Kilts Ahoy! Page 17

  Marshall tapped his chin. “Make her think I dinna intend to pursue the matter, so she doesna need to keep it hidden. Go on.”

  “Suppose Teagan goes to Castle Robson as Elgin commanded and we make him believe she has agreed to the marriage.”

  Marshall nodded. “And I invite him to my library as weel, feigning compliance with his demands.”

  “It might work,” Beathan said. “If we’re all there to confront them…”

  Teagan listened as they worked out the details of their plan. It was tenuous at best, but she couldn’t think of an alternative course of action.

  *

  Marshall took Teagan into his embrace before mounting Beau in the courtyard. “This is the last night we’ll spend apart,” he promised, hugging her tightly.

  She leaned into him. “Aye, if everything goes according to plan.”

  He tilted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Even if it fails and Elgin remains laird, I willna allow him to marry ye. Let him do his worst. Ye’re my wife, and will remain so.”

  “And my family supports us. ’Tis what matters the most.”

  He kissed her deeply, savoring the ease with which she opened to his tongue’s probing. “Until the morrow,” he rasped when they broke apart.

  “Aye,” she breathed.

  He rode slowly over the bridge, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to look down at the surf pounding the rocks below. “She’s right,” he mused. “A person can get used to it.”

  Strangely, the notion gave him courage as he made his way home.

  “Is my brother here?” he asked a maidservant upon entering the keep.

  “Aye,” she replied bobbing a curtsey. “In the small hall, celebrating with his friends.”

  Clenching his jaw, Marshall prepared for the battle ahead. He hoped Elgin and his cronies were far enough into their cups, they’d believe his supposed surrender.

  *

  Teagan had always felt like the odd one out in the MacCray family. It became clear when she was summoned to Beathan’s study after the evening meal how much her brothers truly loved and appreciated her.

  “I’m sorry I’ve brought this trouble to our family,” she began when she entered and saw they were all present. She wouldn’t blame them for censuring her actions.

  “Ye’re nay the one at fault here,” Archie replied. “Ye sensed Marshall’s worthiness. ’Tisna his doing nor yers the truth of Elgin’s parentage was hidden.”

  “’Tis only right the Robson laird wed a MacCray lass,” Cooper said. “We’ve all seen Marshall’s strengths. We just didna ken the reason he isna the laird, though he should be.”

  Blinking away tears, she embraced each brother in turn. “I love all of ye,” she said hoarsely.

  “And ye’re our precious jewel,” Beathan declared. “Ye deserve to wed a mon like Marshall.”

  “I used to think it was a terrible fate to have seven brothers,” she admitted. “Now, I realize I’m the luckiest lass in the Highlands.”

  *

  Marshall was about to extend a hand to his brother, then thought better of it. Elgin still looked respectable and didn’t seem to be inebriated, so he might become suspicious if Marshall was overly compliant. He braced his fists on his hips. “Ye win, Brother,” he declared. “The feckless MacCrays have agreed ye should wed Teagan. But, I warn ye, if ye ever…”

  The emotion choking off his words was real, and Elgin seemed convinced by it. He stood, put a hand on Marshall’s shoulder and said, “I kent ye’d see it my way. Dinna fash. I’ll take good care of her.”

  Ye canna even take care of yerself.

  “I’d hoped ye’d stand as my second on the morrow,” his brother declared. “’Tis set for noon, if ye recall.”

  Marshall swallowed the rebuttal brewing in his throat. This could play into his plans. “Of course. What’s a younger brother for? Come to the library before the ceremony and we’ll proceed to the chapel from there.”

  Elgin hesitated.

  “I’ll break open the aquavit and we’ll drink a toast to yer happiness.”

  His brother licked his lips. “Good idea. I’ll see ye then.”

  Marshall left, only rolling his eyes heavenward when he was certain Elgin couldn’t take note of it.

  He decided not to seek out Moira until the morrow. By then, he hoped, she’d have learned of his sanctioning the marriage and he’d get a better sense of her state of mind.

  Showdown

  “Beautiful,” Janie Tailor enthused.

