The Highlander's Choice (17 page)

Her throat thickened, and her eyes filled with tears. How could she have ever thought this man was a barbarian? The love and hope on his face filled her with such love for him in return that she couldn’t even form the word he so wanted to hear. Instead, she merely nodded her acceptance, two tears tracking down her cheeks.

Liam carefully slid a ruby and diamond ring onto her finger. “’Twas my grandmother’s. It came to me after she died.”

Sybil studied the beautiful ring through watery eyes. “It is exquisite.”

Standing, he pulled her to her feet and cupped her cheeks.
Tha gaol agam ort,”
he whispered before he slowly bent his head and took her lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

The wind buffeted them as they stood on the rock, the beauty of the Highlands on one side, the rough angry sea on the other. A fine mist of cold salt water sprayed them, but Sybil was warmed from her toes to her head by her betrothed’s kiss. “What did you say? Was that Gaelic?”

He ran his finger down her cheek. “Yes. I said ‘I love you.’”

“I love you, too.”

“
Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin
.”

She gave him a questioning glance.

“That means I love you, too, in Gaelic.”

“Oh.
Tha gaol agam ort-fhèin
”
She stumbled slightly, but it came out at least similar to what he’d said.

“Verra good, my lady. I’ll make a Scottish lass out of ye yet.”

“And is that so important?”

“’Twould help.” He grinned and winked at her.

She raised her chin. “Indeed?”

“Ach, I’m teasing ye.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I think we should get married tomorrow.”

“What?” She leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “Tomorrow?”

“Aye. Now that I have yer consent, I don’t want to give ye time to change yer mind.”

“I won’t change my mind.” She shook her head. “But I want a proper wedding. I need my family to be here.”

He sighed and tucked a loose curl back into her bonnet. “Aye. I ken you would.”

The wind had picked up, chilling them both. Sybil shivered and burrowed into Liam’s warmth. She inhaled the familiar and comforting scents of Liam. Her man. She smiled into the wool of his jacket.

“Come, lass. Yer getting chilled.” He hopped down from the rock and reached up for her. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he swung her down, kissing her as she slid down his body. “Ach, lass. We need to find a fast way for yer family to travel here. I want ye in my bed, where I can keep ye verra warm.”

Sybil flushed at the fond memories of how Liam kept her warm. It would be interesting to make love in a bed, since both times had been on the library floor.

Holding hands, they climbed up the slight incline until they were blocked from the sea by the hill they’d crested on their way to the water. Away from the ocean the wind subsided, making the walk back warmer and quite pleasant.

“I will tell my mum and sisters at dinner that ye accepted my proposal.”

One final hurdle to climb, it seemed. How would her future mother-in-law take this news? Until now it seemed she’d had no use for her, and all of Sybil’s attempts to make the woman warm toward her had failed. But she would not allow Lady MacBride to ruin her happiness.

She glanced up at Liam to find him staring at her. “What?”

“I’m thinking of how I can sneak into yer bedchamber tonight.”

“Liam, no! That’s improper.”

His eyebrows rose. “The library floor is more proper?”

“No. We cannot continue that until we’re married.”

“Ach, lass. If ye think I can stay away from ye now that I ken ye are mine, yer sadly mistaken.”

…

Dinner was a quiet affair. Once Liam made his announcement, both of his sisters squealed with delight, jumping up in a most unladylike manner, each giving Sybil a sisterly hug. His mum remained silent, not making any comments.

“When is the wedding?” Catriona bounced up and down on her seat, her bright eyes full of excitement.

“Lady Sybil must write to her family first, and we need to give them time to travel here.”

“Actually, Liam,” Sybil said, “Now that I’ve thought about this, my sister Abigail just had twins in February.” She began counting on her fingers. “My brother and his wife also had a baby girl in February, and my sister Marion was expecting her baby around now. She most likely has a newborn child herself.”

“Ach, lass. Yer family is exploding.”

“Indeed. But only my sister, Sarah will be able to travel any distance. I would never want my wedding to not include her.”

“We can travel to England and marry there.”

“No, Liam,” Alanna said. “You must marry here so our clan can witness their laird’s marriage. ’Tis tradition, right, Mum?”

