Kissing the Countess (16 page)

She wore her best day dress of cobalt-blue silk, the bodice and skirt trimmed with simple bands of black ribbon. Wide sleeves spilled over creamy half sleeves done in
broderie anglaise.
A pretty gown more suited to teatime than a wedding.

Lady Jean had suggested arranging late yellow chrysanthemums from the garden inside the church, but Aunt Judith had insisted that Catriona be married without flowers or veil in accordance with her sinful state. Instead, she carried a small Gaelic Bible that had belonged to her mother and wore a little black bonnet trimmed with white lace and black ribbons. With her rich waves of red-gold hair subdued beneath the bonnet, she knew she looked a somber, ordinary bride.

The dimly lit church, her father's grim voice, the cool atmosphere, and the steady patter of rain all suited a Plain Girl and her plain little wedding. Yet despite the sober ceremony and her reluctance to marry the Earl of Kildonan, Catriona felt a strange, fluttery excitement dance inside of her. She had never thought she would marry, and for a moment, she closed her eyes and savored that fact alone, let the solemn, sacred words her father intoned wash over her.

She allowed herself to believe, in that instant, that her most precious dreams were coming true—love and happiness, children and a home of her own, a husband's lifelong comfort and affection. Then she sighed. This was not a love match, but one born of necessity and obligation.

In the soft candlelight, though, her groom did not look like a man submitting to a forced marriage. He looked like a prince from a fairy tale, strikingly handsome in his black frock coat and trousers, with black silk vest, white shirt, and a neck cloth of blue silk. With his dark hair waving over his brow and his hazel eyes brilliant in the candle glow, he was beautiful. There was no other word for it, she thought, and she caught her breath a little as she looked up at him, hardly able to believe that this stunning and virile man was willing to marry—the Plain Girl.

He met her glance and smiled quickly, but it warmed her to her toes and brought a moment's reassurance. Throughout this ordeal, Evan Mackenzie had been gracious about the union.

Reverend MacConn murmured the vow in Gaelic and asked the groom to repeat it. Looking at Catriona, Evan lifted a brow to signal that he did not understand.

"Say 'I will,'" she whispered. "That is... if you want."

Evan frowned slightly. Heart pounding, Catriona watched him and wondered if her groom was about to change his mind.

"I will," he said quietly. A moment later Catriona repeated her own vows in Gaelic, then English as Evan had done, and Evan took her gloved hands in his own.

A wave of dizziness spun through her, as if she felt the ripple of magic that bound her life to his through the promise of the vows. Closing her eyes, she could not shake a sense of unreality, as if she had stepped into a dream where time moved both fast and slow and the thud of heart and blood overtook all other sounds.

When Reverend MacConn pronounced them man and wife, Evan glanced at Catriona.

"It is done," she whispered in translation. "Now we—"

"Kiss," he murmured, leaning close. "That much I know."

He touched his lips to hers so tenderly that her heart stirred, and her body stirred, too, though her father stood glowering.

Married. Catriona felt a wave of disbelief.

* * *

Sheer panic set in like a cold wind.

Heart pounding, Evan waited—giving no sign of his sudden doubt—while Catriona used an old-fashioned feather pen to sign the registry book in the rectory office. What had he done? Dear God. Married!

A breath, two breaths later, he still felt strongly—despite that moment of trepidation and shock—that this was proper, wise, and the only way to resolve a difficult situation.

He glanced over her shoulder as she wrote her name.
Catriona Elspeth MacConn.
He had not known that Elspeth was her second name. He knew very little about his bride, although he already knew some of her most intimate secrets.

Musing that his mother was also named Elspeth, he wondered what she would think of her new daughter-in-law. The dowager countess was on holiday in Spain with friends, unaware of what had happened in her son's life.

As soon as possible, he would have to write to his mother about the marriage, although he feared it would bring her back to Scotland like a whirlwind. She wanted nothing more than for him to marry. He was sure that his mother would welcome Catriona as warmly as Jean had done. He smiled a little.