  Teagan had to agree. The lass looking back at her from the mirror was, indeed, lovely, thanks in large part to the gown Janie had created. No one would guess the turmoil brewing in the bride’s belly. She’d always been an honest person and dreaded the trickery that lay ahead.

  She calmed herself with the notion that, though they’d already pledged to each other, it was fitting Marshall should see the marvelous creation of pale green silk, designed with him in mind. She blushed at the thought he’d especially like the deep décolletage.

  “And I made it easy for yon Robson to get ye out of it,” Janie gushed with a twinkle in her eyes.

  It was difficult to tell if the ruddy-faced woman was also blushing, but Teagan suspected she was.

  “He’ll appreciate yer thoughtfulness,” she replied, grinning at Katie who’d been made privy to the subterfuge.

  “’Tis normal for a lass to be nervous on her wedding day,” Janie assured her, obviously believing Teagan was going to Castle Robson to wed Elgin.

  I’d be screaming like a banshee if such were the case.

  A tap on the door heralded Beathan whose eyes widened when he saw her. “Robson’s a lucky mon,” he said with a wink. “Ye truly are a jewel.”

  She filled her lungs as he pecked a kiss on each cheek. “Let’s hope we fool Elgin,” she whispered.

  “Ye’ve done a masterful job, Janie,” he told the seamstress. “Thank ye.”

  “My laird,” she replied, curtseying before taking the cue to leave.

  “We’re only doing this to right a wrong and restore the rightful laird,” Beathan said. “Yer marriage to Marshall stands, whatever happens. I’d prefer to be called an oath breaker than to have ye wed the silly sot.”

  Fully aware of what such calumny heaped on his name would cost her proud brother, she hugged him. “I love ye,” she whispered. “Ye’ll make a wonderful husband, someday.”

  Now, it was his turn to blush. “Aye, weel, let’s be off,” he replied, offering his arm.

  In the courtyard, he assisted her to mount Geal side-saddle. She normally avoided the awkward position when riding but had to admit she felt like a queen as they set off, her seven brothers forming an escort worthy of a monarch.

  They made slow progress and the sun was climbing high in the sky when they arrived at Castle Robson. The yards of silk and the prospect of what might go awry with the plans made her sweat in a very unladylike manner. “We canna be late,” she muttered to Beathan as they rode into the courtyard.

  “Our timing is perfect,” he replied. His reassuring smile fled when the first person they encountered as they entered the keep was Marshall’s Aunty Moira, a large book clutched to her bosom.

  Relying on Beathan’s strong arm, Teagan affected a brief curtsey. “Good morrow, Lady Moira,” she managed.

  To her dismay, the peculiar woman burst into tears, thrust the book at Beathan and fled.

  *

  When Elgin entered the library, Marshall acknowledged his brother had made an effort to look presentable for his wedding. He’d shaved again and was dressed in his best tartan trews.

  “They’re a mite big,” Elgin confessed, hoisting up the waistband. “I must have lost at least a stone.”

  Marshall had seen the emaciating effects of too much whisky before, but he made no reply, his attention fixed on the eagle feather in Elgin’s bonnet.

  His brother patted the chieftain’s brooch holding his plaid in place on his shoulder. “Da would be prou
d, do ye nay think?”

  Marshall fisted his hands and assumed a meek demeanor, encouraged that Elgin seemed nervous. “Aye, though he wasna a mon to show his appreciation for either of us.”

  “Nay,” his brother agreed, accepting the tumbler of aquavit Marshall offered. “He was difficult to please. I dinna recall him ever saying a kind word to me, whereas ye…”

  Marshall had a sudden insight into the reasons for Elgin desperately wanting Teagan. He was jealous. “Ye think he favored me?” he asked incredulously.

  “Aunty Moira claims ’twas because I’m nay his son, but that canna be right, can it?”

  Heart pumping, Marshall lifted his tumbler, unsure how to answer. This wasn’t the conversation he’d anticipated. “Here’s to the auld mon,” he declared with feigned nonchalance. “Why would she say that?”

  Elgin swigged down the tumbler of aquavit, then shrugged. “Some nonsense about Da’s log of clan events. Who can make any sense of aught she says these days?”

