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Said brother’s brow crumpled. “You what?”
“Married Catriona McTavish in Gretna Green,” the groom informed him, unruffled by Drostan’s restless stance. A smug smile pulled his lips. “Now she’s Catriona McKendrick, of course.”
“Have you gone crazy?” the laird threw.
“I’m speaking coherently, so, no, I don’t think I have.” Unless a certain lass was involved, then yes, he got crazy for her—and with her—in between the sheets.
“Angus stormed here the other day, throwing his wife’s letter in my face,” he started, turning a hard stare on his brother. “And I said I would wait for you to hear the facts.”
“There you have them, at last,” Fingal said.
“Bluidy hell, Fingal!” His jaw twitched tense. “Her father almost ate my liver.”
“The poor sod would be poisoned,” he jested.
“Why didn’t you wait until you came to the McKendrick?” the laird asked as if it was the most obvious thing to do.
At that, Fingal went stony serious. “Because I compromised her to a point of no return.”
Drostan flung an ugly expletive, restarting to pace with fists on his hips. “McTavish will want reparation.”
“What difference does it make for him, one daughter or the other?” For Fingal it made all the difference in the world.
“Apparently, it does,” Drostan replied, expelling forceful air through his nostrils in frustration.
The study door opened and Wallace and Lachlan joined them.
Fingal looked at the two newcomers and opened his arms. “Congratulations are in order,” he said.
“For…?” Lachlan crossed his arms over his considerable chest.
“I’ve become a married man.”
“You brought Anna from London?” Wallace asked.
“No, he brought her sister,” Drostan supplied.
Lachlan and their father eyed him quizzically.
“Turns out Emily Paddington is Catriona McTavish. Or was before she married this scoundrel,” the eldest brother stated.
“Buidy hell!” Wallace exclaimed.
“What now?” Lachlan posed with an amused look.
“We gather everyone and try to sort this mess out,” Drostan vented.
“There’s no mess. I got married to a McTavish, full stop.” Fingal’s firm words echoed in the room.
“Did I catch the word married?” Freya came into the study and walked to her husband to wind her arms around his waist, promptly corresponded by him.
Funny how Fingal used to think their demonstrations of affection disgusting. But today, such displays seemed quite normal, endearing even.
“Fingal got leg-shackled to the wrong McTavish lass,” mocked Lachlan.
“Dear me!” Freya quipped. “I don’t think I remember her.”
“You do,” Wallace volunteered. “It’s the Emily lass.”
