It was his tone that had Melissa quickly say, “Och, dinna be bitter about that, too. It’s just as likely we wouldna have met any sooner than we did, if you’d been there and still friends wi’ m’uncles. I’ve ne’er been introduced tae many o’ their friends.”
“Probably because they don’t have any, other than each other.”
Her expression turned sour over that somewhat sarcastic observation, because she couldn’t dispute it offhand. Kimberly did, though not in the exact context.
“They had friends, just not the close kind you mean. Having sixteen brothers means you don’t need any other close associations, I suppose. That one was formed with you, Lincoln, is a credit to you. But what followed is done, can’t be changed. And still you two met. Fate, as it were.”
“Aye, we did.” Melissa beamed, but her mother wasn’t finished.
“Now, back to the matter at hand,” Kimberly said. “Is my daughter compromised?”
Melissa groaned inwardly, the blush already starting. She and Lincoln had discussed this subject on the ride back to London, and both had agreed not to mention what they’d done last night, that it would only embarrass everyone all around—as it was doing now. There was also the possibility that it could make things worse, that her father would think Lincoln had done it to force a wedding.
The lack of immediate response, as well as the blushes, had Kimberly adding, “I see that she is. Well, we won’t tell her father that—if it can be helped. And hope he doesn’t ask, because denying it won’t do you a bit of good when it’s written all over your faces.”
“When do you expect him?” Melissa asked, more to change the subject than anything else.
“There’s no telling—”Kimberly started to say.
But they each clearly heard Lachlan’s booming voice from the direction of the front door—“Where is she?”—and assumed that the butler just informed him of Melissa’s arrival.
Kimberly amended, “Now would be my guess.”
Thirty-Nine
LACHLAN stormed into the parlor. He was unkempt, dusty, tired-looking, but, more important, very much enraged. A giant on the warpath was intimidating indeed. Nor did the first words out of his mouth give any hope that his anger could be easily defused.
“Give me one good reason no’ tae rip yer head off,” he said to Lincoln.
Melissa answered first. “Because I like his head where it’s at.”
“Then ye give me one good reason why I willna be locking ye in yer room for the next ten years—or until ye dinna like his head where it’s at anymore.”
“Because you’d be unlocking m’door yourself after only one day, since you canna bear tae punish me.”
“Aside from that,” he growled.
Melissa took a step closer to Lincoln. She knew she had nothing to fear from her father, but she was already instinctively turning to Lincoln for emotional support—and protection. Kimberly noted this, even if Melissa wasn’t quite aware of it herself.
“He brought her back,” Kimberly said calmly. “That’s reason enough. And they aren’t married. They could have been, but he brought her back instead—”
“You don’t want her now?” Lachlan demanded of Lincoln incredulously, about to go off on a different tangent.
“On the contrary, I want her for my wife more than anything. But her happiness means more to me than my own, and since that includes your blessing, I’ll do whatever I have to do to obtain it for her.”
“This was his decision,” Melissa put in. “I would’ve married him either way—still will. But I’d prefer the wedding I’ve always dreamed of, wi’ you there giving me away, wi’ all m’family there tae share in m’happiness, and he took that into account. I know he’s the right mon for me. I want you tae have that same certainty.”
“I could as easily say I know he’s no’ the right mon for ye and I want ye tae see that. Ye’re letting emotion color yer judgment.”
“And what is marriage if no’ emotion? Does love no’ count, then?”
“If it’s going tae hurt ye, then, nae, it counts for nothing.”
Melissa gasped. “I canna believe you said that!”
“Ye’re m’daughter,” Lachlan replied. “Yer welfare comes first, afore yer wants and wishes. If ye’re lying dead because he goes into an uncontrollable rampage again, plowing through everything in his path, what is left tae say, eh? That ye died happy?”
“He wouldna—”
“I know he wouldna hurt ye intentionally. I need no convincing o’ that,” Lachlan admitted. “It’s unintentional harm that I fear.”
