Page 19 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“Yes, well, I thought so too, at the time,” Delia admitted. “Except we’d had a run-in with Lord Malmsey, and he had guessed things were not what they ought to be. Mr Goodfellow told him we were eloping, but… well, anyway, I escaped and had the misfortune to run directly into him. So, Lord Malmsey decided he would take me for himself.”

“Goodness me. What an ordeal you have suffered.” The lady moved to sit beside Delia and took her free hand, squeezing it tightly. “You were not hurt?” she asked in an undertone, and from the look in her eyes, Delia understood what she meant to ask.

“I was not in the least hurt, only a few bruises,” she said, touching the tender skin where Malmsey had backhanded her. “But that is because Muir so bravely came to my rescue.”

“Did ye now?” Buchanan was regarding his younger brother with approval and no little interest. “Malmsey fights dirty, so I’m told. He’s no gentleman, aye?”

“He wasnae,” Muir agreed, his back to the company, his foot on the fender as he gazed down at the fire. “He’s deid,” he added baldly.

Lady Buchanan gasped, and her husband surged to his feet, moving to stand beside his brother.

“Deid?”

“Aye,” Muir replied, taking another drink from the glass he held.

“At yer hands?”

“Aye.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Delia said at once, not wanting Muir to carry the guilt of a man’s death, even if the blackguard had well deserved his untimely end. “Muir fought fair and square, but Lord Malmsey drew a knife and tried to kill him. It was his own fault that Muir turned the knife away and Malmsey fell upon it. So you see, he killed himself,” she added, unable to repress the shudder that ran through her at the memory.

“Good heavens,” Lady Buchanan said, gripping Delia’s hand. “You poor girl.”

Delia swallowed. Exhaustion swept over her, and the lady’s kindness threatened to unravel what remained of her self-control. “It is Mr Anderson who has suffered the worst of it, I’m afraid. It has been quite dreadful for him, though he has never said as much but I know it must have been. Not only has coming to my rescue involved him in a most distasteful scandal, but now he feels honour-bound to marry me, for I’m q-quite ruined you see,” she added, her voice trembling.

Silence filled the room, making Delia wish she had left it to Muir to make the explanations, but after all he had done for her, she owed him this much.

“Ye offered for her?” Buchanan asked, not quite able to keep the shock from his question.

“Aye,” Muir replied evenly, glaring at his brother. “What else could I do? There was the little worm who had kidnapped her in the first place, offering his hand, and the lass looking like she’d rather die than accept him. I did what I could to stem the gossip, but a story like this is going to make the rounds in no time. I could nae throw her to the wolves and let the lass endure that, nor let her fall into the hands of such a vile little sh—”

Lady Buchanan cleared her throat and Muir shrugged, returning his attention to his glass and frowning as he discovered it empty. His brother took it from him and went to refill it himself.

“So, now what?” he asked Muir, returning and handing him the glass.

Muir stared at it for a long moment before he answered. “I hoped ye would let Delia here stay with ye for a few weeks while we get to know each other a little. It may be that she prefers ruin to marrying a highland sheep farmer, aye?” he said with a grim smile. “She’s daughter to a duke, after all.”

“I should never be so ungrateful as to—” Delia began, but Lady Buchanan patted her hand reassuringly.

“I think you are both exhausted. If you will excuse me for being presumptuous, I shall see you to your room, my lady, and have your dinner brought up to you.”

Delia sighed in relief. “Oh, yes, I would like that above all things,” she admitted. “Only, please call me Delia. I should much prefer it.”

“As would I, so long as you call me Luella. And my husband is Lyall,” she added, gesturing to the man who nodded. He still looked rather fierce, however, and Delia thought she might stick to ‘my lord’ for the foreseeable future.

“Thank you,” Delia murmured, forcing her aching limbs to obey her as she stood stiffly. “Goodnight, Muir,” she added quietly.

Muir turned, his expression unreadable. “Aye, goodnight, Delia.”

Delia nodded and followed Luella out of the room.

“Well, ye have gone and done it this time,” Lyall said, though without rancour.

Muir could hardly disagree, though he glared at his brother irritably. “Is that the best ye can do? I’d hoped ye may have a solution of some sort, that ye would show me the bright side. Some sage advice, perhaps?”

“A solution? To this mess?” Lyall said, shaking his head in wonder. “Even by yer standards, this is a pretty kettle and nae mistake. D’ye even like the lass? I could nae tell.”

“I’m not sure myself either,” Muir admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I swear, Lyall, I didnae do the thing lightly, but there seemed no other choice. Even looking at Goodfellow made my guts sour. I could nae hand the lassie over.”