Page 65 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
“Where the devil are ye off to?” Niall asked, leaning over the balcony railing to peer into the foyer below.
He wore his dress kilt, as Coll did: beneath a black coat and red waistcoat, a black leather sporran with red tassels and an embossed silver cantle across the top, and gillie brogues tied up his calves for once, rather than boots. Aden had dressed the same, and while it felt stiff and formal, the three of them standing together would no doubt put the fear of the devil into any enemies of Clan Ross.
“I’ll meet ye at St. George’s,” Coll shot back, sliding his sparesgian-dubhinto one stocking, with only the hilt and top of the scabbard showing.
“Coll.”
Straightening, he looked up at his youngest brother. “What? I’ll nae be late. Ye ken I wouldnae miss Aden’s wedding any more than I’d miss yers. And I rode all the way from London to Gretna Green for that one.”
Niall’s eyebrows dove together. “I only wanted to ask if ye had any news about the lass. It’s nae an easy thing, to have someone after ye.”
As Niall spoke, his wife, Amy, joined him at the railing. She wore a simple peach muslin dress embroideredwith myriad yellow and green flowers and a peach bonnet topped with fresh flowers, and her hands were sheathed in white, wrist-length kid gloves. Coll made note of it all. He had no idea what Sassenach guests wore to a wedding, and he wanted to be sure Temperance had as little to worry over as possible. She hadn’t been to a wedding since her own, he’d wager—and she hadn’t made it to that one. It had been eight years ago, anyway, and who knew what had altered since then.
“Amy, ye look very fine,” he drawled, waiting for Smythe to pull open the front door.
Smiling, she dipped a curtsy. “As do you. Half the women in London will be sighing at the sight of the three of you today.”
He scowled. “I preferred yer wedding, lass. Brief, nae crowded, and with a fine, homecooked meal after.”
Amy laughed. “And a good price offered for any shoeing we needed done before we turned the horses around for London.”
Niall leaned over and kissed her. “I’ll wed ye again, more proper this time, if ye like.”
Cupping his face in her gloved hands, she kissed him back. “I am utterly content, husband. Don’t fret. We’ll have plenty of things to celebrate in more proper fashion.”
Judging by the glow of her cheeks and the light in her eyes, they’d be celebrating the first something in less than nine months. Coll grinned. “The two of ye are making my teeth ache. I’ll see ye at the church.”
As Gavin rounded the corner of the house with horse and phaeton in tow, Coll paused. The groom was in his best finery as well, topped with a proper Scottish tam and what looked like an ostrich plume dyed black.
“Gavin, ye’re lovely!” he exclaimed.
The groom’s cheeks turned a burning red. “I’m to drivethe barouche from the church. I’ll nae have any man saying I didnae dress to honor the bride and groom.”
“Nae a man would dare.” Coll climbed up to the seat and leaned over to take the leads from the groom. “My thanks.”
“Just between ye and me, m’laird,” Gavin said, stepping up to the front wheel and lowering his voice, “have ye mentioned to yerbràthairthat ye mean to disrupt his wedding with yer lass?”
“Today is for Aden and Miranda,” Coll returned flatly. “I’ve nae intention of disrupting a thing. I’m bringing the lass to keep her safe from harm and in my sight, and so most of the lads can join us.”
Nodding, the groom stepped back again. “As ye say, then, m’laird.”
Aye, he did say. He and the lass had an agreement. Whether he wanted her close by him or whether she’d accused him of being soft for acquiescing to his mother’s demands, she needed protecting.
As for that accusation, aye, he’d decided to give in, because it wasn’t just about his pride being pricked. Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert funded all of Aldriss Park—four thousand acres, three hundred men, women, and bairns, dozens of farms and shops and two fishing villages, peat cutters, seaweed harvesters, and the mansion with all of its servants and gardeners and grooms and cooks. In a good year, they very nearly paid for themselves, but more often than not, the expenses outweighed the profits. If not for the Oswell-MacTaggert money, half the cotters would have had to leave for America, and the land would all be valued for nothing but sheep-grazing.
Temperance had set out on her own at age twenty. She’d left her family and her home and friends and everything familiar, and she’d found a way not just to survive, but toflourish. He admired that a great deal. He admiredher. But she had only herself to look out for, and that gave her certain freedoms and luxuries that he didn’t have.
When he stopped in front of her small house, Gregory pulled open the door and stepped aside. Before Coll could call out a greeting to him, his tongue froze in his mouth, his jaw unhinging itself to hang open.
Two kilted Highlanders ahead of her, watching their surroundings like hawks, Temperance Hartwood walked out the front door. She wore a perfectly proper peach and lavender gown of muslin and lace, a matching lavender shawl over her shoulders, and a bonnet decorated with lavender and yellow flowers over hair redder than a sunset. The combination of propriety and daring simply… stunned him. Somewhere deep in his chest, a small stone broke free and vanished. She still wanted to be around him, and he damned well wanted to be around her.
“Good glory,” he muttered under his breath, shifting in the seat to offer her a hand up. “Good morning, Persephone.”
She inclined her head. “Coll. I half thought you might have changed your mind about me accompanying you today.”
Taking her hand, he half lifted her up over the wheel and onto the phaeton’s seat beside him. “We had an argument,” he said, shrugging as he clucked to the long-legged bay. “I reckon we both made some valid points.”
“No, we didn’t,” she countered, holding onto the seat with one hand as they lurched into motion. “Our circumstances might be similar, but you’ve stayed for the sake of people who rely on you. That’s noble.”