“You’re asking for the impossible. It’s enough that I trust his feelings, deep as they are, to stay his hand, if it should e’er come tae that—no’ that I think it e’er would come tae that. But he hated m’uncles when he tried plowing through them, was enraged at them. There’s your difference and why he’d ne’er hurt me.”
Lachlan shook his head. “He wasna able to guarantee that, Meli—neither can ye.”
Melissa threw up her hands in frustration. “Bah, stubborn!”
Into the fray, Kimberly said dryly, “Would anyone like tea?”
It was a clue that they were getting nowhere arguing and should calm down. Lachlan ran a hand over his face and moved to stand stiffly by the fireplace.
Kimberly tried a new subject—though she unfortunately picked the wrong one—asking Lachlan, “Why are you back so soon? I didn’t expect you for another day or so.”
“I had a feeling she’d be here, but then I know m’lass well, and that she couldna bear tae hurt us like this for verra long.”
The scolding in his tone had Melissa replying defensively, “That’s true, Da, but I know you well also, which is why I canna understand how you could so casually dismiss the one thing I’m wanting most. Or did you no’ take into account just how much that would hurt me?”
“That’s a bit unfair, Meli,” Kimberly protested.
“Stop it,” Lincoln said angrily. “All of you. I didn’t bring her home to fight with you. You’re saying things none of you mean and will only regret. It’s all so unnecessary. I want to marry her, she wants to marry me—that should be all that matters. But it isn’t. Because of my past, you think that I might be a danger to her. If there is any way to prove to you that that isn’t so, I’m more than willing to do it. Think about it.”
“Well put,” Kimberly remarked.
She gave her husband a look that said, There’s a solution, take it. He didn’t grasp her meaning instantly, but soon he did. He sighed, willing to make this one concession to keep the peace in his family.
“Verra well, I’ve a suggestion tae make,” Lachlan said, then added, in case it occurred to anyone, “and it’s no’ because it will get me oot o’ this town I hate any the sooner. Come home wi’ us, lad, tae Kregora. Be our guest for a while, so we can get tae know ye better.”
“Certainly,” Lincoln replied.
“I’m no’ saying m’opinion can be changed,” Lachlan cautioned when his wife and daughter began smiling at him. “But it canna hurt at this point tae observe and see what happens.”
Forty
THE journey back to the Highlands of Scotland wasn’t as tense and uncomfortable as it might have been. They departed late the next morning. None of the MacFearsons had returned yet from their pursuit of the eloped couple, but runners had been dispatched to find them and let them know all was well and that the MacGregors were on their way home, Melissa and her ardent suitor in tow.
Lincoln brought his own coach to accommodate his luggage, as well as his own horse, which had been left behind last time. His vehicle was also used for most of Melissa’s baggage, so they wouldn’t have to bring along a third coach just for that. And he spent several hours each morning, and again in the afternoon, riding with the MacGregors. There was no point in waiting until they arrived in Scotland, after all, to begin getting better acquainted.
By unspoken agreement no mention was made of the past, the
ir aborted elopement, or anything else that might be the makings of an argument—at least while they were on the road and forced into close proximity. There were even a few moments of laughter, not many, but a good sign. But there was absolutely no opportunity for Melissa and Lincoln to speak privately. Her parents were keeping too close an eye on her, whether intentionally or merely as a result of the worry she’d recently put them through.
Six of the MacFearson brothers joined them en route, the runners having caught up to them. But rather than return home themselves, now that all was well, they didn’t think all was well at all. Like guards they were, riding behind the coaches. But at least after a few heated words with Lachlan, they didn’t cause any trouble—for now.
Their arrival didn’t account for too much added tension, no more than to be expected from that lot anyway, with the perpetual scowls they reserved just for Lincoln. There was an unexpected tension, though, one serious problem Melissa and Lincoln hadn’t counted on. Having tasted of the forbidden, they were both sorely taxed being without the contact they now craved. Not even an innocent touch could be stolen without having disapproving eyes cast upon them.