  Marshall was tempted to take a sip of his aquavit though he’d resolved to keep a clear head. The tumbler was halfway to his lips when Teagan and her brothers entered. “Green,” he babbled, gobsmacked by the vision of loveliness he’d married. “Now, I understand…”

  Beathan interrupted him. “I believe ye might need this,” he said softly, holding out a book.

  Marshall stared at his father’s journal, then at his smiling wife. “Moira,” she mouthed.

  Clearly unaware of the exchange, Elgin rushed to take Teagan’s hand. “My lady,” he gushed, bestowing a kiss on her knuckles. “Ye look very nice, but ’tis bad luck for me to see ye before the ceremony.”

  *

  Teagan took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She recognized Elgin had made an effort to tidy himself up for the wedding, though she feared his baggy trews might end up around his ankles. The prospect caused a giggle to bubble up in her throat, but she suppressed it when the unmistakable smell of liquor stole up her nose. Any woman who married Elgin would face an uphill battle against intoxication. “My lord Elgin,” she cooed. “I’m nay worried about bad luck.”

  He frowned. “But…”

  “I have something to show ye, Elgin,” Marshall declared, standing behind his desk, the incriminating journal open atop it.

  Elgin glanced at him. “Can it nay wait? I’m speaking with my betrothed.”

  “She isna yer betrothed, and ne’er will be. She’s already married to the rightful laird of this clan.”

  Annoyance flickered on Elgin’s face as he turned to Marshall. “Cease with these lies. I am our father’s eldest son.”

  “Elgin, ye’re nay, and the proof is right here.”

  Teagan stopped breathing when Elgin took her hand and hissed, “Excuse me, lass, while I deal with this.” Anger blazed in his eyes as he grasped the hilt of his claymore.

  Sons of the Same Mother

  Marshall had expected anger, but gooseflesh marched across his nape when Elgin looked ready to brandish his weapon.

  The MacCrays reached for the ceremonial daggers tucked into their hose.

  However, holding up his trews while drawing his claymore proved too much for his brother. An audible sigh of relief soughed through the room when he took his hand off the hilt.

  Marshall inhaled deeply.

  The MacCrays sniggered, but Elgin seemed not to notice their contempt. “Let’s get this over with, then. Show me this so-called proof.”

  Marshall angled the book so his brother could read as he drew a finger under the entry recording Elgin’s birth, then turned the pages to his father’s description of his own arrival in the world.

  Elgin narrowed his eyes. “This doesna signify. It means naught. In any case, ye spend hours in the library keeping the log now. How do we ken ye didna change the entries?”

  “Marshall isna the kind of mon who would do such a thing.”

  All eyes turned to Moira who’d entered the library unseen. Marshall wavered between relief and apprehension. His aunty seemed in possession of her faculties as she strode to the desk, but she was still clad in her night attire, including a nightcap tied under her chin, so…

  “May God have mercy on me for breaking my oath to yer sweet mother, Elgin,” she said softly, “but I must tell ye, Robson wasna yer father.”

  Mouth agape, Elgin stared at their aunty, no doubt searching for signs of her recent confusion.

  Gripping the edge of his desk, Marshall held his breath, longing to rush to Teagan’s side as she swayed alarmingly.

  “Why are ye telling these lies, Aunty?” Elgin whined.

  Moira growled. “I ken ’tis a lot to take in, and ye should sit down while I tell ye a tale I hoped to take to my grave. However, I canna stand by and watch ye wed this lovely lass who anyone can see was meant for Marshall. I kent it when I visited her at Castle MacCray.”

  This visit was news to Marshall, but Elgin squared his shoulders. “I prefer to stand.”

  “Suit yerself,” she replied before embarking on the sad story of his mother’s shame and the lengths she and Moira had gone to in order to convince the Robson laird the babe born too soon was his son.

  Elgin glared. “Ye’re making this up. Ye’ve always favored Marshall.”

  “Ye ken that isna true,” Moira sighed. “If anything, I’ve tried to make up for…” She shook her head, extracting a small bound journal from inside her bed-robe. “Ye dinna believe me, but this is yer mother’s diary. ’Twas always entrusted to my safekeeping lest yer father lay his hands on it. Read for yerself. Ye’ll find the pages easily, she wept over them so many times.”

