen years that had passed since then he had given quite a bit more thoughts, but even now at twenty six it seemed like more a fairy tale to him than anything else. He had never even met the lass before now.

And he still hadn’t really. She’d just sort of yelled that she was here to marry him and then fainted before he could get a word in. Black Lord, she had called him. Aye, he had earned the name, if not for the reasons most people thought, but it still made him cringe, especially when uttered from such gorgeous lips as these.

He stole the moment to look at her, drinking in her beauty and sweetness. She was the total opposite of what he’d pictured. The few English ladies he’d met had all been pale haired and paler spirited. The perfect gentlewomen. How boring. It was part of the reason why he had put off following through with the arrangement for so long, besides the fact that he’d had no real intention with going through with it.

Her dark brown hair hung in heavy waves that draped over his arm where it had come undone from the pins. Her skin was sweet peaches and cream and had his mouth watering for a taste, her lips pure and unadulterated sin.  They were closed now, but when he’d first opened the door, expecting one of his men, he’d been struck by her wide, grey eyes. Like a storm falling over the Scottish moors. They had trapped him, entranced him.

As he began walking through the front room and down a back stairway to avoid unwanted eyes, Aryen couldn’t help but feel her sweet curves pressed against him under the deep red fabric of her dress. He noticed how travel worn it was and wondered what had brought her so far with nothing but her horse. He knew Castlerey manor was several miles off, and not the easiest of rides. Her clothing could attest to that.

He would have to get someone to take care of the lass’s horse, he thought idly, trying to fill his thoughts with anything besides just how right she felt in his arms, cradled against his chest.

“My Lord! What are ye doing with that poor girl!” He froze as Mira’s voice washed over him. Mira Tomgunney, the steward and head maid of Castle MacCalium, and a stricter taskmistress he’d never met. Without her, they would all surely fall into ruin and he made as sure to let her know that every day as he did to try and avoid her.

“It’s…she’s…” Aryen stopped, cutting off his nonsensical words. “She is my fiancé.” He finally said, as calmly as he could, and immediately panic flooded his veins. Why in the bloody hell would he say that? Because it would the simple truth, he realized then, standing there and staring down at her. He may have denied it for the past fifteen years, but it had been there, she had been there, always a part of him.

“Oh, bless my soul! A fiancé! Who is she? Ach! What are you doing carryin’ around an unconscious fiancé, my laird?” Mira made it sound more like a nickname than a title of respect but he put up with it because, well, she didn’t give him much choice in the matter. Besides, it was hard to demand respect from the woman who changed him as a child and wasn’t afraid to throw him over her knee even after he was twice as tall as her if she thought he stepped out of line.

“She fainted. I was carrying her to my bedroom so she could rest and recuperate.” He said the words slowly, making sure to enunciating his words so he didn’t feel like such a complete fool in front of the the older woman.

“My stars, fainted! The poor dear. No doubt she took one look at your face and fell dead away.” Mira cackled as she put down the bucket of soapy water she had been carrying. “Follow me, my laird.”

Aryen stared after her for a long moment, just shaking his head. If people knew how he let his own staff treat him they would roll over laughing. More like yellow lord instead of black. He shook his head, and then did the only thing he could. Followed after her.

“Now, ya know ye can’t be having any unmarried girls in yer chambers, even if she is to be your bride. Let me just air out the blankets and you can put the poor girl in here.” No doubt poor because she was marrying him, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

It caught him by surprise all of a sudden, how easy it was to think of this woman as his wife. He stared down at her and felt a strange fire burning in his chest, something he’d never felt before. But rather than a conflagration, it was a comforting warmth that spread from his chest through his body in calm, soothing waves. Suddenly, he wished he knew what had brought her running to the Black Lord’s doorstep with marriage on her mind. It must be something terrible indeed, he thought with a sarcastic cynicism he couldn’t deny.

As he laid her down gently on the mattress Mira had just prepared, his thoughts churned madly. Could he do this? Could he really go through with it? Aryen thought again of all the unmarried daughters that had been thrown in his path by well meaning mothers, and some of the mothers themselves, truth be told. They either knew the truth about him, that he wasn’t the blackguard every one thought him to be, or didn’t care and wanted the title and wealth that would come with his name.

He couldn’t remember the amount of times he’d had to duck an unwanted advance, and some of those women would not take no for an answer. It had been a very trying year for him and he couldn’t wait for it to be over. And this would be the perfect thing to get the desperate attempts to trick him into marriage to stop. Because he already would be married.

The idea struck a chord in him, not just because it would solve his dilemma, but as he stared down at Abigail Cecelia DuBois Castlerey, he could picture himself married to her, getting to know and care for her, having children with her. It was all there in his mind, like their story had already been written in the stars and he was just discovering it for himself.

“What are ye doing mooning over the lass, sire. You have to let the girl rest.” Mira’s words were quickly followed with a shooing motion and he knew better than to argue with the old harridan.
             

“You’ll make sure she’s alright, Mira? Check in on her and such?” He waited for her nod of assent, that was accompanied by a look that told him he was idiot for having to ask. Aryen turned towards the door to walk out, but stopped again. “And you’ll let me know? When she’s awake, I mean?”

“Certainly, my laird. You’ll be the first person to know.” She smiled at him for a moment, before her normal harsh expression returned. “Now be gone! This is no place for a randy bachelor.”

Randy bachelor! He fumed to himself as he fled. He was her bloody fiancé!