All eyes swung to the one person who had left herself out of the conversation. “It matters naught. ’Tis the laird’s choice. Let
my laird
decide what he wants to do. ’Tis his decision.” Feigning indifference, she returned to her meal.

“I have a suggestion. Why don’t we marry here and then travel to England to visit with yer family?” Anything to get Sybil right where he wanted her as soon as possible. In his bed and in his arms.

Sybil seemed to consider the idea. “That might be the best solution.”

“Aye. Then ’tis settled. We will have the wedding in three weeks.” He peered at mum who continued to pretend the conversation was not taking place. “Can I ask ye to help with the wedding?”

She placed her fork neatly at the side of her plate. “Of course,
my laird
.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I will go immediately to the kitchen and work out the menu with Mrs. MacDougal,
my laird
.” With a slight nod she turned and left the room.

Liam dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

Chapter Seventeen

Two weeks passed in a flurry of wedding preparations. To Liam’s amazement his mum actually did help quite a bit with the arrangements. While not actually being pleasant, nevertheless, she did what needed to be done to make sure all would run smoothly on his wedding day.

His wedding day. It couldn’t come soon enough. True to her word, Sybil had barred him from her bedchamber and refused to remain in the library after his sisters had retired for the evening. His frustration grew each day. This time next week he would be a married man and more than happy to retire to their bedchamber each night right from the dinner table as his mum continued to do.

While the women fussed about the wedding, he’d spent his time getting estate matters in order so he and Sybil could take sufficient time to travel to England and spend time with her kin. He hoped her family didn’t hold the same disdain for the Scots as his mum did for the English. However, based on what she’d told him of them, he doubted he would be met with anything but acceptance.

A scratch at his office door drew his attention from his musings about the very wicked things he intended to do with his bride very soon. “Yes. Come.”

His mum stood at the doorway, a look of pleasure on her face such as he hadn’t seen in a while. In fact, not since Sybil had arrived. She moved forward, her hands behind her back. An unexplained nugget of fear settled in his stomach.
What was the woman up to now?

“I wanted to speak with ye about yer wedding plans.”

Liam nodded to the chair in front of his desk.

His mum settled herself, drawing out a piece of foolscap from behind her back and rested it in her lap. “Everything is ready.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He tensed further. Something was wrong. Verra wrong. He knew his mum well. If she was this happy, it didn’t bode well for him.

She smiled brightly. “There will need to be one change, however.”

Liam shifted in his seat, trying to relax his muscles. “What are ye up to woman? I don’t like the look on yer face, and you obviously have something yer dying to tell me. So stop playing games and speak.”

“It seems the change will be yer bride.” The joy on her face as she took the foolscap from her lap and placed it onto his desk knotted his stomach. She was entirely too happy.

With shaky hands he picked up the paper and skimmed the words. ’Twas a letter from The McLaughlin assuring Lady MacBride that he was thrilled to once again join his daughter, Anise, and Laird MacBride. He and the lass were on their way to Bedlay Castle.

He tossed the paper aside with a sense of relief. They’d already gone over this. “Nay. I instructed you to write to the man and tell him I would not renew the betrothal agreement.”

She sat forward. “What do ye mean, nay? The honor of our entire clan rests with you fulfilling the betrothal agreement.” She gestured with her chin toward the letter.

Liam ran his fingers through his hair. “There is no agreement, and I will not abide ye taking these matters into yer own hands and refusing to honor what yer laird ordered. I have made my choice, and ’tis not Anise McLaughlin. I will write to him and explain I am already betrothed and will marry within a week’s time.”

“And make a liar out of yer mum? I told him ye were in the market for a bride.”

“How many times do ye need to hear me say ye have no right to interfere with my life?”

Lady MacBride stabbed the paper on his desk with her finger. “Ye canna stop him from coming. Laird McLaughlin and yer bride are on their way here.”

Jumping up from his chair, Liam shouted, “My bride is right here at Bedlay. If ye refuse to send a messenger to intercept them, then I shall move up my wedding to the morn, and ye can greet the man by yerself with the news that me and my bride are on our honeymoon.”

