Page 3 of Wed to the Highlander (Impromptu Brides #2)

She scrambled off Duncan’s lap, calling, “Come in,” just as he muttered a Gaelic curse. He cursed the interruption. She welcomed it.

“Dinner is served, my lord, my lady,” the porter announced, wheeling in a linen-draped cart. The scent of roast beef and warm bread filled the car.

Her stomach was knotted too tightly to eat. She slid back into her seat and stared out the window, eyes unfocused, while Duncan’s low burr filled the car—calm, assured, maddeningly even—as he spoke with the porter.

She pressed her fingers to her lips as if she could erase the kiss. But it lingered—as did the man himself. Unshakable, unforgettable...unforgivable.

Still, she’d become what she vowed not to, a pawn in his grand plan to save MacPherson. And the train barreled ever northward, the distance between what had once been hearth and home, between family and friends—one of those dear friends Duncan himself—growing by the mile.

The porter's bow was reflected in the window glass. He departed, leaving the cart laden with silver domes and crystal behind. Duncan moved toward her, his stride fluid despite the swaying of the train.

“Come to the table, lass,” he said, offering hand. When she didn’t take it, he pulled her to her feet. “You’ll eat,” he stated, not unkindly. “You’ve had naught since the wedding breakfast, and that wasn’t enough to keep a bird alive.”

Had that been only this morning? It seemed a lifetime ago.

“I have no appetite,” she replied dully.

“You’ll need it soon enough. The Highlands doesn’t coddle its ladies.”

“Good thing I’m not a Highland lady,” she muttered.

“Married to a laird… Aye, Maggie, you are.”

Duncan pulled out her chair and guided her into it. Then he uncovered the dishes one by one—roast beef, minted peas, buttered potatoes, a delicate fruit tart beside a dollop of creamy crowdie.

He poured her a glass of claret and handed it over without comment. She took it, if only to avoid looking at him.

Once he’d settled opposite her, he cut into the fragrant beef as easily as butter. “The castle’s not as grim as you’re picturin’. There’s warmth in the stone, if you know where to look.”

“I’m sure I’ll be too busy dodging bats and mildew to notice.”

He chuckled softly. “There are no bats. And the mildew has been banished since my mother declared war on it in ’48.”

“How reassuring,” she muttered.

He glanced up, eyes gleaming. “You’ll fancy the library. It looks over the loch, and the fireplace roars like a dragon when the wind whips down from the mountains.”

She sipped her wine, refusing to be charmed. But the image tugged at something inside her. A flicker of curiosity. A pang of longing.

“Do you live alone in your castle?” she asked.

“My younger brother, Lachlan, and his family reside there as well as a few others, but it’s spacious, and we have a floor tae ourselves.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Half-brother. Da remarried after my mother passed.”

She hadn’t known that either. Had she ever really known him at all?

“Will he accept me?”

“He’ll adore you,” Duncan asserted with a nod. “As will his wife, Fiona, and their three wee lads. The clan, too. You’re fierce. They respect that.”

“I don’t feel fierce. We have yet to arrive, and I already feel as though I’m a fish out of water.”

“If you lower your shields and show them the gracious, kindhearted woman I know you to be, they will embrace you as their lady.”

She set her glass down with a soft clink. “You speak as though this is all inevitable.”

“It is,” he stated with conviction. “You’re a MacPherson now.”

“Unwillingly. What angers me most is the injustice. If I wanted to run away from all this and hide, I couldn’t. I haven’t a farthing to my name. Everything I had now belongs to you.”

“I won’t give credence to the notion. You’re smarter than to run off.

I’d only fetch you back.” He spoke evenly and calmly, but his look promised retribution of the sort she’d experienced in the Sommerville study…

and then some. “As to the rest of that nonsense, did you not read the marriage settlement before you signed it?”

“After you reminded me, it was only a formality, what was the point?” she muttered. “Besides, it’s the law.”

“Unless other arrangements are made,” he corrected her, “which I insisted upon.”

“You did?” she asked, startled. No one had mentioned arrangements.

“Aye, lass. Everything you brought to the marriage—including the dowry set aside by your father—belongs to you.”

It made no sense. A chieftain arranging a marriage to save his clan then relying on fate rather than a bird in the hand—or cold, hard coin—seemed reckless.

“But... Your clan needs the funds.”

“I have enough tae get us through the year. I keep telling you, lass—I did no’ marry you to steal your wealth. I may be a Highlander, but I’m no thief.”

“But you’ll happily accept the inheritance marrying me will bring,” she challenged. “It seems one and the same.”

He scowled at her stubbornness. After all these years, he really should have expected it.

“Isn’t this chancy?” she pressed. “What if we don’t have a child?”

“I’m confident we will be blessed with one.”

“But if we aren’t, they’ll blame me for the devastation of your clan.”

“Our clan,” he reminded her. “And I’d never let that happen. All will come out right in the end. You’ll see.”

She was unconvinced. “I know couples who have longed for a family for years. You put a great deal of stock in your good fortune.”

“I believe in fate, not luck,” he replied, forking up another bite of roast beef.

She looked at him then—really looked. At the man who had upended her life, stolen her freedom, and claimed her heart without asking.

He returned her gaze without flinching, his expression open and steady.

“You think fate is enough?”

“I think it’s a start,” he said quietly. “The rest is up to us.”

The train gave a low groan as it began to climb. Outside, the countryside grew wilder, the trees taller, the sky darker with distant mist. Maggie felt the shift in her bones.

He reached across the table and filled her plate, since she hadn’t. “Eat.”

She picked up her fork and took a bite of the beef. It was tender, perfectly seasoned. Infuriatingly good.

Duncan smiled faintly. “See? Not everything north of Mayfair is barbaric.”

She chewed slowly, swallowed, and lifted her chin. “I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve witnessed the lack of mildew and seen the dragon-fire library with my own eyes.”

“Aye,” he said as he met her gaze over the rim of his wineglass. “When you do, you’ll know you are home.”

She wasn’t sure what home meant anymore. But something in his voice made her wonder if she might find it again.