Page 6 of The Wrong Bride
“I will not marry you and you can’t force me to. Cat—the woman you say you were betrothed to—she won’t marry you either.”
His narrowed, wintry eyes seemed to trap her.
“Mark my words, Lady Riona—yewillmarry me.”
The intimate family name on his lips was chilling. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes as if that ended the conversation. And it did—what could she do but rail against him and make him angry enough to—what? She shivered. If he thought himself her betrothed, thought that gave him the right to do whatever he wanted . . . She stared at the sword and pistol he hadn’t bothered to remove.
“I can feel your trembling from over here. Fetch a blanket if ye’re cold, lass, but let a man sleep.”
She wasn’t cold; the coach was stifling with two bodies breathing and taking up space. But she was terrified and trying not to cry, and wondering when help would come. But she’d had a horrible thought in the night, one that hadn’t borne examination then, because she couldn’t imagine it. But now . . . now, by the light of day through the crack he’d given her in the window, her bad thoughts surfaced. She tried to beat them back by telling herselfthat once her uncle knew she’d disappeared, he’d gather people to look for her.
But another part of her whispered doubts she hadn’t wanted to face. She and her uncle had never been close. The earl was a cold man focused on his own wealth and prestige. When her parents had taken her sister to the Continent and left Riona behind, he’d only reluctantly taken her in when her cousin Cat had insisted that Riona couldn’t stay alone with only the servants.
And now, if McCallum was to be believed, he’d talked with the earl yesterday—just before Cat discovered her parents were sending her to friends in the country. Cat had been surprised, but not displeased at the idea, although the speed of packing had seemed strange. She’d wanted Riona to go with her, but her parents had insisted there was no room at the house party. But . . . had all this been deliberate, sending Cat away after McCallum’s appearance? Had the earl regretted the contract so much, he’d gotten his daughter out of harm’s way?
And the most damning part, the part she couldn’t get out of her mind, was that at dinner, her aunt had seemed pale and withdrawn, eyes downcast when the earl brusquely told Riona she should sleep in Cat’s bedroom, since hers had to be cleaned and painted. It had seemed so strange—why not wait to paint until they’d departed for London?
But now, it made much more sense, and her stomach twisted with betrayal and grief. Had the earl put her in Cat’s room because he’d anticipated the savage Scot trying to make off with Cat, and was looking for a legal reason to break off the betrothal altogether? The earl could have stationed guards there and caught McCallum in the act. It seemed unbelievable for just that reason, yet . . . She swallowed and tried not to think the worst. If she let her terror overwhelm her, she’d never find a way to escape the man who now rested with eyes closed and chin on his chest, his broad legs taking up all the room in the coach, forcing her to press deeper into the corner to avoid touching him.
He spent two hours sleeping, barely moving, as he if he was long used to sleeping quietly and expediently. She couldn’t sleep at all, for fear he’d wake up and try something wicked. When he finally did awaken, he eyed her impassively, and without a word knocked on the roof of the coach. It came to a stop, he got out, and then Samuel took his place.
When the coach began to move, Samuel looked around, and then out the narrowed window, seeming to try to settle himself without meeting her gaze. Now was her chance.
“We haven’t been properly introduced, sir,” Riona said.
His skin was freckled and fair beneath his bright hair, and he reddened almost to match it. “Samuel McCallum, my lady.”
“Of course you’re related,” she said, feeling defeat encroaching, but not ready to let it claim victory.
“Distant cousins,” he said, a small smile of sympathy growing. “Ye’ll find a lot of McCallums where we’re going.”
She wasn’t ready to give up. “Surely you see what he’s doing is wrong.”
Samuel’s expression remained pleasant and even understanding, but he shook his head. “Nay, my lady, I don’t see that at all. Ye’re his betrothed.”
“But I’m not!”
“Ye’re Catriona Duff, are ye not?”
“I am, but so is my cousin!”
“Sorry though I be, I cannot help ye. A contract was signed between your families, and we take that seriously.”
“I know nothing about any contract,” she grumbled, folding her arms beneath her breasts and narrowing her eyes at him.
“That is the fault of your father. I’ve been Hugh’s man a long time, and he’s known about the betrothal since he was a lad. Believe me, it’s interfered with his life more than once.” He seemed to break off even as he looked away.
“Interfered how?” she demanded.
“That’s none of your business, my lady. Now do let a man sleep.”
He closed his eyes and dropped his chin, just as his chief had done.
“But wait, would money change your mind? I don’t have much, but if you help me . . .” She trailed off.
He didn’t even open his eyes as he spoke. “Your coin cannot buy the loyalty earned through generations, my lady. And your coin cannot make me forget the treachery of the Duffs through that same time. Now hush.”
She blanched. Treachery by her ancestors? A marriage between their clans was supposed to make up for that? Any Duff married to a McCallum would never be at ease, it seemed, if such grievances were never forgotten. She’d heard stories of the feuding when her uncle and father were in their cups, reminiscing with anger and pride. No wonder they stayed away from Scotland, she thought, leaving their factors and tacksmen to manage their estates.