His mum sneered. “’Twas bad enough when ye decided to betrothe yerself to a Sassenach, but I will not sit by and watch ye dishonor yer clan by embarrassing me and then tossing everything Scottish in ye to the wind. ’Tis an awkward spot ye put me in with The McLaughlin.”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Ye got yerself into this mess. Ye can get yerself out of it.”

His mother’s shoulders slumped. “Ach lad. Yer not giving this enough thought. If ye have yer way, ye’ll be raising a passel of English brats. Anise McLaughlin is a good, Scottish lass. She will give ye strong lads.”

He hit his chest with his thumb. “Nay. My bairns will be Scottish, naught English.” Any lads and lasses of his would be Scottish in name and heritage. He’d make certain they understood that their sweet mother notwithstanding, the English were a nasty lot who had persecuted the Scots for decades.

“Half English!” she shouted.

“Nay! Scottish.” He leaned forward. “My love for the English is no more than yers.” He pounded his fist on the desk. “My bairns will be Scottish. Do ye hear me woman? Naught English. They will be raised in the Scottish tradition and never be called Sassenach!”

…

Sybil stopped abruptly at the door to the library. Recently returning from her walk in the garden with Catriona and Alanna, she’d been drawn to the library door by the sound of Lady MacBride’s voice raised in anger. Hating that she was eavesdropping, nevertheless she didn’t make her presence known.

Anise McLaughlin?

All the blood drained from Sybil’s face as she heard Liam’s declaration. She pushed open the door with her fingertips. Liam and his mother glared at each other, both in a combative stance.

“Liam?” Her voice rasped.

Flushed-face, his head jerked toward the door as he regarded her. His eyes grew wide. “Ach lass. I dinna ken you were there.”

She raised her chin. “Apparently not. However, it would have been hard not to hear you, anyway. I am sure my brother, the very
English
Duke of Manchester heard you all the way in London.”

Lady MacBride’s lip curled as she strolled toward Sybil. “Now ye know what yer betrothed thinks of yer English,
Lady Sybil.
” She swept from the room, holding her skirts close as if to avoid touching her.

Liam held out his hand. “Lass, I was angry. The woman does that to me. I dinna mean it.”

“Yes, you did.” She moved farther into the room, her fists at her side, her chin quivering with emotion. “And,
my laird
, do you think I would be happy to raise my
English
children as Scottish? Do you think you are the only one with pride?”

How dare he impugn the English?
Here he was professing love for her when all the time he hated everything that represented what she was. Her heritage was as important to her as his was to him. She should have known that his heart was so full of his clan, his mother, and his way of life, that there was no room for her. Or for any children they might have had who would be half English.

He moved around the desk and stood in front of her. “I think we both need to calm down.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “No. It appears your mum has already selected a woman for you who will
give ye strong lads
. We have made a grave mistake.” As if seeing clearly for the first time in weeks, she realized his disdain for her when they’d first met made his profession of love all lies. How could she have believed he had actually put aside his dislike and distrust of an entire nation of people? For her?

She’d been a fool. Closing her eyes briefly at the pain of her dreams shattering, she turned and headed for the door.

“Sybil.”

She shook her head, and held up her hand when he started toward her. “I will have Bessie pack my belongings. If you will notify your driver to prepare your carriage, I should like to leave as soon as I am ready. Then you can prepare for your wedding to the Scottish woman.” She raised her chin. “You do remember you promised my brother you would provide transportation home when I was ready to leave?”

He rested his hands on his hips and peered at her through shuttered eyes. “Aye. I remember. But I think ye should give yerself time to calm down so we can discuss this.”

She smiled sadly, her eyes burning from where the tears had gathered. “There is nothing to discuss. I believe everything worth saying has been stated. Quite clearly and at the top of your lungs.” She hurried from the room, the knot in her throat choking her.

Once she entered her bedchamber, she walked to the window, looking out at the beautiful Scottish Highlands. Finally the tears spilled from her eyes and dripped from her chin to land on the window sill. It had all been a dream. She didn’t belong here, and Liam had just confirmed it. Apparently Lady MacBride had done an excellent job of tainting Liam’s view of everything and everyone English.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to erase the chill that had settled on her. Never in her life had she been so miserable. She’d finally found the man she’d been holding out for; someone to love, who loved her in return. Unfortunately, there was the little matter of a deep seated prejudice against her and her people.

