Page 40 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
Aden sat in a chair, Miranda Harris beside him and holding his hand, while opposite them, a large, jolly-looking man in priest’s robes sat with an open Bible on his lap.Bloody hell. Coll stopped short as his brother turned to look at him.
“What is it?” Aden asked.
“I need yer assistance,” Coll muttered, cursing under his breath. Instead of warning him not to vex her, his mother might have considered beginning her conversation with “Aden and Miranda are being counseled by a priest before their wedding, so stay out,” for the devil’s sake.
Aden slid his gaze to Miranda, who quirked her face in an amused smile. “Go,” she murmured. “I’ll manage this.”
“Marriage is a lifetime commitment,” the priest said, his round cheeks darkening. “It is not something to bemanaged.”
Miranda reached out, taking hold of the priest’s hand. “As an English-born woman about to venture into the Scottish Highlands,” she said smoothly, “I did wonder if you had any advice for me.” She glanced at Aden over her shoulder, subtly urging him to leave. “Advice that you perhaps couldn’t give me with my rather uncivilized betrothed present.”
That seemed to smooth the man’s ruffled feathers, but Coll didn’t have time to imagine what advice a Sassenach who’d never been to Scotland could have for a lass marrying a MacTaggert. No priestly advice had helped Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert, that was for bloody certain.
“I owe ye, Coll,” Aden said under his breath, leaving the door ajar as they passed Eloise and Francesca againand went on toward the kitchen. “I was on the verge of feigning an apoplexy to escape.”
“What the devil was he trying to tell ye?”
“How to be a husband. He’s nae married, incidentally.” Shaking his head, Aden came to a stop just inside the kitchen door. “But as my Miranda’s here and ye seem to be leading me elsewhere, I’m going to ask ye again what’s afoot.”
“Yesterday a pair of sandbags nearly fell on Persephone. I put it to an accident. This morning a bucket full of bricks came flying out of the rafters and nearly broke her neck. I’m nae putting either of them to an accident any longer.”
Aden’s faintly amused expression immediately sharpened. “I heard that Lord Claremont’s been escorting her about, and that ye set him on his arse the other night. Are ye putting it to him?”
“Aye. He’s the only suspect I have in mind at this moment.”
“Are ye certain those accidents were meant for her, though?”
Coll hadn’t considered that, and now he was doubly thankful to Gavin for suggesting he involve his brothers. “Whether they were or nae, I’m going to suggest Claremont put a stop to them before she gets hurt. I thought ye should come with me on the chance I lose my temper.”
“Aye. I can do that. I will suggest toyethat ye dunnae kill him until after ye’re certain he’s the one causing trouble.”
“Ye see? Already ye’re proving useful to have about.”
Both horses waited as he and Aden reached the stable, Farthing looking both baffled and relieved as he held a perfectly still Nuckelavee’s bridle. “Do you require an escort?” the groom asked.
“Nae. We’ll manage.”
With Aden and long-legged Loki beside him, Coll kept Nuckelavee to a barely restrained trot south and east toward Farm Street. If Aden had any further thoughts about Claremont’s guilt or innocence, he kept them to himself, but Coll didn’t care to hear them, anyway.
“I’ve a question,” Aden said into the silence, and Coll took back the silent praise with which he’d been greeting his brother’s characteristic reticence.
“What is it?”
“Do ye actually mean to wed this Persephone Jones, or are ye using her name to put Francesca back on her heels while ye find yer own wife?”
Of course Aden had figured it out; the middle MacTaggert brother had an uncanny ability to see past a man’s words and into his meaning. “Does it matter which it is?” Coll retorted.
“I reckon it does. And I reckon ye ken why it matters.”
“Is yer Miranda fluttering her fan over the idea of an actress marrying into the family or someaught? Are ye worried she’ll change her mind about marrying ye?”
“My Miranda wouldnae care if ye wed a circus bear, Coll.Myconcern is if ye’re so intent on getting some kind of revenge against ourmàthairthat ye’d sacrifice the MacTaggert pride to do it. The lass ye wed is to be the Countess Aldriss one day, to speak for yer cotters and yer fishwives and yer farmers’ daughters when nae anyone else can do it, to stand by ye when the crops fail and when the moors flood. Is that Persephone Jones?”
Coll clenched his jaw. “If ye’ve already figured out the answer, then dunnae trouble me with the question.”
Aden shifted in the saddle. “Then why the devil are we about to go threaten an earl when ye have something else ye need to be doing?”
“Because the lass doesnae have anyone else to go threaten an earl,” Coll snapped. “Because I dunnae like itwhen a man cannae step past his own pride far enough to admit that mayhap he’s a fool and should settle for being grateful that all he earned was a punch, and when the thing that makes the most sense to him is trying to murder a lass for nae liking him.”
