What had happened last night? The arrival at Brahan Seer, the wedding, the reception, her memory faltered—Kiernan, he had come to the bridal chamber, they drank brandy together. Phoebe scrambled back so that the sunlight no longer fell over her, and she looked about the room. There, on the chair, lay her dress, no doubt a mess that would need ironing, but still intact.
She had desired no groom, the memory of Adam’s death still too recent, the horror of his blood on her hands, too fresh to want the touch of a man. Yet, she had managed, nonetheless, to give herself over far more gladly than was seemly, and no groom had been needed! Heat flooded her cheeks. The memory of Kiernan’s grasp tightening as he gave her the kiss that made them man and wife came to mind. No! She had not wanted him. Yet, again, came the recollection of his tall frame, blue eyes stark against swarthy skin, and black hair that had gone uncut. The muscled flesh of his legs visible between his kilt and boots. Phoebe balled a hand into a fist and hit the pillow on the side of the bed as hard as she could.
“Oh, Adam,” she cried, “I am no friend. To the bitter end, I am no friend.”
She threw herself on the pillow and cried.
It was ten o’clock before Phoebe made an appearance downstairs. She had considered staying in bed—the pounding in her head caused by the overindulgence of brandy last night enough to keep her buried beneath the covers—but she realized waiting would only make facing her husband and his family all the more difficult. To her relief, none of the MacGregors she wished to avoid were in the great hall.
“Marcus has gone to the village,” Winnie told her as she directed her in a chair at the kitchen table. “Anabele,” Winnie called to one of the maids, “fetch a cup of tea for Lady Ashlund.”
Phoebe placed a hand over the housekeeper's, “You're an angel, Winnie, and, please, Phoebe will do.”
The housekeeper grinned. “Aye,” she said and seated herself at the table. “Elise is about somewhere in the keep.”
Phoebe nodded.
Winnie hesitated. “Your husband, well,” she gave Phoebe a sheepish look, “he isn't here.”
A rush of relief flooded Phoebe, then she wondered where he was “Where is he?”
“Up north is all I know. He doesn't confide in me.”
Neither does he confide in his wife, Phoebe thought. Then her heart sank. So here she was, married to a man who was quite possibly a traitor. Was this how her mother had felt?
Phoebe had noticed the interested looks she'd gotten from the women as she sat with Winnie, but the girl who just left had stared unabashedly.
"Have I done something?" Phoebe asked Winnie.
The housekeeper laughed. "They're curious."
She should have known. "Curious as to how the marquess kidnapped me?"
"Aye. His antics surprised even Marcus this time. Kiernan is an unusual man."
Phoebe had to agree.
"He's the most English of the MacGregors, which makes him too proper at times."
"Too proper?" A tremor rippled through her stomach at recollection of the night Kiernan had caught her in his bedchambers. He'd been anything but proper.
"Aye," Winnie said. "But he loves a good joke and just can't help getting himself into trouble." She grinned. "You're proof of that."
Phoebe had to admit to being more than a little curious. "Am I the worst trouble he's gotten into?"
"I would say so, but he doesn't seem to mind one bit." Phoebe's cheeks warmed and Winnie laughed again. "I imagine you gave him a dose of his own medicine."
If that were true, she wouldn't be in the Highlands married to him.
"But ye needn't worry," Winnie went on. "I'm sure he will settle down now that he's married."
Settle down? Wasn't that what he expected of her? He said she would have the freedom to do as she pleased, but he also wanted children. Kiernan's sons would be magnificent. The face of a dark haired, blue-eyed boy arose in her mind.
"And he's a Highlander through and through," Winnie said. "He understands his duty."
"Duty?" Phoebe repeated.
"Aye, he learned first hand as a young boy when they watched Marcus' cousin hang for attempted murder."
The vision evaporated. "The duke has a cousin who was hanged for murder?" Phoebe blurted.
Winnie nodded. "The son of his laird raped a girl in the village and David demanded he be brought before the magistrate. The earl denied his son was guilty, so David tried forcing him to go. Of course, the earl then called in the magistrate and accused David of trying to kill the viscount. Marcus was ready to lead a revolt, but his father forbade it. There was enough blood being shed by the feud between us and the Campbells. Cameron knew the king wasn't in the mood for another MacGregor war."
"If he was innocent, surely something could have been done," Phoebe said.
"He may not have been innocent by their standards."
Phoebe recalled Kiernan's words the day they rode into Brahan Seer. “This is untamed country, far outside the reach of traditional law. The nineteenth century won’t ride to our rescue any quicker than the Queen's men will.”
Had England failed her Scottish subjects in this case?
"Either way," Winnie said, "by the time Cameron got wind of it, David was all but hung. Marcus took Kiernan with him and they said goodbye to David."