The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (34 page)

Your very loving Mama

DURING THE TEN
long miles from Biggleswade to Baldock, the weather failed to cooperate. As the long blowing grasses gave way to Baldock’s neat clipped gardens, the clouds grew darker and the wind picked up, whipping beneath Caithren’s heavy skirts.

They rode past the Church of St. Mary, a pleasing amalgam of several centuries of architecture. Jason slowed before the Old White Horse. “You hungry?”

She held up her half-eaten loaf of bread. “I can wait if you can.”

With a glance at the menacing clouds, he nodded. They continued on toward Stevenage, with Cait trying her best to keep the conversation flowing over the hours, so as not to think too much.

Because, truly, she didn’t know
what
to think anymore.

When the temperature dropped, they donned their working-class hats even though they didn’t match their upper-class disguises. Jason dug in the portmanteau and jostled his horse closer to settle his cloak over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said, snuggling into the woolen warmth. She fastened the clasp beneath her chin. “Maid-of-the-Wave.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m naming my horse Maid-of-the-Wave. Her coat is glittery like a mermaid, don’t you think? And sort of reddish, like a salmon?”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

“What will you be naming yours?”

“Nothing.” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be riding him only through tomorrow. He won’t have time to learn a name.”

She shook her head mournfully, twisting the alien gold band on her finger. “All creatures need names. If you won’t name him, then I shall have to. Hmm…” Chilled, she gathered the edges of the cloak more closely around her. “Hamish,” she decided.

“Hamish?” Jason slanted her a puzzled glance. “After who?”

“The young farmer who married the Maid-of-the-Wave.”

His lips quirked. “You never said his name was Hamish.”

“Well, I don’t actually know the farmer’s name. But it seems to me that about one out of four men in Scotland is named Hamish, so I figure it’s a bonnie good bet.”

She was blethering again.

Since Jason appeared to be choking back laughter, she looked away and caught sight of a flutter in the sky. An excuse to change the subject. “Magpies,” she said, watching one of the black-and-white birds land in a tree. “Do you see their dome-shaped nest? I hope there are at least two in it.”

Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder again. “Why?”

“Less than two are supposed to be unlucky, aye? And doubly so if you see one alone before breakfast.” He was still looking behind them. “Are you counting the magpies?

“Pardon? No. No, I’m not.”

“I don’t believe the superstition, but I do know a verse.” She began quoting. “One for sorrow, two for luck, three for a wedding—”

“Egad!”

She gasped when he reached across and grabbed her reins. Kicking his horse into a gallop, he drove them both off the side of the road. His hat flew off.

“What are you doing?” she yelled, holding on for dear life, one hand on her head to keep her own hat from flying away.

“Just hold on!” His jaw set, he pressed on, and Cait wondered wildly what they could be running from. Six strange little round hills sat off the road a wee distance. Drawing close, he reined in and dragged both horses to a halt.

He dismounted in a flash and reached to help her down, tugging her toward one of the mounds.

“Will they stay?” she asked. “Maid-of-the-Wave and Hamish?”

He shrugged, hurrying her along. “The horses are the least of our worries.”

“Don’t tell me you think those brothers are after us again.”

He shot a glance around the hill, back toward the road. “All right, I won’t tell you.”

She followed his gaze. Her heart seized when she spotted Walter and Geoffrey Gothard astride two horses.

“Get down!” With two hands on her shoulders, Jason pushed her to her knees.

She shrieked, her hand going to her hurt arm.

“Sorry,” he hissed. Her hat tumbled off as they scrambled behind the mound and out of sight. But there was no way to hide the beasts they’d been riding on. And Jason’s instincts had been right. The brothers were following them. She’d seen them with her own eyes.

Quite suddenly she recalled a vivid memory of standing outside Scarborough’s house and overhearing their wicked plans. As then, she shivered. But her heart was pounding a good deal harder than that day, knowing the Gothards were now bent on killing not just Scarborough, but her and Jason, too.

“Cooperate this time, will you?” Jason’s eyes burned with an intense green fire. “There’s nothing for it. I hope they’ll stay on the road, but if they ride round this hill and get a good look at our faces…”

He grimaced, and his mouth covered hers.

Her blood raced in both passion and fear. She felt boneless and aflame all at once, the conflicting emotions all-consuming.

Was it grass-muted hoofbeats she heard drawing near, or her own heartbeat in her ears? Whichever, stark panic overcame the softer feelings, and her pulse jumped even faster as she imagined Jason stabbed in the back, or shot, or—

“Pardon my impertinence,” he murmured, “but I've got to make this look good.” The next thing she knew, his body covered hers, warm and heavy, pinning her to the cushiony grass—

And the hoofbeats came yet closer—

“I say, Caroline,” a man’s voice drawled. “Someone’s found our favorite spot.”

JASON OPENED
one eye to get a look at the intruders, then sat up, muttering under his breath. Caithren lay limp in the grass, a hand pressed to her heart while she adjusted the tangled cloak.

