“I’ve met him, remember? And you don’t look anything like him.” Which should have told Devlin that if he said the sky was blue, Megan would insist it was green.
But the luxurious coach at least made the trip tolerable, if her traveling companion didn’t. Having Caesar along also helped: it got Devlin out of the coach for long stretches at a time.
Megan had wanted to bring Sir Ambrose along, too, but Devlin had flatly denied her request. Bossing her around already, and not even married yet. The man was going to be impossible to live with. Traveling with him was just as bad. And it was a long trip, with more than three hundred miles to reach Scotland and the renowned Gretna Green, where eager-to-be-marrieds had been going for decades; couples too impatient to wait the three weeks for the posting of banns, or couples who didn’t have parental blessing—which Megan did.
That parental blessing still confounded her. No, what confounded her was that her father had seemed so genuinely happy when he’d come out of his study with Devlin to congratulate her and say how delighted he was that she’d chosen such a “fine man” to be her husband. He’d gone on to say other things appropriate to the moment, but Megan got stuck on that “fine man” and looked at Devlin as if he were suddenly a devil capable of casting spells of enchantment. Too bad he hadn’t cast one on her.
She was too upset to accept this monumental change in her life happily. She might have been contemplating that same change, but having it forced on her and Devlin wasn’t the same. She intended to keep silent about it, however, because she knew her upset would come out negatively and that certainly wouldn’t help.
The trouble with that decision was she couldn’t stand the silence beyond the second day and waited only until Devlin was about to doze off in the afternoon to say, “I don’t understand it. What could you possibly have said to my father to make him so happy about a union between us?”
He didn’t bother to open his eyes to reply. “I told him I loved you, of course, and that my only wish is to make you deliriously happy.”
The words caused a pang in her heart, because she knew they weren’t true. “I see nothing funny in this situation.”
“That’s one of your problems, brat. You’ve got a rotten sense of humor.”
“Well, you’ve had your little joke—tasteless, by the way. Now answer my question.”
“I told him the truth, Megan.”
“That you seduced me?”
“I believe it was the other way around.”
“It was not,” she retorted indignantly.
He opened one eye to say, “I asked you for kissing lessons, did I?”
“My point exactly,” she pounced. “Kissing lessons I asked for, not lessons in that other thing you did.”
He sighed. “I’ve accepted responsibility for my part. Obviously you’re not going to do the same.”
“Why should I when the fault is entirely yours?”
“Have it your way,” he replied tiredly and closed both eyes again.
Megan brooded silently for several minutes before she said, “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Perhaps because talking to you is too infuriating to continue for any length of time.” When she didn’t respond, he looked over to see her staring forlornly out the window. “Bloody hell,” he swore. “What the devil do you think I told him? I confessed that I’d got you with child. He happens to be of the firm belief that a child belongs with both parents—both real parents—so my offer of marriage was readily accepted. He would have preferred the marriage to come first, naturally, but he understands how these things can happen.”
“Did you have to tell him about the baby?”
“You’re the one who said it wouldn’t make any difference, that he’d merely find you another husband. Well, you were wrong, Megan. He’d prefer you have the father of your child. And yes, I had to tell him about the baby, to explain the reason for a hasty elopement.”
“That doesn’t really say why he was so happy about it,” she grumbled.
Devlin shrugged. “Unlike some people whom I shall refrain from naming, the squire happens to like me. He’s not displeased with your choice.”
“I didn’t choose you.”
“I believe he sees it differently—considering your condition.”
Megan made no response to that, but settled for simply glowering at him, which he chose to ignore by once again closing his eyes. It didn’t take long for her to slump back into dejection again.
This was not how she had imagined her wedding all the times she had fantasized about it. Granted, the man of her dreams was sitting across from her, the most handsome man she’d ever encountered. That part was fine, better than even she could have imagined, actually. And he was determined to marry her. That part was all right, too. So why was she miserable instead of ecstatic?
Because he doesn’t love me.
What’s there to love about you lately?
Are you taking his side again?
Are you saying you haven’t been the veriest bitch since he first showed up?
Possibly, but with a great deal of provocation, or are you forgetting all the times I’ve been insulted, offended, or otherwise goaded into losing my temper? Besides that’s not the only reason. Am I supposed to be delighted that he’s being forced to marry me?
I didn’t hear him complaining about it until you started blaming him for everything. And I thought you weren’t going to do that.
I wasn’t when it was only my life that was going to be ruined. But I’m not about to take full responsibility for ruining his life, too.
Shouldn’t he be a bit angrier than he’s been if he really felt his life was being ruined by you?
You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But when does he ever do anything that you might expect?
You haven’t been doing much of the expected, either, lately. You won’t even admit you’re getting what you want—him.
Megan snorted without realizing it, then wondered why Devlin was suddenly looking at her with raised brows. “What?” she said disagreeably. “Haven’t you anything better to do than stare at me?”
The unprovoked attack amused him for some reason. “I was trying to sleep, but you seem determined to see that I don’t. Bored, Megan?”
