Page 24 of A Bride for the Wicked Highlander (Daring a Highland Laird #2)
M addie shivered in the bitter gloom of early morning, crouched over a tucked away patch of the garden where mushrooms were thriving.
Holding her cloak tighter around herself, she recited the description of the common earthball—not to be mistaken for a puffball—and the fly agaric that grew there together.
“One fat and round, a brown-white ball on a chubby stalk, with little peeling brown bits. One has a pretty red cap, spotted with white on a slim white stalk,” she muttered, her mouth half-frozen.
She hadn’t slept much, too annoyed by Oscar’s continued absence at dinner the night before, so as soon as it was almost light outside, she’d taken herself out for some mushroom hunting.
Yet, the repetition of their descriptions and the delight of seeing such lovely fungi was not quite having the same effect on her mind as usual.
Oscar had taken up too much room. He’d lodged himself into the parts of her brain that were reserved for nature, thoughts of his kiss on her throat popping up when she was meant to be thinking about mushrooms.
Don’t tell me it’s dangerous then kiss my neck. Don’t touch me and then tell me to leave. Don’t say one thing with your voice and another with your actions!
“M’Lady?” a welcome voice called out into the gloaming.
Maddie rose from her crouch with a groan, her knees stiffened by the cold.
“Over here!” she called back, picking her way out of the boggy patch, hidden inside the ruins of an old gatehouse.
The gray-haired maid met Maddie halfway between the castle and what must have been the ruins of an older one.
“Och, m’lady, this cold isnae any good for me rheumatism,” Betty-Ann griped. “It’ll nae do ye much good either. Ye’ll end up with creakin’ bones.”
Maddie smiled through chattering teeth. “If I’m anything like you when I reach your age, I’ll be quite content.”
“Reach my age?” The old woman feigned outrage. “I’m five-and-twenty, m’lady. Cannae be more than five years older than ye. That’s why ye should heed me warnin’.”
A chuckle rippled from Maddie’s throat. “I trust you haven’t come out here in the cold to help me count mushrooms? Although, if you wanted to, you’d be welcome.”
“Nay, m’lady. I gather mushrooms, I dinnae count ‘em and leave ‘em in the ground,” the older woman replied with a smile, before plucking some letters out of her apron pocket.
“These came just now, and as His Lairdship hasnae returned from wherever he’s gone to, it falls to ye to read ‘em.
That, and one of ‘em is addressed to ye.”
Maddie took the letters from the maid, her heart leaping at the sight of very familiar handwriting. “Oh, it’s from Lilian!” She hesitated, looking at the other two. “Are you sure I’m allowed to read my husband’s letters?”
She was still getting used to the term “my husband\” but it hadn’t seemed appropriate to call him “Oscar” either. She didn’t want the staff thinking they were too familiar, when he was doing everything within his power to achieve the opposite.
“Aye, I’m sure,” Betty-Ann replied, making no motion to leave.
It seemed she was keen to know what the letters said, and Maddie wasn’t going to deny her that.
Retreating to a low wall that bordered an empty flowerbed, Maddie decided to leave Lilian’s letter for last. A sweet treat, hopefully, at the end of what was likely to be serious clan correspondence.
“Oh...” Maddie murmured, reading through the first letter. “Oh... well...”
Betty-Ann made a little huff of impatience. “What is it, m’lady? If ye dinnae mind me askin’, of course.”
Maddie grinned up at the old woman. “It’s from Clan MacPhee. I assume the writer is the late Laird’s… brother? Or did he have a son?”
She faltered at the memory of blood pooling, and the feel of steel against her throat.
It hadn’t haunted her dreams as much as she’d thought it would, but then there’d been no space for nightmares with Oscar invading with sultry words, pleasuring fingertips, and lips that burned her skin, to the point where she’d felt it even after waking.
“A braither, aye,” Betty-Ann replied. “Nay son. If he’d had one, he wouldnae have been so desperate to have his sister married to our laird. Ye’ll find that with lairds who dinnae have heirs; it sends ‘em mad.”
Maddie cast the old woman a curious glance. Is she trying to tell me something? Is this a “hurry up and have a son for yer husband” thing?
Shaking off the thought, she resumed her reading. “It’s an apology from the brother who I assume will become the new laird. He sends his regret over the unpleasantness—mercy, is that what you call it here?”
“It wouldnae be right if he called it what it was, m’lady,” Betty-Ann pointed out more gently.
“He cannae say, ‘Och, I’m ever-so sorry that me idiot braither put a sword to yer wife’s neck and then ye skewered him for it.
’ I shouldnae say it, but I expect he’s secretly pleased.
It’s nae so often that the spare gets to be the heir.
Indeed, if memory serves, the braither is a reasonable lad.
