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Fingal swivelled abruptly to find his eldest brother sitting on an armchair by the fire.
He downed the quintessential drink in one gulp before answering. “This rain is causing many delays.”
“Is it?” the laird asked doubtfully. “It will be a few weeks before we must bring the livestock back inside their barns.” As they were wont to do in autumn.
Fingal produced no answer to that since his brother had the right of it. He grunted agreement and returned to the sideboard.
“You need not marry the McTavish lass if you have…misgivings.” The laird went right to the jugular.
Damn him! Fingal swore. He was too perceptive. “I have no misgivings,” Fingal answered harshly. That is, unless you counted his raging body craving something it should not as a misgiving.
“I wish you to be as happy as I am,” Drostan said.
And as their sister, Aileen, was, he did not say, but it hung in the air between them.
Another dose of whisky poured into his system. “Father arranged your marriage, too.”
“And Freya and I found our way,” the laird admitted.
It had been a long way, Fingal remembered.
“I’ll also find mine,” he asserted without an ounce of certainty.
“That lass, Emily—”
“Brings no alliance with her,” he interrupted his brother because the very name pronounced in his presence caused an earthquake in his guts.
Who the hell was he kidding? In that blasted stable, clan relations had not come to his mind once. He could not even remember his own name, let alone this. That he put this as an obstacle attested to his reluctance in accepting how deep the lass branded his guts, which scared the living daylights out of him.
“It doesn’t matter. We have enough alliances.” Drostan stood up and came to take the third glass Fingal had poured from him.
His empty hand raked his hair in an agitated gesture as he gave his back to his brother and looked through the window to the never-ending rain.
A few seconds later, the glass thudded on the sideboard beside him, drained, and the study door clicked shut. Drostan understood Fingal needed solitude.
CHAPTER TEN
Why anyone liked this dusty, smelly city, Fingal could not understand, he mused as he reined his horse into the park one morning.
After Drostan’s visit, Fingal had contemplated long and hard on what his brother said. He decided he needed closure. He needed to come face-to-face with Emily again, see for himself whether they had nothing else to say to each other. The woman had disappeared as if there was nothing left behind worth retrieving. Her determination to follow through with her plans seemed intriguing, to say the least. When he declared he could not offer marriage, she answered that neither could she. Did it mean an intended awaited here in London? The possibility cut through him like non-matured whisky, burning everything on its way. The Sassenach gave herself to him; how on Earth would she marry someone else? Did it mean nothing to her? Not likely, he decided. She melted into him in the same way he did into her. It left too many unanswered questions for his taste.
So, in a matter of hours after his talk with Drostan, he packed a carriage, saddled his thoroughbred and headed south without hesitation. He had not the slightest idea of where he would find the lass since she had given just a postal box number as a return address. Her name should be enough, however.
It was not.
Nowhere did he find a finely bred lady under the name of Emily Paddington. After looking for days, he had just found some duke or other who had never heard of her.
Frustrated, he returned each evening to the lodgings he leased not far from Hyde Park with fewer and fewer options.
That morning, after reaching the park, he gave his thoroughbred, Solais Tuath, Northern Lights, freedom to trot at his will. The muddy lanes were still empty, the hour too early for the lazy city dwellers.
Something else nagged at Fingal after that short talk with Drostan. Even willing to do his duty by his clan, would it be fair to marry McTavish’s daughter in the state of mind he found himself in at the moment? He expected he would forget the impossible lass sooner or later. Rather sooner, he wished, though it felt unfeasible. Somehow, he must put her out of his mind like he did with the ones who came before her. But those lasses did not tie him in knots as she did, nor intrigued him as much. He must not allow this to addle his mind, he determined firmly. With this consideration, he made a decision. Since he had travelled all the way to London, he should pay his intended a call and… He did not know what he would say, but meeting her seemed a good start.
From behind him, on the other lane, he registered a bold horseman rushing along in what seemed a full gallop. His head turned to see from afar not a man but an amazon. She was certainly very skilled if she could ride at this speed on a side-saddle. As amazon and horse approached, something familiar hit him. First the mount, then the woman. Nearer still, the dark hair under the hat and her unforgettably beautiful features gave her away.
As soon as she flew past, he turned Solais Tuath, changed wide lanes and galloped after her. She had the advantage but not a large one. He raced hard until his horse’s head reached her mare’s flanks.
“Emily!” She had probably heard the thoroughbred’s hooves but given it no heed. As he called her, she turned her head, saw him, and kneed her mare for more speed.
