Amanda Scott (19 page)

When she finally opened her eyes, she sat up too abruptly and looked around dizzily and in panic. Finding herself alone with
Anne, she said, “Is it true?”

“If you mean is the gentleman who interrupted the ceremony really Sir Christopher Chisholm, then yes, I believe he is, love.
You will not have to marry Eustace after all.”

“No,” she said doubtfully. “You did say that something might happen, and it has, but shall I have to give back all the presents
now?”

“Goose,” Anne said, repressing an impulse to laugh, “you should have more important matters on your mind than that.”

“Yes, but perhaps I need not give them back, for if I must marry Sir Christopher instead of his uncle, is it not much the
same thing? I mean, after all, they are both Chisholms, so cannot the same presents count for either one?”

No longer feeling an urge to laugh but experiencing instead an unfamiliar desire to shake her cousin, Anne took a deep breath
and said, “I think you should rest quietly here for a few moments whilst I go see what is happening outside.”

“Don’t leave me alone!”

“Compose yourself, Fiona. No one will harm you here in the chapel with Parson Allardice, your mother, and the others just
outside the door.”

“But what if
they
come in?”

“I won’t let them. Moreover, I will return as soon as I believe it is safe for you to return to the house without meeting
anyone who might demand answers you are in no condition to provide.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t!”

“Then sit here quietly and collect your composure. You know perfectly well that I can look after things for you, do you not?”

“Oh, yes, Anne. You are always so good.”

“Then wait here. You need worry no longer about Eustace. Your betrothal to Sir Christopher must supersede any such arrangement
with his uncle.”

“He … he will not want to be married straightaway, will he?”

Knowing that Sir Christopher did not want to marry at all made it easy for Anne to say, “No, love, I’m sure he will not want
to rush into anything. But surely you would prefer to marry a man nearer your own age than Eustace is.”

Fiona shuddered. “I don’t care how old he is, as long as it is
not
Sir Eustace.”

“Then let me see what they are doing,” Anne said, patting her shoulder. “I shan’t be long, I promise.”

And with that, she hurried out in time to hear Sir Christopher agree to stay at least overnight at Mute Hill House.

Eustace was looking daggers at Olivia, so Anne had no need to wonder who had issued the invitation, but Parson Allardice was
beaming.

“’Tis the very thing,” he said approvingly. “We’ll sort things out much quicker if everyone can sit down all together and
discuss the matter.”

“Well, you can sort them out without my help,” Eustace said. “I’ve agreed to stay for this nonsensical feast of Toby’s, but
I’ll have nowt to do with any discussion of a never-existent betrothal.”

Anne glanced at Sir Christopher and discovered he was looking directly at her, almost as if he expected her to speak. The
intensity of his gaze reminded her of his kiss, and feeling her lips burn at the memory, she was sure she must be blushing.
So determined had she been to produce him and thus stop Fiona’s wedding to Eustace that she had taken no time to consider
her own position, or her feelings, if Fiona married Sir Christopher. Nor, however, could she consider them now.

Gathering her wits, she said quietly, “I thought I should let you know that Fiona is nearly herself again, Aunt Olivia. Still,
I think it would be wise to take her up to the house as quickly and unobtrusively as we can. She does not want to meet anyone
or answer questions just now, as I am sure you will understand.”

“Yes, oh, yes,” Olivia said. “But I’m sure I do not know how we can get her across the bridge and up to her room without meeting
any number of people.”

Sir Christopher said quietly, “Is there an entrance that is less used than the others, my lady?”

Olivia looked at him with dawning appreciation. “Why, yes, a postern door between the kitchen and bakehouse. Anne, you must
take Fiona in by that way. I warrant you will not meet anyone there who would dare to ask questions of her.”

“Yes, madam, but we still have to negotiate the gardens, and it is possible that everyone is not inside yet.”

“I’d be happy to accompany you, Lady Anne,” Sir Christopher said.

“You are singularly well informed, sir,” Eustace snarled. “I do not recall that anyone has made you known to her ladyship.”

Anne felt fire in her cheeks again, but if Sir Christopher was caught off guard, he did not reveal it by so much as a twitch.

