The Road to Gretna (22 page)

Did she really know him as well as she thought? Did he really care for her? Would she be any happier with him than she would have been with Angus, or would it be worse because she loved him?

Even unhappiness with Jason was preferable to being Bartholomew’s wife, she decided, and looked back anxiously over her shoulder.

“Not far now,” said Jason encouragingly. “You’ll soon be safe.” He put his arm around her waist and gave her a quick hug. “Damn, if it weren’t for my hat and your bonnet I’d kiss you.”

“Gi’ ma regards to yon priest,” shouted one of a gang of road-menders as they trotted past. Penny blushed and Jason waved his beaver, grinning.

Despite the state of the road, they reached Longtown before noon. Jason stabled his horses at the Graham Arms to rest before the uphill pull back to Newkirk. He insisted that Penny drink a cup of tea, though she was too nervous to eat, while he put away a tankard of ale and a bannock with cheese. Then, behind a restive hired pair, they crossed the bridge over the turbulent red waters of the Esk, into Scotland.

Penny sat bolt upright, one white-knuckled hand gripping the side of the gig. Jason took one look at her set face and said in a conversational tone, “Did you notice the name of the inn?”

“The Graham Arms?”

“The ‘lost bride of Netherby' was a Graham.”

“Scott’s
Marmion
? Young Lochinvar? Of course, ‘He swam the Esk river where ford there was none.’ Is Netherby Hall near here?”

“Just a short way up the river.”

“And Canonbie Lee? Did not Mullins mention a bridge at Canonbie? ‘There was racing and chasing, on Canonbie Lee.’”

“You know the poem by heart? I had a suspicion that a romantic soul lurks within that practical exterior. I’m sorry I cannot carry you off on my charger instead of in this prosaic vehicle. Dash it, Penny, will you not take off your bonnet for a moment?”

Though tempted to comply with this outrageous request, Penny said primly, "There is a carriage coming towards us.”

“Foiled again," he said with a sigh. “Which of Scott’s poems do you most admire?”

But they were too close to their destination for Penny’s fidgets to be calmed by a literary conversation. The road was straight and flat, and they soon drove into the village of Gretna Green.

Looking around, Penny saw a church, a courthouse, a school, and several cottages surrounding an attractive, white-painted building with an inn sign.

“Where is the smithy?" she asked.

Jason’s lips quirked. “There is one behind Gretna Hall, I believe. I hate to disappoint you, but the marriage over the anvil in the blacksmith’s forge is a myth.”

“A myth! What do you mean?”

“I ascertained the details when I planned to abduct Alison. It seems that one of the so-called ‘priests,’ who died three years ago, was nicknamed Blacksmith because he could bend a poker over his arm and straighten a horseshoe in his bare hands. He was actually a fisherman. We shall be married, by his nephew, David Lang—a former peddler and sailor, I believe—in comparative comfort in the Marriage Room in Gretna Hall.”

“In the inn?”

He nodded, not attempting to compete with a clanging bell on the schoolhouse that apparently announced their arrival. Ostlers rushed out from the inn, and curious children from the school hoping for a dramatic pursuit. Penny tried to hide her face as Jason handed her down from the gig.

A schoolgirl in a smocked pinafore and apron ran up to them. “Lucky white heather for the leddy, your honour. On’y a bawbee the bunch.”

Jason reached into his pocket and drew out something that glinted in the sun and clinked when he dropped it into the child’s palm. Penny looked down. Alison’s necklace!

A wave of relief ran through her. She hadn’t realized she was jealous of Alison.

A teacher called and the enterprising girl ran back to show her classmates the silver chain hung with three coins that the extravagant bridegroom had given her. Penny smiled to see the excited faces bent over it.

With a rueful grimace, Jason handed her a small, withered posy of white heather. Then he turned to reach behind the seat of the gig. He pulled out a bouquet of white roses and unwrapped the damp cloth which had kept them fresh and fragrant.

“Thea’s notion and Meg’s flowers,” he said, presenting them to her with an elegant bow, “and the wet napkin was Mama’s suggestion, but
I
broke off all the thorns.”

Penny blinked back tears and found him gazing down at her with warm concern in his dark eyes. Taking off his hat, he somehow dodged the brim of her bonnet to drop a tender kiss on her lips.

“Aweel, aweel, will ye no be waitin’ for the ceremony?” A kindly-looking elderly man in a black coat, white stock, and shallow-crowned black hat hurried up to them. He held out his hand and Jason shook it. “I’m David Lang. Ye’ll be wantin’ my sairvices, nae doot?”

He bustled them into the inn, into an elegantly appointed room presided over by a stuffed stag’s head. Even Henrietta’s wedding gown would not have looked amiss here, Penny thought, reminded of her mirth at the idea of white satin and lace in a blacksmith’s forge.

“I wish I had worn my evening gown," she whispered to Jason.

“I don’t mind what you wear. Remember, ‘Beauty’s self she is when all—’”

"Hush!”

He obeyed, but his grin was not calculated to dispel her confusion.

The brief ceremony passed in a blur. Penny was conscious only of Jason standing beside her; his voice, for once utterly serious, repeating the words of the vows; the warmth of his hand as he slipped his grandfather’s signet ring onto her finger; his lips touching hers when Mr. Lang said with a chuckle, “And noo, ma laird, ye may kiss the bride."

“I wish your leddyship verra happy,” he went on, beaming, and Penny realized with a start that she was now Lady Kilmore.

