Page 26 of The Baron’s Halo

“I like the sound of that very much.” She wrapped her arms around him. “But I do not wish to return to London and have to face everyone who saw me flee your grandfather’s house. Can we be married here, in my grandmother’s house? I am certain she would love to see us married from the house my father grew up in.” She twisted to look at him hopefully. “You did bring the special license with you, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.” He grinned at her. “Am I not always prepared? Unfortunately,” he continued solemnly, “I am not inclined to trust it now.”

“What do you mean?” Isabelle sat up, concern gathering in her eyes.

“You are still only eighteen, my dear. Your parents, and more particularly your guardian, has to give his permission.”

“But he already did.” She cocked her head. “I was there when he signed the settlement papers.”

“And I am certain your mother persuaded him to do so. It would have been too exceptional for him to try to prevent the marriage, given the station of the man you were going to wed. Now, things have changed. I have assaulted your stepfather and he may very well cite your flight from me as evidence you changed your mind and wished to break the betrothal.” Sandy shook his head, regretting that satisfying punch to Grey’s nose.

“My grandmother cannot act as my guardian? She is my closest relative other than my mother.”

“I’m afraid not. To change a guardian would take time and money and might very well come to nothing in the end. Guardianship is almost always given to a man, particularly if they are married to the mother of the child in question.

“Then what can we do?” Isabelle’s voice held a tinge of fear.

Smiling broadly, Sandy stroked her hand. “We go to Scotland. Carnwath lies less than a day’s travel on the train. We can be married at the little kirk I grew up in.” He sighed. “Had we been running away four years ago, we could have been married as soon as we crossed the border into Scotland—at the scandalous Gretna Green no less, and been married by the famous anvil priest.”

Isabelle’s eyes sparkled. “Why can’t we be scandalous now, my love?”

Sandy grinned ruefully. “Because Lord Brougham, himself married at Gretna Green years ago, passed the Marriage Act of 1856. The bill made it illegal to get married unless one of the two parties had resided in the parish in Scotland for twenty-one days. So we will have no problem if we travel all the way to Carnwath to my home parish. I have indeed resided there for much more than twenty-one days.”

“I am so sorry, Sandy, to have put you to all this trouble.”

“As long as you marry me, my love, it is no trouble whatsoever. I don’t care how or where we do it, as long as we do it.” He pointed a finger at her and wagged it in her face. “And if you even think of reneging on me again, I vow I will strum a guitar and serenade you in a loud voice under your window all night, every night, for all the world to hear.”

“I said yes, I will marry you, my love.” She threw her arms around him. “I will not go back on it this time.”

Relief rushed through him in a wave of pure joy. He lifted her mouth to his and pressed his lips gently to hers. The sweet taste of her went straight to his head. This was what he craved, this sweetness that rushed through his veins, setting him afire with desire for her. He’d need to go slowly, more slowly than with an innocent bride. In the end, Isabelle might be more frightened about the marriage bed than she knew. She always presented a brave face, no matter what.

No matter. He was a patient man. And patience was a virtue that would be richly rewarded.

Chapter Eleven

Carnwath, Scotland

October 3

“It’s like a fairytale castle!” Isabelle gasped at her first glimpse of the place where Sandy had grown up. “What’s the name again?”

“Cridhe Laidir. It means ‘strong heart.’”

“Cridhe Laidir.” She liked the sound of the castle’s name on her tongue. “You neglected to tell me it was so lovely.” The pale-grey stone castle sat on a promontory that overlooked the surrounding acreage like a laird surveying his subjects. Tall spires rose at all four corners and in the middle, startling against the blue of the afternoon sky. Ivy covered some of the walls, others showed grooves made from years of water streaming down the faces.

“She’s newer than most Scottish baronial castles by several hundred years. The second Baron MacKay had fought for a time in Germany, saw their castles, and insisted on bringing some of that architecture home to Scotland.

“Well, I love it.” She’d be living here for most of the rest of her life. Could she be any luckier?

The late afternoon sun was beginning to set as the carriage pulled up to the door. It had been a wearying journey of almost eight hours from Carlisle to Carnwath, including two hours between trains in Glasgow. She was tired and hungry and ready for bed. The one saving grace had been her traveling gown—one of her grandmother’s mourning gowns that had actually fit Isabelle fairly well. The jet-black fabric showed absolutely none of the smoke and grime from the journey, though after such strenuous traveling, Isabelle would be glad to remove it.

As the carriage stopped, Sandy had the door open and lifted Isabelle out.

“What are you doing?”

He held her in his arms as he started for the solid-looking black castle door. “Carrying you over the threshold like a good bridegroom should.”

“But we aren’t married yet.”