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Robbie continued. “A binding peace agreement must be sanctioned by both your monarch and mine.”
Stephen of Elborne inclined his head as Robbie had expected. There was nothing remarkable in that requirement, though his next demand might rock the taciturn lord’s equanimity somewhat.
“That is my first condition. My second is that, in addition to the treaty, you will grant me the hand of Lady Katherine Bramwell in marriage.”
The marquis’s calm façade crumbled. His expression went from disbelief to outrage. The request was met with tense silence lasting several moments. Eventually, and clearly struggling to restrain his temper, Stephen cleared his throat.
“My lord, I fear I—”
“Very well, I accept.”
All eyes swivelled to Lady Katherine. Her words, uttered with clarity and, Robbie fancied, no small degree of determination, hovered before the assembled household as though they were live things, squirming upon the table. She tipped up her chin, met Robbie’s gaze, and held it.
“I shall marry Lord Robert,” she asserted, as though to dispel any remaining doubt.
As he had anticipated, Stephen’s protests were immediate, loud and vehement. “Katherine! I would never expect—”
Robbie started to respond but was beaten to it by the lady herself. “I have said I will, have I not?”
“Why, you barely know the man…” Stephen insisted.
Again, Katherine glanced in Robbie’s direction. The memory of confidences exchanged, and that kiss, lingered between them. He opted to lend his voice to hers.
“May I assume the matter to be settled?” Robbie enquired politely.
Katherine and Stephen replied simultaneously.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Katherine ignored her lord’s dictum. Robbie found he was liking her more by the minute. She donned her usual cloak of practical efficiency and continued as though Stephen had not spoken.
“Since I am to marry, I have preparations to make. Flora? Frances? May I call upon your assistance?”
Both ladies agreed readily, leaving the perplexed and obviously outmanoeuvred marquis glowering at his not-so-welcome guest.
Robbie sensed victory. He rose and moved around the table to take the hand of his bride-to-be. He kissed her fingers, then raised his gaze and winked at her.
She let out a startled little gasp, but he did not miss the twitch of her lips as she tried not to smile.
Ah, yes, we shall get on well enough.
“I believe we should allow one month for the preparations and necessary formalities,” he suggested.
The lady did not argue.
“When did ye hatch this wee plan, laird?” Charles slouched in a settle at the hearth, his feet propped on a stool. He regarded his earl with amusement.
“Last night,” Robbie replied, offering nothing further by way of explanation.
“I had nae notion ye were planning tae take a countess,” was Duncan’s observation from his place at the other side of the hearth.
“Aye, well…”
In truth, he had not been. But, why not? Lady Katherine was beautiful, anyone could see that. She might be perhaps a tad older than was customary for a bride, but she would doubtless bring forth a fine brood to fill the Roxburghe nurseries, even so. He meant to ensure she had every opportunity to accomplish that goal.
And, equally important, or so he tried to tell himself, she could run his home in the manner he desired. Flora had been an efficient housekeeper, as had Robbie’s mother. He was accustomed to clean floors and hot food and saw no reason to allow standards to fall with his sister’s departure. Roxburghe required a competent mistress, and Katherine Bramwell, or Kat as he preferred to think of her, would prove an excellent choice.