He glanced up at the young man and woman, both on horseback. Country folk, likely stealing away to court on the sly.

Horror widened the girl’s round gray eyes. “Let’s go! Can’t you see they’re quality? Let’s go!” Her cheeks stained bright red, she dug in her heels and took off.

The young man wheeled and rode after her, shouting, “Caroline!”

Releasing a slow breath, Jason crawled around the mound to have a look, then returned to Caithren. “The Gothards…I guess they rode past.” He raked a rather shaky hand through his hair, only to realize it was the periwig, which he’d nearly dislodged. “We scared off that couple but good,” he said with a smile, offering a hand to help Caithren sit.

She smiled back. “We did, didn’t we?” She burst into giggles, hugging her sides. The giddiness of relief, he guessed. “My mam always said, ‘guid claes and keys let you in.’”

“Good what?”

“Clothes. Dressing well can open doors for you the same as a key, aye? We’ve dressed the part, and they believed it, just like that.” She snapped her fingers and stood up, evidently not an easy task in the silver shoes. Her legs looked wobbly. “What are these wee hills? They look too regular to be natural.”

“They’re Roman barrows.” Jason rose as well, brushing off his velvet breeches. “Burial mounds.”

“Oh,” she said, making a face. “Faugh.”

“Faugh? That’s it?” He leaned to pick up her hat. “No quote of your mother’s for this one?”

“I’ll tell you, Jase. I don’t think Mam ever kissed anyone while lying on top of dead Romans.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“I wouldn’t mind trying it again, though,” she added.

That sobered him. “What?”

“The kissing.” She shook out her skirts and pulled up on the hated stomacher. “You seem to enjoy the kissing enough, but you need to have an excuse.” She squared her shoulders and faced him daringly. “You’re attracted to me, aye?”

He was startled speechless. It hit him that he’d vastly misjudged her. What he’d mistaken for pride was something else entirely—a fierce independence. She knew her own mind and didn’t shy from expressing it.

“I suppose I am,” he said carefully. He’d be lying to deny it. “But heaven knows why. I mean,” he added quickly, realizing that could be taken as an insult, “not that you aren’t pretty! Although—not that I think you’re—” he broke off before he could dig himself in deeper. Had any other girl ever rattled him so?

“Me, too,” she said, obviously stifling a laugh. She moved closer. “Why not kiss me again, then? I won’t tell a soul. And”—she frowned—“if you fear I’ll try to trap you into marriage, you needn’t worry. I mean to return to Scotland, and I won’t be expecting you to come with me. While we’re together, though…”

Both her proximity and her earnestness made him tense. Turning her hat in his hands, he started walking back to the horses. “Yes?”

She kept pace with him. “Well, if we both like kissing each other, why not enjoy ourselves? As lovers do?” She turned a becoming shade of pink. “That is, not
lover
lovers! I only meant…as sweethearts. As two people who can admit they like each other and kiss without having to pretend it’s a mistake.”

He halted mid-step. Caithren wanted to be his sweetheart? The notion made him feel an odd melting sensation in his belly.

Unable to look at her, he studied the hat. “But it
is
a mistake,” he whispered.

“Why?” she demanded. “Because serious, responsible Jason Chase would never kiss a girl just for the fun of it? Oh, I forgot, you know not the meaning of the word fun. You see, fun is where you—”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted, but then didn’t know how to continue. She
was
partially right—it would be terribly irresponsible to go on kissing her ‘for the fun of it.’ But more than that, it would be foolhardy. He already felt panicky at the thought of her leaving, the thought of never seeing her again. If he let them grow even closer, how would he bear the separation?

Her hand went to her amulet. “For once, could you listen to the Gypsy? Could you forget about responsibilities and just let yourself feel?” Her eyes were a gorgeous, hazy blue. Her lower lip trembled. “I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone before, you know. Before I met you.”

Egad…

For the longest moment, he stared at that plump, soft-looking lip. He could almost believe she was speaking sense, so badly did he want to believe it.

But try as he might, he’d never been able to ignore his own better judgement.

“I’m sorry, Emerald,” he said as politely as he could manage. “But I cannot do as you ask.”

He stuck the hat on her head and resumed his stride toward the horses.

Teetering in his wake, she called after him. “But you
do
want to. You as good as admitted it, and you cannot take it back!”

When she caught up and planted herself in front him, he sighed. “Look, we’ve been tied at the hip for days now. All you really want from me is to get to London. And I’ll get you there, I promise. A Chase promise is not given lightly.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes turning a disappointed, indistinct color. “You have no idea what I want from you, Jason. And I don’t believe you ever will.” She was shivering.

“You’re cold,” he said. “And the weather looks to be getting colder. Come along. We’re almost to Stevenage, where I can buy you a cloak.

THE CLOUDS HAD
grown dark and menacing, and Jason found the interior of The Grange even darker. Brushing off the drizzle that had beaded on his cloak, he stepped into the taproom and blinked in the dimness.