It got to where they couldn’t bear to look at each other, for fear they’d do something to ruin this effort to have her family accept him. And it became increasingly embarrassing, because it was so obvious.
Kimberly, easily guessing the problem, since she was aware they’d had the wedding night before the marriage, was quick to distract Lachlan whenever Lincoln’s looks turned too heated in Melissa’s direction or when Melissa was caught staring at him in a daze of yearning. And Lincoln wisely stayed out of their coach the last day on the road, using lack of sleep as an excuse to nap in his own coach.
He didn’t sleep, of course. He plotted, earnestly, a way to get Melissa to himself for just a little while, without earning himself the boot in the process. The trip north offered no hope whatsoever. They’d been taking only two rooms in each inn they stayed the night at, one for the men—pure hell after the MacFearsons showed up—and Melissa and her mother in the other.
Having tasted of Melissa fully, not being able to kiss her now, or even touch her, was going to drive Lincoln crazy, he was sure. They wanted proof he was unbalanced? They’d surely have it if he couldn’t find a way to get her alone in the coming weeks.
They reached Scotland in good time, but there was still a long stretch to the Highlands ahead of them, which required one more night spent at an inn. Unfortunately, yet another of Melissa’s uncles caught up with them that morning. And although the numbers present now required an extra room to accommodate all the men, this inn didn’t have any more available. Extra bedding was supplied, since most of them ended up having to sleep on the floor.
Lincoln tried to sleep, he really did, but the MacFearsons, boisterous in life, were just as boisterous in sleep, and the snores finally drove him from the room. He had the thought of finding a soft pile of hay in the stable, but he didn’t get that far. Coming up the stairs as he was going down was yet another MacFearson, and unfortunately, one of the runners hadn’t caught up to this one yet.
“Sae this is where ye’ve been hiding,” Charles said in a furious undertone just before he tackled Lincoln’s legs and they both went tumbling down the stairs.
Bumps and bruises notwithstanding, neither was hurt much by the fall. It didn’t end there, however. Charles was enraged, hadn’t had enough sleep in the last few days to be able to think clearly, and was determined to punish Lincoln for running off with Melissa after he’d been denied her. He apparently felt he could single-handedly do that. Listening to excuses wasn’t on his schedule.
It became a wrestling match. There simply wasn’t enough room there at the bottom of the stairs for them to maneuver back to their feet. And Charles was wisely keeping Lincoln down, quickly finding that to his advantage. Every time Lincoln drew back his arm for a punch, his elbow encountered a wall or the floor. Every time he tried to tell Charles to desist, he was rolled over again or interrupted with a snarl.
It became a matter of getting on top of the scuffle, to get a decent punch in. Lincoln finally landed a good one that surprised Charles.
That served to quiet him for a few moments, long enough for Lincoln to get out, “She’s here, yes, but so are her parents and so are a good number of your brothers. I’m going to Kregora as a guest.”
That should have been the end of it. Lincoln certainly thought it would be, and he started to get up. He was tackled to the ground again.
“The hell ye say. Like I’d bloody well believe that?” Charles said with an added snort, before the wrestling commenced again in earnest.
Neill hadn’t been sleeping yet either and had heard the original fall down the stairs. Coming to investigate, he went back to wake the rest of his brothers before doing anything. They were gathered at the top of the stairs now, most of them sitting on the steps being highly entertained by the rolling around going on at the bottom.
Neill finally remarked, nudging the brother next to him, “Should we no’ step in tae help?”
“Help who?” Malcolm replied, fingering the bruise from his black eye, which was mostly gone but still tender. “I dinna think Charlie has the right of it, but it goes against the grain tae be helping Linc.”
“We could stop it at least,” Jamie suggested.
“And be accused o’ interfering—again?” Ian Four said, tongue in cheek.
“The innkeeper will complain,” Neill pointed out.