“Certainly not. I’ve been having a perfectly stimulating conversation with myself.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t. In fact, you may as well know that you’re going to marry someone who frequently talks to herself. It’s not too late to change your mind and take me home, you know.”
“And miss my only chance to step up in the world?”
Megan frowned, sensing his sudden rage as if it touched her physically, yet his expression hadn’t changed. And then his eyes closed once more, and she wasn’t about to protest, a bit unnerved by his anger this time.
But she complained to herself, Can’t he ever do what’s expected? I give him the perfect out, that I just might be crazy, and he gets angry.
Don’t look to me for answers this time. I’m as baffled as you are.
Chapter 28
They spent their last night of unmarried bliss in the town of Carlisle on the English side of the border. The next morning, Devlin, in one of the rare times he’d spoken to Megan voluntarily on this trip, said they’d be married before noon that very day, since Gretna Green was supposedly just over the border. Megan thought to wonder aloud if their Somerset driver could find the place—he’d already got them lost twice—but decided to keep her mouth shut this once.
With the intimidating moment so near to hand, she was feeling a bit subdued, at least in no mood to start an argument. She was afraid the mood wouldn’t pass, either, but grow worse. It wasn’t just prenuptial nerves, though she definitely had those, too. But she’d been thinking too much the past few days about the unbelievable amount of control Devlin was going to have over her life after today. With any other man, that wouldn’t be a worry, but Devlin…he
didn’t even like her. He didn’t want to marry her. And he was going to make her life a living hell.
“You aren’t going to cry, are you?”
She glanced over to find those turquoise eyes intently studying her, and wondered how long he’d been doing so. “Certainly not.”
“It looked like you were about to.”
“I’m not, I tell you,” she insisted, but her lower lip was trembling.
“Is the thought of marriage to me that horrible, Megan?” he asked gently.
“Yes!” she said, and burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands.
So she didn’t see his pained expression, or the firm resolve that took its place. And it wasn’t until she quieted down to sniffles that she heard, “I don’t know what you’re blubbering about. I can assure you ours will be a marriage in name only.”
She glanced up in surprise to demand, “What does that mean?”
“It means that I found making love to you as unsatisfactory as you did, so we won’t be repeating that mistake.”
Megan stiffened, her cheeks suffusing with color. So she could now add no-longer-desired to her list of complaints against him?
“That suits me just fine.”
“I thought it might.”
Before either of them could add to that, the coach rolled over something that sent them nearly bouncing out of their seats, there was a yell of alarm from the driver, and then, incredibly, the coach seemed to be sliding sideways.
“What the—?” Devlin began, only to end in a shout to Megan. “Get down!”
“Get down where?”
“The floor!”
“Don’t be—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish her protest, reaching over to yank her to the floor, where he joined her, on top of her actually, and that so surprised her, she had nothing more to say for the moment. But Devlin didn’t stay there. The crazy sliding picked up speed; then suddenly the coach was tilting at an odd angle, and Devlin was thrown to the side, hard against the wood casing of the seat. Megan followed him, rolled over him and up onto the seat, an easier, cushioned landing, until she crumbled headfirst into the side panel as the coach settled and was finally still.
“Are you all right, Megan?”
She wasn’t quite sure. It took her a moment to get her skirt out of the way so she could right herself, then another moment to ascertain that she’d merely lost her bonnet.
“I think so, yes,” she replied. “And you? Was that your head I heard crack?”
“Very funny,” Devlin snorted as he sat up himself. “I believe it was one of the wheels you heard. Stay put while I investigate.”
The coach wasn’t lying completely on its side, but almost. When Devlin opened the lower door, it hit the ground beneath it, leaving only about a foot to squeeze through, not enough room for a man of his size. The other door had to be thrown back and crawled out of, but he managed that easily enough. Megan had a less easy time of it just trying to stick her head out of the upper door to see what was going on. She wasn’t tall enough to stand there and look out, but had to pull herself up to the opening.
The coach was sitting in a deep ditch off the side of the road, which ran down a small hill. Coming down the hill could have accounted for the sliding they’d experienced, only it wasn’t that steep a hill. And looking toward the top of it now, Megan could see that something wet covered the surface. It was that wetness that Devlin and the driver were both presently investigating.
Megan looked further around. At least the horses were all right. Even Caesar was still standing up on the road, but only because his lead rope had been long enough not to drag him into the ditch with the coach. And apparently they’d have help in a moment, for she could see three men riding up the hill toward them.
Her arms gave out then and she slipped down to sit wedged in the lower corner again. She could hear their help arriving, and a pretty thick brogue. Scotsmen, then. She hadn’t realized they’d crossed the border.
After a few moments more, she grew impatient waiting for Devlin to return and get her out of there. The lower-door opening had been too narrow for him, but it wasn’t for her. She squeezed right out to the ground, coming out on the down side of the coach. Crawling out of the ditch was another matter, with skirts to hamper her.
“Pig’s fat?” she heard with a laugh. “Can ye imagine that, Gilleonan?”
“Some farmer got careless taking his fat tae market, I dinna doubt. What d’ye think, Lachlan?”