Smiling ruefully at her, as if she were an injured party, he said, “I beg your pardon, my lady, but when you called Lady Carmichael
‘aunt,’ I knew you must be her niece. Your presence here at Mute Hill House is known throughout the area, but I should not
have presumed to speak to you without a proper introduction.”

“You need not apologize, sir,” she said. “I am grateful for your offer. Fiona is rapidly recovering her composure, but I doubt
that I could protect her by myself against anyone encroaching enough to invade her privacy. You, on the other hand, are large
enough to daunt the most determinedly curious.”

“You cannot intend for this impostor to accompany you and Fiona to her bedchamber,” Eustace exclaimed, looking scandalized
by the thought, just as if he had not been caught on the brink of entering Fiona’s room in the middle of the night, which
in Anne’s opinion was far more scandalous.

“Have mercy, good sir,’ Olivia said, clasping a hand to her bosom. “I am sure Anne had no such improper intention.”

But Eustace was staring grimly at his nephew.

Parson Allardice said crisply, “I am sure we are all grateful for your assistance, young man, but ye’ll go only to the kitchen
door wi’ the lassies.”

“I had no other intention,” Sir Christopher said.

Olivia turned again to Eustace and held out her hand. “If you please, sir, you may escort me into the house now. I vow, I
weary of this discussion.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Eustace said. “Do you join us, Parson Allardice?”

“Aye, for I dinna mind admitting I’m that famished,” he said.

Kit touched Anne’s elbow, and she looked up to see him smiling. His features were harsh, his nose aquiline, but his teeth
were white and strong, and she thought him very handsome. The hair she could see beneath his hat was a lighter brown than
she had thought it, and his eyes surprised her. She had imagined they were dark, but they were light blue with dark rims to
the irises, and his lashes were dark and unusually long and thick.

She did not want to look away, but when he nodded toward the chapel entrance, she remembered Fiona.

“Pray, let me go to her alone first, sir,” she said. “It will be better if I tell her you are to escort us than if you suddenly
appear.”

“Of course, mistress. When you want me, just speak my name. I’ll hear you.”

“Thank you,” she said with, she was sure, far more sincerity than he would think the occasion warranted.

She hurried back to Fiona, saying as she approached her, “We are going into the house, love, so you must get up now and straighten
your dress. We have a stout protector to accompany us, and you must not let him see you looking so mussed.”

“Who?” Fiona demanded, her eyes wide with apprehension.

“No one to frighten you, I promise. Only Sir Christopher, who will escort us as far as the kitchen door to assure that we
get into the house unmolested. May I call him?” When Fiona nodded, Anne raised her voice, saying, “You may come in, sir.”

He stepped inside but showed the good sense not to approach Fiona.

“Are you really Sir Christopher Chisholm?” she asked shyly.

“Yes, mistress. I am sorry to have spoiled your wedding day.”

“That does not matter,” she said. “May we go into the house now, Anne?”

Anne exchanged a look with him but said only, “Of course, love.”

They made their way through the gardens without encountering anyone except a disinterested gardener near the rustic plank
bridge that crossed the brook near the stable. Stopping at the postern door, Anne said, “If you will wait here, sir, I’ll
return quickly and walk with you to the hall. You have been very kind to do this, and you should not have to confront that
crowd alone.”

“With respect, mistress, you should perhaps stay clear of me for the present.” Slanting a look at Fiona, he added, “My uncle
seems to suspect that we have met before. If I enter the hall with you on my arm, it may cause trouble later.”

“You are being absurd, sir,” she said, barely stopping herself from touching his arm to emphasize her point. “If you do not
wait for me, I shall have to enter the hall alone, which would not suit me in the least.”

“I’d venture to guess you would manage quite well, however.”

“Yes, I would, for I have done so before, but your escort would lend me consequence. Besides,” she added in a burst of honesty,
“I don’t want to miss anything, so pray do not go until I can go with you.”

He chuckled. “I see. Very well then, I’ll wait, but don’t tarry, or my uncle will doubtless send someone to fling me into
the nearest dungeon.”