Chapter 3

“Come on, my lady. Rise and shine, you’ve a big day ahead of you.” The exuberant maid’s words were almost impossible for Abigail to make out, partly because of her thick brogue and partly because of the ringing in her ears that wouldn’t seem to stop. She put a hand to her head, rubbing at her temples and trying to ease the pounding ache and at the same time figure out just what in the world was going on. Where was she?

Abigail hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words out loud until the woman currently bouncing around the room opening curtains and pulling out a beautiful dress for her answered.

“Oh, ach, I heard you took quick a spill or something. You’ve been out since yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh my, an entire day?” Abigail shot up in the large, comfortable bed and immediately clutched her head.

“Here ya go, lassie. Take a big swig of this. It’s my granddad’s recipe. His secret cure, he used to call it.” Abigail looked at the offered tin cup dubiously. “Go on, take it,” The woman said again. “It’ll help, I promise.”

Her head hurt so bad, the decision was made for her. She grabbed the cup and took a big drink without even looking at the liquid inside. Medicine was always bad, but it looked twice as worse as it tasted. She almost gagged as she choked it down. Or so she thought. She looked down into the thick, sludgy depths and retracted her previous thought. This time, it definitely tasted at least twice as bad as it looked.

But as she swallowed the foul tasting stuff down she realized that her head really was starting to feel better. She climbed out of bed only to realize that she was still wearing the same dress from the day before.

“Oh no, I hope it’s not ruined.” She said softly but heartfelt as she brushed at the wrinkles and snags from tossing and turning through the night.

“Now don’t you worry about that at all. Once you change I’ll have Carrie see to it. She’s a wonder with the needle and thread, lass. You mark my words we’ll have it brand new before you know it.”
             

“Change? Change into what? This is the only dress I was able to bring with me. At least the only one nice enough to wear out in public.” Abigail looked down at the rumpled dress feeling heartbroken and confused and not a little overwhelmed. “I’m sorry, what was your name, again?” She asked politely, and the woman turned with a surprised look in her bright blue eyes, set off by her equally bright red hair, even if it did have more than a little gray peeking through.

“Ach, here I am chatterin’ away and I didn’t even have the decency to introduce myself.” The older woman turned, brushing at invisible dirt on her impeccable white apron before giving a slight curtsy. “I am Mira Tomgunney, the steward and head maid of Castle MacCalium.” She gave another small dip of her head and Abigail could sense the seriousness of the title. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mira, I’m Abigail Castlerey.” She remembered then another introduction. She had been standing on the front stairs pointing at someone’s very masculine chest when she had fainted right there and then. A wave of embarrassment flitted through her at the memory. She’d never fainted before her life, and then certainly had not been the ideal time to give it a try.

“Oh, I know who you are, lass.” Mira said with a twinkle in her blue eyes.  “Now come on out of bed, and I’ll help you change.”

“But, my dress…” Abigail’s words trailed off as Mira grinned again, full of mischief.

“Don’t you worry, my lady. Laird MacCalium’s thought of everything he has. He figured you didn’t have much in that lil’ chest of yours, so he had everyone in a right tizzy finding the dress and getting it cleaned and ready for you.” She walked over to a cabinet and opened the doors but all she could see was a cloud of cream and ice blue fabric. “He’s taken care of your horse as well.”

Abigail sighed in relief at that news, quickly followed by a pang of guilt that she hadn’t thought of Chestnut sooner. Well, it sounded like the black lord had taken care of everything, including her. She wondered where he was, and she couldn’t deny, what he looked like. She had heard rumors that he was the most handsome man in the Scottish Highlands, and then she’d heard other rumors that said he had a humped back and giant warts on his face.

But rumors were just that, only rumors, Abigail reminded herself. She had the proof right in front of her that he wasn’t as bad as all that. He had shown care for her and her horse, and that went a small way in allaying some of her fears.

“My, what a beautiful dress. It looks like a wedding dress.” Abigail gasped in admiration as Mira pulled out the long dress. It had layers of sheer cream tulle draped over the palest blue satin she’d ever seen. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.

“Right you are miss, as it’s your wedding day.” Mira sent her a wink, as if she hadn’t just turned Abigail’s world on its end.

“I’m sorry…what…excuse me?” She stuttered as shock waves echoed through her. Wedding day. Today! That was impossible.

“Well, there you were on the doorsteps, saying that you were here to marry Lord MacCalium. And he obliged to let you do it. Doesn’t see much point in dragging’ his feet, that man. And to be honest, I agree.”

“You do?” She squeaked, still trying to grasp what the woman was saying.

“Oh, aye. He was seen carrying you around the castle, very familiar like. He wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, you know. About your morals.” Mira said the last on a whisper and yet another wink, like it was a secret she was being let in on. Abigail stared at the woman for a long time. She could hear that it wasn’t quite the whole truth in the woman’s voice, but on the other hand, what she’d said struck a chord with her. She’d seen her fair share of women ruined by impropriety, and new just what a soiled reputation could do. She had seen it destroy lives.

“Of course, of course.” Abigail said, not even aware of what she was saying. Her mind was racing madly as she fought down the panic trying to rise inside her like steam from a bellows. It was just happening all so fast, it was like she was on a carousel, spinning so quick that the world around her blurred.
             

But isn’t this what she’d wanted? To demand he marry her, and do it quick before her uncle figures out her plan and comes to collect her. An unmarried woman would have no choice but to leave with her relative, despite how vile and despicable he was. But married, she would have all the weight of her husband behind her. She would be safe.

From uncle Travis, at least. The thought popped into her head unbidden as she finally rose, determination and fear growing in equal measure. But who was going to protect her from her notorious husband?