“Oh, aye, there’s that, tae be sure. There’s also reavers bold enough tae set traps for the unwary in broad daylight these days.”
“Reavers?” That from the coachman.
There was amusement in the voice that explained. “Robbers, mon. Where’re you from that you havena heard of Scottish reavers? ’Tis a pleasant enough activity for laird and crofter alike, though usually enjoyed late of a night.”
There was a bit more laughter that Megan frowned over. Scots humor was definitely beyond her, but then she wouldn’t be in this country long enough to need to understand the oddities of its people.
“D’ye smell a trap, then, Lachlan?”
“Blast you, Ranald, dinna be in such a hurry. When I smell a trap, I’ll be letting you know. Give these gentlemen a hand now.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Megan was dusting off her hands, having finally achieved the road, when she heard Devlin say that. She stood behind everyone, unnoticed. The Scotsmen had yet to dismount. All she could see of them was some very broad backs. Devlin, on the other hand, or at least his face, which was all she could see of him beyond the horses, was looking too serious by half—which didn’t explain to her satisfaction why he was refusing the Scotsmen’s help.
“And why not?” she asked, drawing his eyes to her, and turning three horses about.
“Bloody hell, can’t you ever do what you’re told, Megan?” Devlin demanded as he pushed his way through the horses to confront her.
She blinked at the amount of anger she detected in his tone. “Apparently not,” she replied stiffly.
“Then try it now and get back in the coach,” he hissed so only she might hear.
“After I just fought my way out of it, no thanks to you?”
“Megan—”
“No,” she cut in. “You’re being unreasonable as usual. The coach has to be righted, doesn’t it? Do you expect me to be bounced around in it while it is?”
“I expect you to do as you’re told.”
“Well, we aren’t married yet, Devlin Jefferys, so you can save your ordering—”
“Och, but those are pretty words. So you’re no’ a wife yet, darlin’?”
The question came as a horse unexpectedly nosed its way between Devlin and Megan, so smoothly done that Devlin was nudged out of the way, the animal completely separating them now. Megan looked up as a giant of a man slipped from the horse to land next to her, immediately reached for her hand, and bent over it, just brushing the back of her knuckles with his lips. Her instinct was to snatch her hand back and upbraid the fellow, but when he straightened, his sheer size gave her pause, as well as his startling good looks.
He had light green eyes and the darkest auburn hair that had mere hints of red glimmering in the sunlight. His well-tailored navyblue jacket fit snugly over shoulders likely twice the width of her own, and a barrellike chest, yet it seemed to be, amazingly, all lean muscle. Legs like tree trunks were covered in buff trousers and knee-high riding boots. An old-fashioned frilly cravat lent an abundance of lace to his throat. He was quite the second most handsome man she had ever encountered, and he was staring back at her as if transfixed by what he saw.
“Faith and be—such flaming glory, and the face of an angel tae be going with it,” he said, his eyes touching on her hair, then on every inch of her face.
Megan automatically brought a hand up to straighten a bonnet that wasn’t there, was still in the coach. She was flustered, but in a pleasant way, no
t accustomed to such boldness in a man who obviously found her attractive—including her red hair. The urge was strong to glance at Devlin and say, “Did you hear that? Flaming glory—ha!” but she managed to restrain herself.
“Lachlan MacDuell, at your service,” the Scotsman was saying. “Can I be offering you a ride tae—Gretna Green, would it be?”
“Why, yes—I mean, that is our destination.”
He grinned widely, quite an engaging grin. “They say a great many eloping couples dinna make it tae Gretna Green because they’d ne’er spent so much time together as they do getting here, and by the time they’re getting here, they despise each other. Dare I hope that is your case, darlin’?”
He was too perceptive by half, but Megan wasn’t about to air her grievances to a stranger. “You may not. And I’ll thank you—”
“Are ye smelling that trap yet, Lachlan?” one of his companions called out.
“Not yet, Gilleonan,” Lachlan replied with clear impatience. “Canna you see I’m courting here?”
Megan blinked. Gilleonan shot back, “Nay, it doesna look that way tae me.”
At which point Lachlan dropped down to one knee. “Now does it?”
“Oh, aye, now it does indeed. Will ye be long at it, then?”
“As long as—”
“Not long a’tall,” Devlin interjected as he came around the Scotsman’s horse.
Lachlan sighed, but other than that, he completely ignored Devlin’s presence and continued to stare at Megan. She in turn was embarrassed, yet undeniably flattered.
“Do get up, Mr. MacDuell,” she urged.
“I canna, no’ until you ken you’ve stolen my heart, darlin’.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to.”
He grinned at her. “Aye, I know you canna help it, but there it is, in your hands. So I’ll be plighting my troth in the proper manner, and you’ll be so impressed you’ll be giving me the answer I’m hoping tae hear.”
She couldn’t help grinning back at the outrageous fellow. “I will?”
“Aye, that you will. But then look at your choices, darlin’, a stuffy Englishmon or a bonny Scot who’ll give you laughter, joy, and ne’er a dull moment.”