Taking up the pen, he signed his own name.
George Evan Mackenzie.
He hesitated, then added
Earl of Kildonan, Viscount Glendevon.
He sensed Catriona stiffen beside him as she watched him write out his titles.

The witnesses to their wedding in the church stood watching them, the silence awkward inside the rectory office. Jean, willing to pretend that the wedding had been a joyous occasion, stepped forward and embraced the bride, giving her a tearful, happy smile.

"Welcome to our family, Catriona," Jean said. "Evan, congratulations." She turned to kiss his cheek. "I hope you are both very happy."

"Aye, er, congratulations," Harry said, shaking Evan's hand and then Catriona's. Arthur followed suit, as did Catriona's brother. Reverend MacConn gave his daughter a dry peck on the cheek, and her aunt gave her a stiff embrace.

Evan took Catriona's elbow to guide her toward the door. Holding her slender arm in his hand gave him a sudden, surprisingly tender feeling of protection. He had wanted, after all, to get her away from the family who did not value her as they should.

The deed was done. His obligation to her was fulfilled. Love had nothing to do with this match, born of guilt and gratitude. Yet a little hope stirred in him nonetheless, for he had always wanted a family. Perhaps this would lead to happiness for him—and for his bride, too.

He glanced down at Catriona in the darkness as they crossed the lawn heading back to the manse for a late supper before leaving for Kildonan Castle. The others followed quietly behind them.

He was aware that they had no bagpiper to herald them, no tossing of shoes, no singing or carousing going on around them. The bride had no ring, no veil, no flowers, no dancing or music, either. Her family's strict religion forbade some of the joyful elements of a wedding, but even Free Kirk weddings were not usually this dreary.

She deserved a fine wedding and a happy celebration, he thought. And if anyone deserved to be Countess of Kildonan, it was this young woman. No one could love Glen Shee more passionately than Catriona MacConn. No countess would serve its interests better. Evan knew that, in that at least, he had made the perfect choice, if only he could convince her of it.

He envied the love and the bond she felt for her native Highlands. As a boy, he had loved these lands deeply, too, but he had been torn away and transplanted. Now, after his father, and considering his own absence, the people of the glen would never trust him.

Soon, though, he would have to tell Catriona about his reluctant decision to sell part of the land, rent out the castle, and leave the place, though he was in name and title a Highland earl. He had yet to tell her about the guests who were about to arrive at Kildonan Castle. Some of them were particularly keen to discuss a potential purchase.

Married twenty minutes and already he had secrets.

* * *

Seated opposite her husband on the leather-covered bench seat inside the closed gig, Catriona saw Evan knit his brow in pensive silence and lean his chin on his hand as he gazed out the window beside him.

Certainly she could imagine his regret over this hasty marriage—she felt stunned by it herself, that and the stiff, hurtful farewell with her father and aunt. Sighing, she looked out her own window at the steep, dark silhouettes of the mountains that ringed the long glen.

She and Evan rode alone, for Lady Jean and Sir Harry, who had brought the one-horse gig to Glenachan House, had borrowed Reverend MacConn's pony carriage for their return a little earlier. Lady Jean had wanted time to alert the household staff that the earl would be bringing home his bride.

The bride was not so eager to arrive, she thought. Pressing into the corner, she gazed at the evening sky and wished the driver would slow the vehicle or turn it around altogether. She had not been ready in heart or mind to leave her home and family, and she feared that even this marriage would not redeem her in the eyes of her father and aunt for a long while.

Blinking back tears, she stole another glance at Evan Mackenzie. He sat with one ankle crossed over his knee, his profile still pensive as he watched the passing landscape. He looked no happier than she felt.

A wayward tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it angrily with her glove. Evan glanced toward her.

"Madam?" he asked softly.

"We will be there soon," she said, stretching for idle conversation to overcome her urge to cry. "It's but twelve miles from Glenachan to Kildonan Castle."