Has himself three sons an’ all, so Clan MacPhee will be in decent hands for at least another generation. ”
For a moment, Maddie wondered about Ryder. She couldn’t imagine him being pleased, secretly or otherwise, if anything were to happen to Oscar. But perhaps they were a rarity in the world of Scottish lairds, or perhaps the late Laird MacPhee and his brother simply weren’t as close.
Maddie gasped as she saw the last part of the letter. “The new Laird is willing to give Lady Isle back as part of the apology! That’s the place that Oscar and his brother were talking about yesterday.” She frowned. “Is it of some importance?”
“It is to His Lairdship.” Betty-Ann smiled. “Ye’ll have to get him to take ye there. I’d wager there are some interestin’ things growin’ there.”
“Don’t tempt me, Betty-Ann,” Maddie said with a smirk, as she tore open the second missive. “It’s the peace treaty. Signed by the new Laird MacPhee. Goodness, they don’t waste any time, do they? I’d have thought it would be after the funeral at least, that they’d announce the new laird.”
The old maid shrugged. “Some do, some dinnae. Depends how much a laird was liked.”
“He can’t have been very popular, then,” Maddie mumbled, mostly to herself.
“Ye met him,” Betty-Ann replied, chuckling grimly. “What do ye think?”
Maddie smiled, opening up the third letter. “You make an excellent point, Betty-Ann.”
A soft gasp slipped from her lips as her eyes soaked up the news from her beloved home of Horndean. But this letter, she kept to herself.
Dearest Maddie,
I am writing this from the window of our old room, on the opposite side of the country, watching your parents’ carriage depart this place at last.
Word arrived of your wedding, and I do not know whether to squeal with joy or make this letter rather less affectionate than my usual correspondence with you. I am furious, Madeleine! Absolutely furious! It is like missing a once-in-a-lifetime eclipse.
I jest, of course. I am obviously delighted for you, as long as you are happy.
When the news arrived, your parents were, naturally, livid. Miss Sutton had to enlist the help of the gardener to calm your father down. It was rather amusing, seeing an Earl stomp around, huffing and puffing like a little boy.
In addition to expressing my complaint about your wedding, I write this to inform you that you have been disowned. I do not know if this will be good or bad news, but, having met your parents at last after your countless stories, I hope I am right in thinking it will be taken well.
They left Horndean and are returning to London at once. Your mother cried, lamenting the fact that you were now a “filthy Scot”. Which I thought was rather rude and certainly ignorant. The Scottish are quite the nicest people I have ever encountered.
Anyway, I am desperate to visit soon, so expect me to impose myself on you and your castle sometime in the near future. I shall expect you to have the wedding again, just for me.
Affection, always,
Lilian.
“Oh, I adore you,” Maddie whispered, pressing her fingertips to her lips, touching the kiss to the paper.
She read the letter again, needing a second viewing to decide how she felt, beyond the joy of hearing from her dear friend.
She waited for some manner of sadness or disappointment to strike, knowing that she was now disowned from her parents, but it didn’t come.
In its place, a gentle current of relief ran through her veins, putting a satisfied smile upon her lips.
I’m free.
They had always been the shadow looming over her time at Horndean, forever worrying that they might come back to retrieve her.
When that had come true, the shadow had become a terrible beast, chasing her across the country.
Even after marrying Oscar, she had still felt somewhat.
.. pursued, uncertain of whether her father had enough power to dissolve the marriage.
To be disowned, to no longer be considered their responsibility, was the best wedding gift she could have received.
“That’s a fine smile,” Betty-Ann said, peeking at the letter. “Have ye had to let down one of the lads back where ye come from? Is he heartbroken?”
Maddie cackled at the notion, holding the letter close to her chest. “Oh, Betty-Ann, if you only knew how ridiculous that is. The only man who will be sorry that I have gone from Horndean is the gardener. He liked that I took an interest in the plants. He did not like that we stole his carrots and his prized strawberries.”
“Well, we’re glad to have ye,” Betty-Ann said, reaching out to pat Maddie awkwardly on the shoulder. “The gardener’s loss is our gain.”
Maddie smiled. “Thank you, Betty-Ann.”
Just then, another figure came sprinting out of the castle, windswept and unfairly handsome. He halted for a moment at the bottom of the terrace steps, his lupine eyes narrowing as they searched the gardens, widening again as they fell upon his wife.
He ran toward her, her appreciative gaze taking in the contours of hard muscle beneath his flimsy shirt.
No, enough of that. If you can’t look without your heart beating faster and your stomach getting all fluttery, you can’t look at all.
His athletic return didn’t undo the fact that he’d bamboozled her with the one thing that all women craved: to be listened to while talking, in depth, about one’s passions.
She had no doubt that he’d actually been listening, either, which made his deception all the worse. He’d given her something she’d wanted, while diverting her from something she might have wanted more. An unforgivably clever sleight of hand.