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Mortally offended, Mamma snatched up her reticule. “If you were a gentleman, you would encourage my daughter to return home, where she belongs.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a gentleman.”
“You aren’t fit to marry her.”
His sudden smile was wry. “I am well aware, madam. Fortunately, Ainsley doesn’t seem to agree.”
“Mamma,pleasego,” Ainsley said. “I’ll visit you later today, I promise.”
For several long seconds, their gazes clashed, her mother clearly reluctant to cede ground.
“May I escort you to your carriage, Lady Aldridge?” Royal asked, holding out a polite but firm hand.
Mamma ignored him. “Do not fail me, Ainsley.”
She turned and stalked to the door, where Victoria now hovered. But Mamma brushed past her without saying a word.
“Here, love, sit down,” Royal murmured as he guided Ainsley back to the chair. He crouched down in front of her, chafing her hands.
Victoria hurried over. “Does she know about Tira?”
Ainsley nodded, her dismay choking her.
“Do you think she’ll tell anyone?” Royal asked in a calm tone.
“Probably,” she whispered.
Victoria grimaced. “What do you think we should do?”
Suddenly, Ainsley knew exactly what to do. The answer was so simple it was almost laughable.
She took Royal’s hand and met his concerned gaze. “We should get married, of course. This very day.”
Chapter Fourteen
Royal glanced at the mantel clock. Most of the servants were already to bed, but Ainsley had yet to reappear. He could only hope she wasn’t still locked in combat with Tira, trying to get the wee lassie to sleep.
After the bustle of their arrival at Castle Kinglas late this afternoon, peace had once more descended on the stately old pile—except for the nursery, apparently. Normally, Tira would be fast asleep by now, but the frantic rushing about of the last few days had disrupted her schedule. The fact that Ainsley had insisted on putting her daughter to bed was an added complication. Tira was very particular about her nighttime routine, and any deviation resulted in fussing and tears.
The baby might only be six months old, but she already knew what she wanted. One of those things was Royal or Angus rocking her for a spell whenever she was out of sorts. But Ainsley, now officially Tira’s stepmother, had been so anxious to take up her maternal duties that Royal hadn’t had the heart to gainsay her, even though he’d anticipated another minor disaster.
Or major, as the case might be, given Ainsley’s luck. He’d never seen his feistySassenachas rattled as she’d been yesterday when forced to confront her mother in Glasgow. The state of her nerves had barely improved since then, even though they were now ensconced at Kinglas.
Even more to the point, Ainsley was now Royal’s wife, and safely under his protection and that of the entire Kendrick family. He would do anything to protect her from those who sought to harm or bully her and finally had the right to do so.
My wife.
The truth of it was only just taking hold, and the monumental shift vibrated down to his very bones. That singular moment yesterday in the church, when they’d claimed each other as husband and wife, would be forever engraved on his heart. With Ainsley’s small hand clinging to his, her violet gaze turbulent with emotion, Royal had pledged to worship and protect her. He would fulfill that promise until the day he died.
Nothing would ever pull them apart again.
Ainsley was more than a little unnerved by the rapid turn of events, even though their impromptu marriage had been her idea. So unnerved, in fact, that Royal suspected she might be avoiding him tonight—their first night together as husband and wife. After the wedding, Ainsley had returned to Breadie Manor to organize and pack for their trip north. He’d fetched her this morning, and they’d jammed into the Arnprior traveling coach along with Tira, the nursemaid, and an alarming number of bandboxes for a tiring day on the road.
Given the stresses of the last few weeks, he’d been hoping for a quiet evening with his bride, but it would seem she preferred spending time with their daughter. While Tira was not all that keen on her mother’s company, Royal was exceedingly keen on spending time with his wife.
Wincing a bit, he stood. His leg was troubling him, which was not unusual after a day on the road. He could think of a few things that would take his mind off the pain, but the most enticing of those was certainly out of the question for the foreseeable future.
He glanced up at the elaborately framed portrait of his parents that hung over the fireplace, which was painted shortly after their marriage. Royal’s father was garbed in clan colors, while his mother wore a full-skirted white gown with a Kendrick tartan scarf pinned to her bodice with the family crest. The pose, set against the backdrop of the castle’s old tower house, conveyed the power and wealth of the Earl of Arnprior and the beauty of his young wife.