With a trembling hand, she signed the register and took the certificate the “priest” presented to her. A few minutes later Jason helped her back into the gig. Mr. Lang, his pockets well lined for his trouble, waved farewell as they set off once more.

“You are safe now,” Jason said abruptly. His gaze was on the road and he seemed uncharacteristically ill at ease.

“Yes. Thank you,” said Penny, subdued. She wondered if he was already regretting having married her. A tense silence settled like a barricade between them as they drove on.

The four miles to Longtown sped past, but as the gig pulled up before the Graham Arms, Penny thought of the twenty miles still to go and sighed. “I feel as if I have been travelling for ever,” she said, and then was horridly afraid she sounded like a whining child, like Henrietta.

“You must be weary.” Jason sprang down and gave the reins to an ostler. “We shall stay here,” he said decisively. “I warned Mama that the state of the roads might delay us. I’ll hire a chamber and you can rest, then we’ll go on later or spend the night, as you wish.”

“You’re very good to me.”

Even if he didn’t love her, he was kind. Surely she could build a contented life with him?

They followed a chambermaid up to a large, pleasant bedchamber with a view of the rain-swollen Esk.

“Will you be wanting aught else, my lady?” she asked.

“Something to eat?” Jason suggested.

“Thank you, no.”

“A private parlour, and a meal at half past four,” he ordered.

The girl curtsied and departed. Penny set her reticule on the dressing-table and began to untie her bonnet. She felt as if she had tightly wound spring inside her, ready to uncoil in a surge of energy—or to snap. Jason stood by the door, apparently uncertain whether to go or stay.

“You’re safe now,” he repeated. He came towards her. In the mirror she saw his hands held out in appeal. “Penny, I know you like my family, my home. I know you needed a rescuer. Could you ...do you think you might ever come to love me?”

Was that what he had been worrying about? For some inscrutable reason, his hesitant question convinced her where his straightforward statement had failed: he loved her. As she met his pleading eyes in the glass, her heart jumped. She dropped her bonnet, swung round, and flung her arms about his neck.

“I
do
love you. Oh, Jason, I do, I do. I have been hideously jealous of Henrietta for four whole days.”

“Damn Henriet—” The word was cut short as he crushed her against his chest and claimed her mouth with his own.

Several minutes passed before he raised his head to look down at her with teasing tenderness. “At last we have disposed of your bonnet,” he said, “and you see how that improves matters. I know you are devilish tired of that gown. Let me relieve you of it.”

* * * *

The chambermaid knocked on the door at half past four to say that an early dinner was ready in the private parlour. There was no response.

“Just back fro’ Gretna,” she explained to the annoyed cook as he did his best to rescue and preserve the hot dishes.

Not until past six did my lord and lady Kilmore put in an appearance. Then the cook had no reason to complain of their appetites.

“Delicious!” said Penny at last, sitting back. “But, oh dear, it’s much too late to reach Newkirk tonight.”

“I’m glad you think so, my dearest love, for I have quite other plans for the next several—”

The parlour door slammed open. A bull of a man stood on the threshold, tall, heavy, with forward-thrusting head and glaring eyes red with malevolence.

“Uncle Vaughn!” Penny’s chair crashed to the floor as she jumped to her feet, one hand raised to her mouth in horror, the other reaching in supplication towards Jason.

“Slut!” His voice was an ugly roar.

Jason moved with deceptively casual swiftness. With a demonstration of science that could only have been learned from Gentleman Jackson, his knuckles met her uncle’s chin with a solid thud and stretched him gasping on the floor.

“I don’t permit anyone to insult my wife.” His cold, haughty voice matched his expression. Penny moved close to him and he put his arm round her shoulders.

“Married?” snarled her persecutor, sitting up and feeling his jaw. “I’ll have it annulled.”

“Too late,” said Jason with a grin, pulling her closer and lightly bussing her mouth. She realized that he was enjoying himself.

“Trollop!”

“You can’t have it both ways, my good man. And don’t get up or I shall—”

“Uncle?” This time the interruption came in the form of a short, globular young man who waddled into the room. He was not plump or chubby, not stout or even corpulent, he was grossly and disgustingly obese. “Uncle, they serve Findon haddock here, and Scotch woodcock, as well as Cumberland sausages and Cumberland cake. Oh, hello, Penny." He made a beeline for the table and inspected the remains of the meal. “I say, pigeon pie. D’you mind if I finish it?”

“Hello, Bartholomew. Help yourself.” Penny closed her eyes and hid her face in Jason’s shoulder. She had a hysterical desire to giggle.

“Good gad,” said Jason, “Daniel Lambert of Stamford, reincarnate. Is that what you were so afraid of?”

“Can you imagine being married to someone who cares more for food than for anything else in the world?” she asked indignantly.

“Well, no. I cannot really imagine being married to anyone but you, my love.”

“You’re a fool to have married her when you might have bedded her now and wedded her later,” said Uncle Vaughn with a sneer. "You stood to win a fortune, not a mere twelve thousand a year.”

Jason gave a shout of laughter. Penny glanced up and his dark eyes quizzed her. “Dear goose, you led me to believe we were to be paupers. Twelve thousand a year!”

“Is it enough? I didn’t know how much, nor what you need.”

“We won’t be able to buy back all the farms at once. For everything else, yes. But I would have been happy to settle for one copper Penny!” He stroked her hair back from her ear and breathed into it, “Your uncle’s suggestion was an excellent one. Shall we go back to bed, my dearest love?”

Her melting look told him all he needed to know.

Copyright © 1992 by Carola Dunn

Originally published by Harlequin

Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.