Page 1 of The Duke’s Scottish Bride (Scottish Duchesses #3)

Chapter One

“ J ust a little more, Lady Marion,” her maid pushed and pulled tighter on the strings of the corset while adjusting the intricate lace on the bodice. “There it is, dear. Ye are a vision to behold, a most beautiful bride. Yer parents would be proud.”

“Thank ye, Jean,” she whispered, the customary joy of the occasion absent from her voice.

Marion stood as still as a statue in front of the large, gilded mirror.

The heavy silk train of her wedding gown rustled around her as she turned.

The dress was a masterpiece of ivory and lace from Paris, a gift from her soon-to-be husband.

Yet, the fine fashion felt less like an adornment and more like a shroud.

She shivered as she pulled the lace sleeves down to her fingers.

She was beautiful and yet, she could not stop the dread from overtaking her.

A soft knock at the door preceded a footman, who entered with a silver tray. On it lay a single, cream-colored envelope. Her breath hitched at the sight.

Another one, she thought to herself as her already nervous stomach grew tighter by the moment.

Her fingers trembled as she broke the wax seal. The elegant script swam before her eyes as she read the chilling words.

Gilton has already promised himself to me. Cross that line, and I will make sure you are buried in that wedding gown.

“Lady Marion? Is somethin’ amiss?” Jean asked softly. “Tell me, lass. It’s all right.”

Marion swallowed. Words caught in her throat as she fought to speak. She shook her head and looked up at Jean, her hands slightly trembling.

“It is… it is another note,” she explained as she extended the paper to show her. “The third in two weeks now.”

Jean gasped as she read the alarming words. The rosiness of her plump cheeks paled to a ghostly white. She made the sign of the cross and looked up to the sky.

“Oh, dear God! This is dreadful… on yer weddin’ day no less,” she yelped as she placed the note down on a nearby table. “This is some cruel joke. I am sure that is all,” she cursed as she wrung her hands.

“Please fetch me uncle,” Marion said, her voice steady despite the tempest welling up inside of her.

She knew she had to keep her senses about her, if she was to sort this out. And she had to.

Her maid rushed out of the room, and within moments, Marion’s English uncle, Lord Harlowe, stormed inside.

“What is this nonsense I hear, Marion? Do you not understand the gravity of this day? The trouble that we have all gone through to ensure this is a joyous occasion and secure you a proper match with the Viscount!”

“I have just received another note, Uncle. This one threatens me life,” she said. Her fingers twitched at the thought.

Marion handed him the wrinkled note then and he shook his head in frustration. He grabbed it quickly and scanned the words. His jowls quivered and his face grew red. Then, with a roar, he crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it on the ground.

“This is your doing, is it not? Another one of your ridiculous stunts to avoid your duty. This is your third season, and I tell you, Marion… This is the last of it! You must marry Lord Gilton today, whether you like it or not.”

“But Uncle, I am?—”

“That is final!”

Am I just an object to be passed off? Marion thought, defiance hardening her gaze.

Her uncle’s words hurt because they showed his carelessness for her safety and happiness. She could not let this go.

She picked up the crumpled paper and shook it in front of him.

“Uncle, someone is threatenin’ me!” she cried. Fear coated her tongue as she licked her dry lips. “Cannae ye see this is serious?”

“Serious?” He scoffed as he looked her squarely in the eye. “What is serious is your refusal to secure your future. Now, you must hurry! Your aunt and I will meet you at the church. And for God’s sake, try not to look like a frightened doe when you walk down the aisle.”

He spun on his heel and strode out. The door slammed shut behind him with a loud smack that made Marion jump.

“Lady Marion, please let me rub yer back. It’ll help calm ye nerves,” Jean offered softly.

“I cannae shake the feelin’ that somethin’ terrible will befall me if I go through with this…

Yet, I ken that me fate will be even worse if I daenae marry Lord Gilton,” she confessed.

Tears prickled the backs of her eyes but she forbade them from falling.

“How does a person make a choice when they are all bad?”

Marion hated crying and the feeling of the wetness on her face.

Innately, she was a happy person, and she abhorred any person or situation that stifled that.

In fact, she had not cried since her parents passed away all those years ago.

The thought of them, how they should be here to help and guide her, sat heavily on her chest.

This is all too much. How am I supposed to go through with this?

The inside of the carriage, despite the luxurious trappings and velvet of the cushions, felt hard and stifling.

The relentless clop of the horses’ hooves echoed in her ears and was only eclipsed by the frantic beating of her heart.

She may as well have been in a tomb; at least then there would be silence.

Buried in that wedding gown.

The words clawed at her, painting a horrifying picture, as she tried not to think about it. Yet, the more she tried to push the images away, the more they surrounded her.

She pictured herself in a coffin with dirt seeping through the cracks in the wood as she was buried. It was as if she could hear the shovel smack against gravel and send little rocks hitting the casket in sickening repetition, just like the merciless clopping of hooves.

I cannae breathe. I cannae think. I must get out of this carriage.

“Driver, stop!” Marion cried. Her voice was thin as she clutched at the bodice of her dress. “I need air. Just for a moment. I beg ye, please!”

“My lady, I am under strict orders from Lord Harlowe not to stop until we reach the church,” the driver called back, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Just following orders.”

“Please!” Marion pleaded, pressing her hand against the partition between them. “I beg ye with all me heart! Just for a moment. I feel…I feel like I am goin’ to be sick.”

The driver shook his head and after a moment of hesitation, the carriage began to slow. They pulled to a halt beside a narrow alleyway in Strathcairn Village.

“Just a minute, then, my lady, and no more,” the driver conceded, likely afraid she would wretch in the carriage and ruin her dress. “Your uncle will have my head if we are late, and I very much like my head.”

Marion did not wait for Jean. She flung open the door and practically tumbled out.

She gulped desperately, inhaling the cool, crisp air. Pulling the note out of her sleeve where she had tucked it, she clutched it in her hand. She stared at the crumpled paper in her fist. Her mind raced to find a sensible solution to an impossible problem.

She closed her eyes in defeat.

What options do I have? Where can I go, especially when I look like this? Think, Marion. Think!

Her mind drifted and again she could see her body in the coffin. This time it was as if she were a spectral spirit looking down on herself.

There was dirt on the white dress and her once radiant face had gone deathly pale.

She could not take the thought a second more.

She opened her eyes, looked out, and saw it right in front of her. The wheels of her mind began twisting, fast and furious.

Reckless? Yes… But is it my only option? Also, yes…Oh Maither and Faither, what should I do?

On the other side of the alley, partially obscured by a bustling market stall, sat another carriage. It was unfamiliar, unguarded…and seemingly unoccupied from her vantage point.

Anything must be better than this, she thought.

Her body screamed with anxiety and sprang into motion before she could register the course ahead.

Marion darted across the alley, lifted her dress to her knees, and moved with surprising agility. While her heavy gown was a hindrance, nothing could dampen her resolve. She moved with a desperate speed; one she did not even know she possessed inside of her.

Perhaps there is some of me maither’s fiery spirit within me yet!

She yanked open the mysterious carriage door and scrambled inside before pulling it shut behind herself with a click.

The darkness inside was a welcome reprieve for her sore eyes. She just needed time to relax and think.

Her breathing returned to a steady pace and Marion closed her eyes. A part of her wished she could curl up and hide there forever.

For now, I am hidden and that is enough.