Part 1 (2/2)
As the minister droned on, reading from the Book of Common Order, Emma looked over her shoulder again to see her mother turn her face into her papa's coat as if she could no longer bear to watch the proceedings. Her sisters were beginning to sniffle more loudly by the minute. Ernestine's sharp little nose was as pink as a rabbit's and judging by the violent quiver of Edwina's plump bottom lip, it was only a matter of time before she broke into full-fledged sobs.
Soon the minister's ramblings would draw to a close, leaving Emma with no choice but to pledge her devotion and her body to this shriveled stranger.
She cast a wild-eyed glance behind her, wondering what they would all do if she lifted the lace-trimmed hem of her silk wedding dress and made a mad dash for the door. She'd heard numerous cautionary tales of careless travelers disappearing into the Highland wilderness, never to be seen or heard from again. At the moment, it sounded like a wonderfully tempting prospect. After all, it wasn't as if her decrepit groom could chase her down, toss her over his shoulder and haul her back to the altar.
As if to underscore that fact, the earl began to croak out his vows. Too soon, he was done and the minister was looking expectantly at her.
As was everyone else in the abbey.
As her silence dragged on, one of the women murmured, ”Och, the puir la.s.s is overcome with emotion.”
”If she swoons, he'll naught be able to catch her without breakin' his back,” her companion whispered.
Emma opened her mouth, then closed it again. It had gone as dry as cotton, forcing her to wet her lips with the tip of her tongue before she made another attempt at speech. The minister blinked at her from behind his steel-rimmed spectacles, the compa.s.sion in his kind brown eyes bringing her dangerously near to tears.
Emma glanced over her shoulder again but this time it wasn't her mother or her sisters who captured her gaze but her papa.
There was no mistaking the pleading look in his eyes. Eyes the exact same dusky blue shade as hers. Eyes that had for too long looked both haunted and hunted. She would almost swear the tremor in his hands had decreased since the earl had signed over the settlement. She hadn't seen him reach for the flask he always kept tucked in his waistcoat pocket even once since she'd accepted the earl's proposal.
In his encouraging smile, she caught a glimpse of another man-a younger man with clear eyes and steady hands whose breath smelled of peppermint instead of spirits. He would swoop down and whisk her up to his shoulders for a dizzying ride, making her feel as if she was queen of all she surveyed instead of just a grubby toddler with skinned knees and a snaggle-toothed smile.
She also saw something in her father's eyes that she hadn't seen for a very long time-hope.
Emma turned back to her bridegroom, squaring her shoulders. Despite what the onlookers might believe, she had no intention of weeping or swooning. She had always prided herself on being made of sterner stuff than that. If she must marry this earl to secure the future and fortunes of her family, then marry him she would. And she would strive to be the best wife and countess his wealth-and t.i.tle-could buy.
She was opening her mouth-fully prepared to promise to love, cherish and obey him, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, till death did them part-when the double doors of iron-banded oak at the rear of the abbey came cras.h.i.+ng open, letting in a blast of wintry air and a dozen armed men.
The abbey erupted in a chorus of startled shrieks and gasps. The men fanned out among the pews, their unshaven faces grim with determination, their pistols held at the ready to quell any sign of resistance.
Instead of fear, Emma felt a ridiculous flare of hope ignite in her heart.
As the initial outcry subsided, Ian Hepburn boldly stepped into the center aisle of the abbey, placing himself between the forbidding mouths of the intruders' weapons and his great-uncle. ”What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, his clipped tones ringing from the vaulted ceiling. ”Have you savages no respect for the house of the Lord?”
”And which lord would that be?” a man responded in a Scots burr so deep and rich it sent an involuntary s.h.i.+ver down Emma's spine. ”The one who formed these mountains with His own hands or the one who believes he was born with the right to rule them?”
She gasped along with everyone else as the owner of that voice rode a towering black horse right through the doorway of the abbey. A shocked murmur went up as the wedding guests shrank back into their pews, their avid gazes reflecting equal parts fear and fascination. Oddly enough, Emma's gaze wasn't transfixed by the magnificent beast with its gleaming barreled chest and flowing ebony mane but by the man straddling the steed's imposing back.
Thick, sable wings of hair framed his sun-bronzed face, presenting a startling contrast to the frosty green of his eyes. Despite the chill of the day, he wore only a green and black woolen kilt, a pair of lace-up boots, and a sleeveless vest of beaten brown leather that exposed his broad, smooth chest to the elements. He handled the beast as if he'd been born to the saddle, his powerful shoulders and well-muscled forearms barely showing a strain as he guided the horse right up the aisle, forcing Ian to stumble backward or be trampled by the animal's deadly hooves.
From beside her, Emma heard the earl hiss, ”Sinclair!” ”Sinclair!”
She turned to find her elderly groom's face suffused with color and twisted with hatred. Judging by the ripe, purple vein pulsing in his temple, he might not survive the wedding, much less the wedding night.
”Forgive me for interrupting such a tender moment,” the intruder said without so much as a trace of remorse as he reined his mount to a prancing halt halfway down the aisle. ”Surely you didn't think I could resist dropping by to pay my respects on such a momentous occasion. My invitation must have been lost in the post.”
The earl shook one palsied fist at him. ”The only invitation any Sinclair is likely to receive from me is a writ of arrest from the magistrate and a date with the hangman.”
