Page 67 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
And while she’d been correct that saying the words didn’t change anything, didn’t make her troubles go away or make his family suddenly accepting of a lass who preferred to be thought of as a commoner, it did give him a reason to fight. And a cause worth fighting for.
“Goodness.” Straightening, Temperance cleared her throat. “We should get going before we start a riot.”
“Aye.” Taking the reins back in both hands, he snapped them and the bay jumped back into a trot.
Today belonged to Aden and Miranda, and he meant to do his utmost not to take away from that. But if anyone wanted to challenge him over his wedding guest, hewould take on all comers, and do it with a smile on his face. Temperance Hartwood, or Persephone Jones, or whatever she chose to call herself, loved him. Aye, today he could fight the world and knock it on its arse.
He nearly hadn’t said the words, because he knew as well as she did that being in love didn’t solve anything. Part of him hadn’t wanted to make things harder for her. But the other part, the stubborn part that spoke its mind, had demanded to know that she wanted what he wanted. And knowing now that she did, itdidchange everything.
Temperance had driven past St. George’s Church in Hanover Square on two or three occasions, but she’d never strolled between the stern ionic columns or seen the interior of Mayfair’s parish church. Actresses didn’t receive invitations to aristocratic weddings. Not until today, anyway.
Keeping her hand tight around Coll’s black-sleeved arm, her eyes respectfully lowered as she wondered if she would be struck down by lightning for daring to tread upon the stone floor, she walked through the main doors at the rear of the church.
A small group of people stood near the altar, enough red and black and white-patterned kilts among them that she knew it had to be the MacTaggerts. “I’ll just sit in the back, Coll,” she whispered. “Please don’t make a to-do about it.”
To her surprise, he inclined his head. “Nae in the back; I want ye away from the doors,” he murmured, but paused halfway up the rows of wooden pews. “This should do ye,” he said, and handed her onto the bench. “The lads know to keep their eyes open for anyone nae invited, but if ye see someaught that troubles ye, I expect ye to make some noise.”
“I’m certain that would go over well,” she returned dryly.
“I dunnae care how it goes over, lass. I dunnae want to risk ye being harmed. If ye dunnae agree, I’ll forego standing with the groom and sit here with ye.”
She knew him well enough to realize he meant every word he said. “I will make a great deal of noise,” she muttered. “Go stand with your brother.”
He had the bad manners to grin at her before he turned away and strolled the rest of the way up to the front of the church. It was a pretty place, with more white columns inside, dark, polished wood, and a large painting of Christ and his disciples that she thought had to be the work of William Kent behind the altar. Lovely as it was, the people held far more interest for her.
And they’d definitely noticed her, as well. She recognized the youngest brother, Niall, as he said something to the pretty, blonde-haired woman at his side, nodding at her as she turned to look. Beyond them, a slender young lady with black hair and light green eyes bounced up on her toes and whispered at the tall young man beside her. That would be Eloise, she reasoned, the youngest MacTaggert, and the one who’d been raised English, which would make the young man with the fading black eyes her betrothed, Matthew Harris.
On the other side of the stunningly pretty, white-wearing bride and her poetical-looking, kilted husband-to-be, stood an older couple that had to be the bride’s parents. The petite woman wearing a gorgeous blue gown sewn with yellow beading, her hair a peppered black and gray beneath an elegant matron’s hat, would be Lady Aldriss. Temperance held her breath as the countess turned to look at her, breathing out only when the lady turned away again.
A dozen or so other guests sat in the first two rows ofpews, standing only when the black-and-white clothed pastor stepped forward. Temperance hurriedly climbed to her feet as well, only retaking her seat when he motioned accordingly. She knew most of the words he spoke, because eight years earlier, another pastor in another church had recited them to her as they rehearsed a wedding that would never happen.
Halfway through the ceremony, an older man with generous sideburns and a lean, stern face took a seat one row in front of her and off to the side. Temperance swallowed. Coll had said his men were on the lookout for strangers, and this man had made it past them. Could she assume, then, that he was another friend of the family? If so, why hadn’t he joined the group at the front of the pews?
Without knowing whether he was there for the wedding or for her, she wasn’t about to make a ruckus, whatever she’d promised Coll. Instead, she kept her attention squarely on his profile. If he turned to look at her, or if she saw a knife or a pistol in his hands, then she would most assuredly make some noise.
When the pastor introduced the couple as man and wife and Aden swept his bride into his arms for a kiss that made even Temperance blush, the rest of the guests stood and crowded forward to congratulate the couple. The older man remained seated, as did she. As he finished pounding his brother on the back, Coll turned to look at her—and froze, his gaze on the late-arriving man.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Did he recognize a threat? He certainly had an instinct for knowing when she might be in danger. When Coll abruptly strode forward, she stood, moving away as quickly as she could.
“Athair?” he bellowed. “What the devil are ye doing here?”
The rest of the group turned as well. Persephone saw baffled expressions on the faces of the Harris parents andthe other guests, surprise on the two remaining MacTaggert brothers, a delighted grin growing on the face of their sister, and the Countess Aldriss going white as the bride’s gown.
“Papa?” Eloise exclaimed, hurrying forward. “Is it you?”
Papa. Angus MacTaggert, Earl Aldriss. Coll’s father. Clutching a hand over her heart in relief, Temperance sank onto the pew.Thank heavens.
“What am I doin’ here?” the earl replied. “I had a letter that said ye’d lost yer mind, Coll. That’s what I’m doing here.”
Coll immediately stopped, his gaze sliding over to meet hers. “I’ve nae lost a damned thing,” he stated, returning his attention to his father. “Ye’ve two married sons, though. Come and meet all of yer daughters.”
Another kind of worry entirely speared through Temperance as young Eloise flung her arms around her father before his more restrained daughters-in-law added their greetings. She didn’t know much about Lord Aldriss, except that he’d claimed to have collapsed onto his deathbed when his sons had been summoned to London, and that he’d encouraged the boys to live rough-and-tumble lives.
The fact that he’d traveled here, and that he’d arrived barely a week after she and Coll had met, told her several things. Whoever had sent him word about Coll’s proclamation that he would marry her had spared no expense at getting word to the Highlands, and the earl had spared no time in making his way down to London. Something had upended the patriarch of the MacTaggerts, and she could make a good guess at what that thing had been. Her.
“Let’s all return to Oswell House, shall we?” Niall said loudly, over the growing mutters. “The countess has set out a luncheon for everyone in the garden.”
“Yes,” Lady Aldriss said, visibly squaring her shoulders. “Everyone, my friends and family, please join us there. We have much to celebrate.”
