Page 12 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“Oh,” Delia said, trying her best not to look dismayed by this information. She had been so longing to go to bed and have some peace to collect her thoughts. The idea of resting with a burly Highlander sleeping in the same room was one she did not find the least bit soothing. “Well, I am grateful that I have a bed to sleep in,” she said resolutely, determined not to be missish and give him further cause to regret having helped her.

“Good girl,” he said with approval. “I’ve ordered supper up here too. I dinnae think it wise to show ourselves too openly. I’m known in these parts and the news I have a wife will spread soon enough now, we don’t need the other business muddying the waters.”

“No, indeed. I doubt the news could have spread this far yet, but I should feel conspicuous all the same,” Delia admitted.

“Aye. I shall be glad to get home. Ye will have nae gossip to fret yerself over there, save for the servants gabbing a little. But they’ll do ye nae harm with it, for they’re decent folk and ken better.”

“How far from Wildsyde Castle is your farm, Muir?”

“Oh, a hop, skip and a jump,” he said with a shrug before catching her eye. He laughed then. “I suppose two or three miles. Nae far. Ye can see the high tower from the bedroom windows.”

A knock at the door announced the arrival of their dinner and Muir oversaw the servants as they set everything on a small table by the window and then left them alone.

“Well, it smells good,” Delia said as Muir pulled out her chair for her.

“It does,” he agreed, taking up the spoon and placing a generous portion of cottage pie onto her plate. It was served with cabbage and Delia watched with amusement as Muir practically inhaled his plateful before helping himself to more.

“Would ye like wine?” he asked, pausing for a moment to fill his glass.

“Yes, please,” Delia replied, for she was alone in a room with a man after having been quite thoroughly ruined. She did not see the least reason why she ought not to indulge herself with a glass of wine too.

Muir poured her a glass, and she took it, sipping thoughtfully.

“Good, aye?” he asked, watching her.

“Better than the whisky,” she said solemnly.

“Ach, nae. Ye must no say such things, Delia. ’Tis sacrilege.”

She smiled at him, seeing he meant it, and shook her head. “I shall try to like it if it’s important to you.”

Muir returned her smile, regarding her with interest. “Thank ye. If yer to make yer home in Scotland, I think ye best had.” He paused, looking a little ill at ease. “I suppose we ought to get to know each other a bit better, aye?”

Delia felt suddenly uncomfortable, having not been in the least so until this moment. “I suppose so,” she said, lowering her eyes to her dinner.

“Well, ye dinnae sound very happy at the idea,” he said, and she felt his gaze as if it were boring into her head. “Do ye prefer to marry a stranger?”

“Oh, no!” Delia said at once, shaking her head and appalled he might think her disinterested. “I would love to know more about you, if you would be so good as to tell me more. It’s only—”

“Aye?” he pressed her, when she failed to carry on.

Delia sighed. “When people get to know me, they usually run away soon after.”

He laughed and shook his head at her words. “Dinnae be daft.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she replied earnestly, staring at her dinner and suddenly not so hungry as she had been. She toyed with the mashed potato on top of the pie, using the side of her fork to shape it. “I’m only being honest, for I’m afraid if you learn more, you shall dislike the idea of marrying me even more than you do now.”

“I dinnae dislike the idea,” he said stoutly, and then sighed as she shot him an incredulous look. “Alright, I admit I am nae over the moon. A fellow likes to have the choosing of his bride, aye? It’s nae a secret, and to have this situation thrust upon me… well, I dinnae like it overmuch. But yer a fine bonnie lassie, and I reckon we can make things work if we give it a go.”

Delia swallowed, feeling worse than ever. “You are very kind, Muir, but I beg you will tell me truthfully if the idea of marrying me becomes intolerable. I should far rather be ruined and free to live among my family than married to a man who comes to resent or even despise me.”

“Ach, I could never despise ye!” he exclaimed.

Delia shrugged. “Perhaps not, but you might not like me. Even my family get exasperated you know, and they love me.”

“Why do ye think I would not like ye?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But people don’t, as a rule.”