Page 14 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“Aye, of course there are neighbours, though they’re not exactly on the doorstep, and there’s Lyall and Luella and their bairns at the castle, of course. But it is nothing like being in London, with constant dinner parties and dances.”

“Oh,” Delia said, suddenly thinking that she might like her new life very well indeed. “Oh, I see.”

“I’m sorry, lass. It’s a blow, I reckon, but it’s best ye know in advance.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, not paying him much mind as she considered the idea that she may never be required to hold a dinner party for anyone but family and friends.

“Are ye going to eat that?” he asked, drawing her attention back to him once more.

Delia looked down at her barely touched apple pie and then up at him. Though he’d eaten heartily, she suspected a man of his size must need a good deal to keep him going.

“No,” she said with a smile, handing the bowl over to him. “You finish it for me, please.”

“If yer sure?”

“I am,” she said with a smile, feeling a good deal happier about the prospect of being a farmer’s wife than she ever might have expected.

Chapter 4

Dearest Delia,

Oh, my friend, I have this very morning discovered what befell you and I am so terribly sorry for the ordeal you have endured. My darling Ashton returned in the early hours, after having discovered the truth from Wrexham. I am so relieved to hear you are safe but cannot imagine how frightened you must have been.

Is it true you will marry Muir Anderson? I must tell you I have always admired Mr Anderson and Ashton says he is a fine man and will make you an excellent husband. I do hope you will be as happy as I, my dearest Delia. I beg you will write as soon as you are able and tell me everything. How I wish I could fly to you at once and hear the story from your own lips, but I too have had a little excitement recently, and Ash will not hear of me travelling such a distance until he is certain I am strong again. He is such a dear man, but frets over me like a mother hen.

Write soon please!

―Excerpt of a letter from The Lady Narcissa Anson to The Lady Cordelia Steyning.

27th March 1850, The Red Lion, Inverness, Scotland.

The following day they’d travelled from Edinburgh to Inverness by carriage, and Muir had done his best to put Delia at ease. It worked at times, and when the conversation flowed easily between them, he thought perhaps they would make a go of it. But the journey was long and tedious and there was too much time for fretting over the future, for cursing the past and a turn of fate that seemed to think his life was a grand joke. By the time they’d reached their destination, they were both tired and out of sorts, and now they had to do it all over again.

He'd woken early, as was his habit, stretching his aching limbs after another night spent on the floor. Though he’d certainly slept in worse places, and he did not begrudge Delia the bed, he was looking forward to the comforts of his own home. Muir hoped they’d be back in time for dinner, for he was looking forward to some home cooking. He toyed with the idea of taking Delia directly to the farm. Mrs Paterson would certainly treat them to a good spread. She usually did, being a fine cook and housekeeper, though undoubtedly the most terrifying woman in the Highlands. Even his da gave Mrs Paterson a wide berth when he was visiting, rather than cross swords with her. He wondered how Delia would rub along with her, and suspected Mrs Paterson would eat her for breakfast. He'd have to keep an eye on that situation if they made a go of things. However, he could not take her straight to his home. She’d have to stay with Lyall at Wildsyde until they were wed, which meant he’d have to explain everything that had happened the moment they arrived. The idea of having to tell his older brother the details of the mess he was in made his pride burn with resentment, but there was no avoiding it.

Muir crouched to stir the fire back to life and add some more coals, then straightened and turned to look at the bed. Despite the situation he found himself in, he smiled as he regarded Delia. She was curled on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. With nothing resembling baggage to her name, he had given her money to buy the overnight things she needed and a new carriage gown, so she looked respectable again. The nightgown she had chosen was a feminine extravaganza of frills and ribbons and somehow, she looked like a sweet little girl rather than a woman whom he was honour-bound to marry.

She stirred, sighing and turning onto her back. Muir looked away, uneasy with watching her while she slept. Footsteps outside announced the arrival of the maid and Muir opened the door before she could knock and wake Delia. He accepted the jug of hot water she carried, thanked her and went back inside, taking his shaving kit from his bag. He propped his small shaving mirror on the mantelpiece and began his ablutions. He’d done half his face when his eye caught Delia’s reflection in the mirror and noticed she was watching him.

“Morning, lassie. Did ye sleep well?”

She blushed a rosy colour as she realised he had remarked her perusal of his person and he hid a smile, amused by her innocence.

“Y-Yes, I did, thank you,” she said, dropping her gaze at once. “I hope you were not too uncomfortable on the floor again. I feel so very guilty that you are uncomfortable when I have the bed.”

“Nae harm done,” he said cheerfully, pleased by her concern for him. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he gave her a smile. “Ready for breakfast? I’d like to get going as soon as we can if ye have nae objection?”

“No, not in the least, though I may need someone to help me dress. The gown I bought is lovely, but impossible to put on by myself. It was all they had ready, though. Perhaps the girl who helped me last night?”

Muir pulled a face as he wiped the last of the shaving soap from his face. “I can ask, but the place is fit to bursting by the sound of things. I don’t think they’ll have anyone to spare at this hour.”

“Oh,” Delia said awkwardly. He considered her with interest, wondering if she would ask the inevitable question or delay their journey by insisting on waiting for a maid. She swallowed, her gaze riveted on the embroidered eiderdown that covered the bed. He watched as she traced a simple pattern of entwined daisies and got his answer a moment later. “Perhaps, if you don’t mind helping me… I… I might manage without,” she offered.

Muir turned and smiled at her. “Aye, lass. Reckon I could do that and don’t fret yourself. I’ll go out while ye wash and do what ye can. I’ll be back in ten minutes and wait outside the door. Ye can call me when yer ready. How’s that?”

Her relief was obvious, and she nodded her agreement at once. “That will do very well, thank you.”

Nodding, Muir pulled on his coat and went out of the door to order breakfast and arrange their onward journey.