  Elgin accepted the journal and slumped into a chair, his head bowed. “Ma,” he rasped as he read. “I always kent sadness haunted ye.”

  Marshall stared at the journal whose existence he’d been unaware of. He thirsted to read it, yet didn’t know if he had the strength to bear the secret sorrow his mother had borne all her married life.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat, thankful Elgin’s first regret was for their mother. He took a risk and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “No matter what happened in the past,” he said, “ye and I are sons of the same mother. Her blood runs in our veins.”

  Elgin closed the journal and stood. He looked Marshall in the eyes, something he usually avoided doing. “Aye, and ye’ve always been a true brother to me. Ye’ve shouldered many of the duties I should have taken care of.

  “And ye did it out of love. I’ll wager ye didna ken of all this until recently.”

  Astonished by the sincerity in his brother’s eyes, Marshall admitted, “Moira drew my attention to the entries just scant days ago.”

  “I did?” she asked, incredulous eyes wide.

  *

  Aware she was privy to historic events that no one outside the library would ever know of, Teagan trembled with relief. Elgin seemed to have accepted Marshall’s claim to the chieftaincy of the clan. She rejoiced for him as his rigid shoulders relaxed.

  However, she tensed when Elgin approached Beathan. The brothers standing behind him shifted their collective weight.

  “Laird Beathan,” Elgin declared. “I withdraw my offer of marriage to yer sister.”

  “Accepted,” Beathan replied gruffly.

  She held her breath when Elgin reached for her hand. “I ken ye’ll be happy with my brother. Or should I say my half-brother. I suppose I’ll have to get used to calling him that.”

  “We are still brothers,” Marshall insisted.

  “No one outside this library can learn ye arena full brothers,” Teagan said softly.

  “Aye,” Elgin agreed. “We canna expose our mother to censure.”

  Moved by the grief in his eyes, she took a chance. “All of our lives have changed today, Elgin. I canna imagine what ye’re feeling but change isna necessarily a bad thing.”

  He bent to brush a polite kiss on her knuckles. “Ye’re very wise. My brother is a lucky mon,” he said when their eyes met as he straightened
. “And, ye may be right,” he admitted. “I was ne’er good at being laird.”

  *

  A strange calm stole over Marshall. He had a new insight into the possible reasons Elgin behaved the way he did. He was in a position of responsibility that he perhaps sensed, deep down, he wasn’t cut out for.

  Marshall recognized that same sense of destiny within himself. He’d somehow always known he was meant to be laird and had willingly assumed many of the duties.

  Now, Clan Robson would be led by its rightful chieftain and he knew he was equal to the challenge, especially with Teagan as his helpmate.

  However, the transition of power would have to be undertaken with great care. His brother had never been a decisive man, but he was still laird and Marshall had no wish to discredit him in the eyes of his fellow clansmen. “How shall we go about setting things right?” he asked Elgin.

  A Bright Future

  “Ye ken,” Elgin told Marshall an hour later as they stood side by side on the dais in the Great Hall, “I always thought I inherited my fondness for whisky from Broderick Robson.” He chuckled. “Clearly, ’tisna the case. I often wondered why he bestowed his name on ye.”

  Marshall looked out at the curious faces of the castle folks as they filed quietly into the hall. The lack of conversation suggested they sensed something important was about to happen, especially when they set eyes on the seven MacCray men and their sister at the far end of the dais. He wished he was holding his wife’s hand, but had to be patient and do things Elgin’s way. “While ’tis true our mother described her attacker in less than flattering terms,” he replied, “that doesna mean ye’re fated to be like him.”

  “But…”

  “Nay,” Marshall insisted. “We’re all victims of a crime perpetrated years ago by a mon we ne’er met, and whose name we dinna even ken.”

  Elgin nodded thoughtfully.

  “Our parents are gone,” Marshall continued, “and there is naught we can do to remedy the harm done to them, except to make sure we break free of a rapist’s hold over us. Ye needna be like yer misbegotten sire. I like to think I’m a better mon than my father.”