Page 34 of The Wrong Bride
She felt a pang of old sorrow at the thought of her sister dying someday. “Bronwyn is younger than I, and when she was a child, I was the only one who could keep her resting abed with stories.”
“Ah, the Scottish blood is yet strong in ye,” he pointed out. “Ye ken how important our stories are. The bard sings of them enough to remind us all—especially me, who’s supposed to live up to the bravery of McCallum ancestors.”
“So the performance last night wasn’t just for entertainment?” she asked, surprised.
“Aye, there was that. But also specifically for me to hear and remember.”
“They expect a lot of you.”
“Just as your parents expected much of ye, when ye should have been allowed to be a child. At least I was allowed that.”
“What about after you’d recovered from your wounds at Sheriffmuir? Didn’t they all expect much of you then? How were you permitted to leave?”
His face, once open and pleasant, seemed to shutter with impassivity. “I played my part in the welfare of our clan, and served them well from Edinburgh.”
She remembered Dermot saying that as well. “And London? I heard that mentioned. How was that a part of serving your clan?”
“I was elected a Member of Parliament for our county.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You sat in the Commons?”
“Where else could I sit, since the Crown went back on its promise to allow Scottish nobility an immediate seat in the Lords? Not that I’m a nobleman like your father.”
She blinked at him. “It takes me a minute to remember you don’t mean my true father when you say such things.” He just looked at her, and she waved a hand, dismissing that topic. “I am still trying to picture you as an MP.”
“’Tis not an easy thing for a Scotsman to be. Ye saw what the journey is like, and most MPs do not have coaches. We come down by horse the whole length of Great Britain, a journey of weeks, only to be treated as if we’re country simpletons with no understanding of our land. Contempt is too mild a word for how we are viewed.”
“And you’ve done this for ten years, from January to August,” she said slowly, seeing him in a new light, rather than simply an uneducated villain.
“Seven years.”
So that left three more unaccounted years, butshe’d think about that later. “How could I never have met you?”
“And did ye meet many untitled Scots at your fine London dinner parties and musicales?” he asked sarcastically.
“Oh. No, I did not. Unless you count men like my father, the sons of noblemen.”
“Not often invited, were we, the sons of chiefs? Some of us could not have afforded the necessary garments, of course. Living in London was an expense many had not anticipated, and few could tolerate for long.”
“You did.”
He nodded slowly, taking another bite of goose and chewing before continuing. “Aye, I wasn’t going to turn tail and head for the Highlands at the first sign of trouble. I even served on a parliamentary committee long enough to be named the chairman.”
“What committee?” she asked curiously.
“Gaols. Few wanted to discuss or implement prison reform. Perhaps my early lawbreaking against redcoats, that could have landed me in gaol, subconsciously guided me.”
She still couldn’t believe he’d been in London all those years and their paths had never crossed. “Did you wear your plaid?”
“Nay, that would have kept Scottish MPs permanently on the outside. Londoners could almost pretend we were English northerners when listening to us speak. But to wear colorful tartan? Nay, I chose to blend in with my breeches and coat.”
Just as she’d first seen him. “Ye did not try to meet Cat?”
His face hardened. “I met your father once and he gave me strict orders to stay away from ye, said ye were having a difficult time accepting your duty to your family. And I believed him. When all the while, ye were simply kept ignorant of the whole situation.”
She froze when he reached across the table and touched her hand.
“If I’d have seen ye on the street,” he said huskily, “I would have followed ye anywhere.”