"You'll see the castle on your side first." He leaned over to share her view through the window. "It's a beautiful sight when the moon is out, as it is tonight. Ah. Look there."

Catriona tilted her head to see the castle in a wash of moonlight. She had seen Kildonan Castle often from a distance, but had never been inside—and had never imagined it would be her home one day.

Perched on the shore of a small lochan and backed by the dark hump of low mountains, the castle had a fairy-tale beauty. Its pale stone walls, various turrets, and conical roof caps seemed enchanted in the moonlit setting.

"Oh," she gasped impulsively. "It's beautiful."

"Aye, grand," he murmured. "A bit too grand for my taste, and expensive to upkeep, but it will do."

Soon the coachman turned the carriage onto the long drive that looped in front of the castle. Acres of smooth lawns and tiered gardens surrounded the building, an older central tower flanked by two rectangular wings fronted with palatial windows, the whole a blend of tidy symmetry and intriguing whimsy in a wild, rugged Highland setting.

"The original castle was the pele tower at the center, built by an earlier laird of Kildonan in the sixteenth century," Evan said. "The wings were added in the eighteenth century by my great-grandfather. The exterior walls are of native sandstone, but they have been harled—that is, coated with rough, textured plaster for a uniform appearance, which also helps seal against the weather. It will need another coating soon, I think—a time-consuming project, if the plasterers can be brought up here."

"We are in a remote area," she agreed, glad of a neutral topic to discuss. "But I'm sure some local Highlanders could do it. You need not hire painters and plasterers from Inverness or Glasgow to come all the way up to Kildonan."

"Good. I'll ask your brother to find some local men to do the work. I'm sure the crofters can learn the technique of harling the castle walls."

She swallowed quickly, guiltily, and nodded.

The carriage rolled up the long drive, gravel crunching under the wheels. Catriona nervously smoothed her blue skirt and short black cape, then straightened her black silk bonnet. For a few moments, entranced by the sight of the castle, she had forgotten that she must face the household staff as the new Countess of Kildonan.

Evan cleared his throat. "I should have mentioned this earlier, but it slipped my mind in all the commotion this evening. We are expecting guests at Kildonan in a day or two."

"Guests?" she repeated. "So soon?"

"Two cousins and some friends planned to tour the Highlands this month, so Jean and I invited them to spend a little time at Kildonan. They want to do some hillwalking."

"Oh," she said, dumbfounded. Were these the people Grant had mentioned, coming to look at Kildonan Castle and the lands with a view to purchasing? "How nice," she said mildly.

"It might be difficult to ask you to deal with guests so soon, but I doubt we'll see much of them. They just want to see the castle and explore the glen."

Ah, she thought. So Grant was right. She turned her face away in the darkness, stomach sinking in dismay.

"They are experienced climbing enthusiasts and mean to do some hiking and so forth. I climbed the Alps with some of them. But with luck, madam," he told her, "you will not need to socialize with them beyond breakfast and a dinner or two. They'll have a busy schedule."

"Will you be climbing with them?"

"I did plan on it, but that was before... our wedding. You are of course welcome to join us. I'm sure our guests would love it. You might enjoy it, too."

"Perhaps," she said uncertainly. The idea of facing the household staff tonight was hard enough. Facing Evan's cousins and friends after this scandalous marriage, and meeting prospective buyers interested in taking over Glen Shee—and playing hostess to them—was too much to bear thinking.

"My advice is to plead headache now and then to avoid playing hostess," Evan said. "Lady Jean will be here for a few more days, and she and I can do the hosting."

Pride stiffened her shoulders. "I rarely have the headache," she said. "And I intend to do all that is expected of me."

"All
that is expected of you?" he repeated, watching her.

Realizing the deeper implication, she felt a blush heat her cheeks. What she desired—to be in Evan Mackenzie's arms again, to share love and loving with him—conflicted strongly with who he was, and with her need to protect her brother and the people of this glen. How could she so want this stranger who stood poised to ruin her life and change the glen she loved?