Adam was too amused to hold back a chuckle. “Why would he? He’s getting his floor nicely dusted.”
“Shush, Neill, this is far too entertaining tae interrupt,” Ian Three added, grinning himself. “They’ll wind down soon enough.”
They didn’t. Charles was too stubborn, and he wasn’t getting hurt enough to want to discuss the matter, which is what Lincoln continued to try to do—until he lost his own patience. He was annoyed, sporting a few more bruises than he’d gone to bed with, and although this was an excellent opportunity to get rid of some of his own frustrations, he was too tired to take advantage of it.
“Enough,” he growled in Charles’s ear. “You’re getting nowhere with this.”
“Are ye daft, mon? I’m winning!”
“If you’re winning, you ass, then get up,” Lincoln challenged him.
Still sprawled on the floor, Charles might be momentarily on top, but he was facing up, with Lincoln’s arm wrapped around his neck. The choke hold made getting up just then out of the question. It did afford Charles a view of the top of the stairs, however, and although the only light was a candle in a wall sconce at the bottom of them, he could still make out their audience at the top.
“Och,” he hissed, “why’d ye no’ say they were here?”
Lincoln leaned his head up just enough to see around Charles’s head. His own dropped back to the floor with a mental groan. “I did, you bloody idiot.”
They both got quickly to their feet. Charles, aware of his blunder now, mumbled, “I’ll no’ apologize. Ye did run off wi’ Meli and deserve a thrashing for that, if no one’s got around tae it yet.”
“No one has, and you certainly didn’t,” Lincoln replied while dusting off his clothes.
Charles’s response was, typical for him, a snort. Lincoln ignored it to toss up the stairs, “I suppose thanks are in order, that you didn’t participate in this nonsense.”
Adam shrugged. “Ye made a good point recently, mon. We’re no’ children now wi’ a disparity o’ sizes tae warrant such. That our Charlie doesna acquit himself verra well is his own fault for no’ learning better—or yers for acquitting yerself too well.”
The left-handed compliment got no more than a nod from Lincoln, too annoyed—and now embarrassed—to appreciate it. “If you will excuse me, I’ll continue on my way to the stable in hopes of finding some sleep tonight, which had been my intention, considering you MacFearsons don’t only behave like savages, you snore like them.”
; “He’s right,” Lachlan remarked behind them, having quietly witnessed the whole thing. “Ye do.”
Forty-One
THE castle had been warned of their impending arrival. Rooms had been prepared, a lavish meal was already under way for the evening—a large meal, since the rest of the MacFearsons had beat them home, to Kregora rather than their own home. And it looked as if the brothers meant to move in for the duration, all of them, until what they considered to be a waste of time was realized and Lincoln was sent on his way back to England—without their niece.
It wasn’t going to work. It would, if the MacFearsons would just go home, if Lincoln had to deal only with Lachlan. But Melissa had said it herself: If he ever got his foot back in the door, there’d be a testing. And who better to test him than his worst enemies?
But he could have withstood that, adversity thrown his way at every turn, if his willpower weren’t already being taxed to the limit. Which is why he knew it wasn’t going to work. His frustration was so high in not being able to even get near Melissa that it wasn’t going to take much to snap his temper. And that was what they were waiting for and hoping would happen. He knew it. And even knowing it, he didn’t think he could prevent it.
He’d been shown to his room, where he was to abide for the duration. It was a grand room, but, then, all of Kregora was grandly impressive. An ancient edifice on the outside, but very modern on the inside, cold stone covered with rich wain-scoting, windows enlarged, glass installed, decent plumbing, comfortable furnishings.
His trunks sat at the end of the huge bed he’d be sleeping in—alone. He made no move to unpack them. He was prowling a path through the sunbeams that entered from three tall windows on one wall, realizing just how colossal his dilemma was, when a voice intruded, swung him about to one of the corners that was in partial shadow due to the sunlight concentrated in the middle of the room.