“Mute Hill House has no dungeon,” Fiona said.

“Take her upstairs, my lady,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and hurry back.”

Anne’s intentions were good, but it was only by hardening her heart against Fiona’s pleas to stay that she was able to get
away, and by the time she did, she was certain that he must have gone. Nonetheless, she hurried down the service stairs and
out the postern door.

S
ir Christopher was leaning against the wall of the bakehouse—arms folded across his broad chest, black hat tilted over his
forehead—watching the kitchen doorway. When he smiled lazily at Anne, she noted again how handsome he was, but to attract
Fiona she decided he would need some furbishing up. His hair was too long, his clothing sadly out of fashion. The hat was
too large, too, and his russet-colored doublet and hose lacked the heavy padding, slashing, and puffing of current styles,
although they certainly showed his splendid physique to advantage.

“Do I meet with your approval, my lady?”

She realized she had been staring and collected herself, saying, “I was just thinking you look as if you’ve been out of the
way of fashion for some time.”

“Ah, my clothing. My cousin already took me to task for my sad lack of style, so you may rest easy. I promised him I would
order new things soon.”

“Your cousin?”

He nodded, straightening as he did and offering her an arm.

As she placed a hand on it, noting instantly how warm the sun had made the russet-colored cloth, she said, “Does your cousin
live near here, sir?”

“Curiosity is an unhappy flaw in a female,” he murmured.

“Yes, so I have been told,” she said, smiling up at him. “Nonetheless, it is the only way to get answers to one’s questions.”

He put his left hand atop hers on his forearm and gave it a squeeze. “Are you never at a loss for words, lass?”

“I have not given you leave to speak so informally to me, Sir Christopher.”

“Very true,” he agreed, idly stroking her hand with a fingertip. “And we have seen, have we not, what a stickler you are for
the proprieties.”

Feeling flames in her cheeks at the memory of their first meeting and her insistence then that a young woman riding alone
at night was no occasion for comment, Anne said no more about informality and hoped he would take the hint.

Evidently he did, for he did not press the issue, saying instead, “The cousin I mentioned lives in the Highlands. His father
is Lord Chisholm of Dundreggan, and serves as the Sheriff of Inverness-shire.”

“I collect, then, that you returned to the Highlands before coming here.”

“I did, but only because I knew I’d be welcome there. I did not yet know my father had died, you see.”

She looked up again sympathetically. “That must have been hard, learning you would have no opportunity to say goodbye.”

“Or to make my peace with him,” he said. “We are being observed, lass, so try not to rip up at me for the next few minutes
or so.”

They had rounded the corner of the house and were indeed within sight of the main entrance, where a small group of guests
had gathered. Several heads had turned their way, so Anne resisted the temptation to scold him for his mockery.

She had no more to complain about in his behavior, however, for he escorted her inside and through the crowd to Olivia, who
sat regally acknowledging the many guests who approached to commiserate with her at the wedding’s failure.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Anne murmured politely to him.

“It was my pleasure, my lady.” He turned to Olivia, adding, “May I ask, madam, when you believe we can further discuss the
question at hand?”

She gazed at him in apparent confusion. “But my dear sir,” she said, “surely you cannot expect to discuss such an important
matter in the midst of this revelry!”

“In fact, madam, I had hoped we might retire to some more private place.” If Olivia detected the sardonic note in his voice,
Anne saw no sign of it.

To her surprise, Olivia fluttered her lashes and tilted her head coyly as she said, “My dear Sir Christopher, you must know
that what you suggest is most improper. You should never ask a woman in mourning to be private with you.”

Sensing the shift of his emotions from irritation to annoyance, Anne said hastily, “I believe Sir Christopher assumed that
Parson Allardice, Eustace, and perhaps your uncle Toby would be with you, Aunt Olivia. Surely, you must see that the sooner
this tangle is unraveled the better it will be for everyone.”

“Indeed, I do see that, Anne. I am not a noddy, for heaven’s sake. But you might show more concern for my nerves. Today’s
events have created a shattering ordeal for me. As for Sir Eustace, he has made his position clear, and if he is furious,
I am sure no one can blame him.”