In reaction to the threat, the man simply arched one bemused eyebrow. ”I had such high hopes that the next time I darkened the door of this abbey, it would be for your funeral, not another wedding. But you always have been a randy auld goat. I should have known you couldn't resist buying another bride to warm your bed.”
For the first time since he'd muscled his way into the abbey, the stranger's mocking gaze flicked toward her. Even that brief glance was enough to bring a stinging flush to Emma's fair cheeks, especially since his words held the undeniable and d.a.m.ning ring of truth.
This time it was almost a relief when Ian Hepburn once again sought to impose himself between them. ”You may mock us and pretend to be avenging your ancestors as you always do,” he said, a sneer curling his upper lip, ”but everyone on this mountain knows that the Sinclairs have never been anything more than common cutthroats and thieves. If you and your ruffians have come to divest my uncle's guests of their jewels and purses, then why don't you b.l.o.o.d.y well get on with it and stop wasting your breath and our time?”
With surprising strength, Emma's groom shoved his way past her, nearly sending her sprawling. ”I don't need my nephew to fight my battles. I'm not afraid of an insolent whelp like you, Jamie Sinclair,” he snarled, marching right past his nephew with one bony fist still upraised. ”Do your worst!”
”Oh, I haven't come for you, auld mon.” A lazy smile curved the intruder's lips as he drew a gleaming black pistol from the waistband of his kilt and pointed it at the snowy white bodice of Emma's gown. ”I've come for your bride.”
Chapter Two.
AS EMMA GAZED INTO the stranger's glacial green eyes over the mouth of his pistol, it suddenly occurred to her that there might be worse fates than agreeing to wed a doddering old man. The thick, sooty lashes framing those eyes did nothing to veil the unspoken threat glittering in their depths. the stranger's glacial green eyes over the mouth of his pistol, it suddenly occurred to her that there might be worse fates than agreeing to wed a doddering old man. The thick, sooty lashes framing those eyes did nothing to veil the unspoken threat glittering in their depths.
At the sight of the pistol pointed at Emma's breast, her mother clapped a hand over her mouth to m.u.f.fle a broken cry. Elberta and Edwina clutched at each other, the cl.u.s.ters of silk violets on their matching bonnets trembling and their blue eyes wide with shock, while Ernestine began to paw through her reticule for her smelling salts.
Her father leapt to his feet but made no move to leave the pew. It was as if he was frozen in place by some force more powerful than his devotion to his daughter. ”I say, man,” he barked, steadying his hands on the back of the pew in front of him, ”what in the devil is the meaning of this?”
While the minister backed toward the altar, deliberately distancing himself from Emma, the earl lowered his clenched fist and slowly shuffled backward, leaving a clear path between Emma's heart and the loaded pistol. Judging by the expectant hush that had fallen over the rest of the guests, she and Sinclair might have been the only two souls in the abbey. Emma supposed some response was required of her as well-that she ought to swoon or burst into tears or plead prettily for her life.
Knowing that was exactly what the villain probably expected her to do gave her the courage to tamp down her own budding terror and stand straight and tall, to lift her chin and meet his ruthless gaze with a defiant glare of her own. She dug her fingernails into the bouquet to hide the violent quaking of her hands, crus.h.i.+ng the lingering perfume of the heather from the crisp blooms. For an elusive second, another emotion flickered through those frosty green eyes-one that might have been amus.e.m.e.nt... or admiration.
It was Ian Hepburn's turn to march past his uncle, his dark eyes smoldering with contempt. He stopped a healthy distance from the man on horseback. ”So now you've sunk to defiling churches and and threatening to shoot helpless, unarmed women. I suppose I should have expected no better from a b.a.s.t.a.r.d like you, threatening to shoot helpless, unarmed women. I suppose I should have expected no better from a b.a.s.t.a.r.d like you, Sin, Sin,” he added, hissing the nickname as if it were the vilest of epithets.
Sinclair briefly s.h.i.+fted his gaze from Emma to Ian, his grip on the pistol unwavering. ”Then you're not to be disappointed, are you, auld friend?”
”I'm not your friend!” Ian shouted. Ian shouted.
”No,” Sinclair replied softly, his voice tinged with what might have been either bitterness or regret. ”I suppose you never were.”
Even in retreat, the earl remained defiant. ”You're living proof that it takes more than studying at St. Andrews to turn a mountain rat into a gentleman! It must gall your grandfather beyond measure to know that sending you off to university was such a waste of his precious coins. Coins no doubt stolen from my own coffers by his motley band of rabble!”
The earl's insults didn't seem to faze Sinclair. ”I wouldn't exactly call it a waste. If I hadn't gone to St. Andrews, I might have never made the acquaintance of your charming nephew here.” That earned him a fresh glare from Ian. ”But I will make sure to give my grandfather your regards the next time I see him.”
So this brigand had lived among civilized folk for a time. That would explain why the roughest edges had been polished off his burr, leaving it even more dangerously silky and musical to Emma's ears.
”Just what do you plan to do, you miserable pup?” the earl demanded. ”Have you come to hasten your own inevitable journey to h.e.l.l by murdering my bride in cold blood on the altar of a church?”
Emma was alarmed to note that her devoted bridegroom didn't look particularly dismayed by the prospect. With his t.i.tle and riches, she supposed it would be a simple enough matter for him to procure another bride. Ernestine and Elberta were both nearly old enough to wed. Perhaps her father would be allowed to keep the earl's settlement if he offered the man a choice between the two girls so the ceremony could proceed without further interruption.
<script>