“That’s what I get for trusting a
Scottish barbarian
with my heart,” she murmured.

She slipped the ring off her finger and placed it on the pillow on her bed, then went in search of Bessie.

…

“Has she said anything yet?” Mary asked.

“Nothing.” Sarah sighed.

Sybil listened against the closed breakfast room door, trying to garner the strength to walk into the room and face her family once again. Since she’d returned from Scotland they’d all tip-toed around her.

Two long weeks had passed, and she’d smiled when she was heartbroken, laughed when she wanted to cry. But she had fooled no one. Her surprised and unannounced return to her country home had been met with joy. At first. Then her family began their solicitous attentions. Sybil found it impossible to talk about Liam, even to her beloved twin. Her pain was too raw, too new.

Her anger had slowly faded over time, replaced with a longing that hurt. She still hadn’t reached the point where she could get past even ten minutes without thinking about him. About the fact that he was most likely married to the woman his mum was so determined to have him wed. A woman much more suited to Bedlay and the MacBride clan.

She tried shopping, visiting friends, afternoon teas, but nothing worked. No matter where she was or what she was doing, a scene would flash through her mind of them together. Then her heart would ache so much it would double her over.

Forcing cheerfulness, she opened the door and entered the room. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” they all chorused.

Her brother, Drake, his wife, Penelope, her sisters Sarah and Mary, along with her mother, the Dowager Duchess of Manchester, all returned bright smiles. She moved to her chair as though she was the pathetic heroine in a bad play. The difference was, an actress playing her part would leave the stage and resume her normal life. Sybil’s life would never be normal again.

Damn the Scot
.

She almost giggled at the idea of asking her family,
How does one recover from a heart so broken that the pieces have scattered like dust in the wind?
That would surely make for interesting breakfast conversation.

Drake had tried several times to talk to her about her trip, but she had brushed him off. She’d been holding herself together for so long she feared if she uttered one word about Liam or their time together out loud, the floodgates would open and she would never stop crying.

“Mary and I are going to the village, would you like to come?” Sarah placed her hand on Sybil’s. “We thought we’d go to the bookstore and see what new books have come in.”

Nay, lass. I ken which one the bookstore is. ’Tis the one with the books in the window.

Unbidden, the tears came. Without a sound she sat very still as thick drops seeped from her eyes, dripping from her chin onto her lap. She closed her eyes, trying to stem the tide, but it didn’t work. “Excuse me,” she mumbled. Pushing her chair back, she quickly moved to the door and raced up to her bedchamber.

It would be another long day.

…

Liam awoke with a throbbing headache, ready to face another day full of misery. He’d been gone from Bedlay for three weeks. Three weeks of seeking the bottom of the next bottle of whiskey and trying his best not to beat someone senseless.

He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. All he saw was Sybil’s face. The small room he’d been in for three weeks now closed in on him. It was time to return home and face The McLaughlin and Anise. Do his duty. Uphold the honor of his clan.

Once Sybil had climbed into his carriage to journey home, still stiff with anger, he’d vaulted onto Cadeym and ridden for hours with no particular destination in mind. Just as the sun had begun its descent he had found himself at an inn, miles from Bedlay Castle. Not interested in where he was, he ordered a bottle of whiskey sent up to his room. Aside from the occasional meal tray, over the past three weeks he’d merely indulged himself in pity.

Sybil had thought all Scots were whiskey swizzlers and bar brawlers. He gently touched the bruise under his eye from the fight he’d had last night when he’d finally ventured from his room and had taken insult on something an Englishman had said about the Scots. Well, a swizzler and brawler is what he had apparently turned into.

Why he’d blurted out that stupid comment about the
Sassenach
while in the middle of his argument with mum angered him still.

He’d lived with his mum’s hatred of the English, but he genuinely thought the hatred had not seeped into his bones. Were he to be honest with himself, he did not feel the dislike his mum felt for the Sassenach. He loved Sybil. It was that simple. He didn’t care if she was a dairy maid, or an American, even.

He would have been happy to teach his bairns about their English family, just as he would have liked to tell them about their Scottish ancestry. But he’d lost his chance when he’d let his temper get the better of his common sense.