Page 31 of Kidnapping Cordelia

Please rest assured that I will keep you appraised regarding my plans and do not worry about me. For the moment, I am happy and well looked after and there is nothing for you to fret about.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Lady Cordelia Steyning to her brother, The Most Hon’ble Leander Steyning, The Marquess of Wrexham.

30th March 1850, Wildsyde Castle, The Highlands of Scotland.

It was two days before Muir returned to Wildsyde to visit Delia. He was not quite certain why he had stayed away. Though it was a busy time and he’d hardly had a moment to spare, he knew well enough that he would have found a way if he’d really wanted to. Something held him back, and try as he might, he could not put his finger on what it was.

The kiss lingered in his mind, memories of holding Delia in his arms returning to him at inopportune moments. When he’d finally fallen into bed, she’d been there the moment he had closed his eyes, and he relived those private moments all over again. Remembering the feel of her in his arms, her innocent ardour, the honeyed taste of her lips and the fresh, meadowsweet scent of chamomile, his body stirred restlessly, and he’d had the devil’s own job finding sleep, despite his fatigue.

Now, as he handed his horse over to a groom and walked up to the front door, he was aware of a sense of anticipation, of excitement, and wondered why he’d been so foolish not to come before now. He’d offered this woman marriage, and he thought now that it was not such an outrageous notion as he’d first believed, yet how could he be certain if he avoided her?

“Numpty,” he muttered as he let himself in the castle and hollered to the inhabitants that he’d arrived.

“Oh, ye have decided to show yer face, have ye?” Lyall said, regarding Muir with annoyance as he appeared from the door of his study.

Murdoch walked past his master, tail wagging, and Muir bent to make a fuss of the dog before returning his attention to his brother.

“Aye, I’ve been invited to dine with ye,” Muir said, following Lyall back into his study.

His brother lifted the whisky decanter in Muir’s direction with a questioning lift of one eyebrow.

“Aye, please. A wee dram will warm me up. It’s bitter out today. How’s Delia?” he asked nonchalantly, watching Murdoch return to his wives who were sleeping in front of the fire.

“Why don’t ye ask her?” Lyall enquired, passing Muir a glass containing a healthy dose of the amber liquid. “Ye could have asked her yesterday too, or the day before that.”

“Ach, I’ve been busy,” Muir said defensively. “She’s well, though?”

“Aye.”

Lyall sat down, regarding his brother speculatively. Muir tsked, annoyed by the sensation of being judged and found wanting. Mostly because he knew it was justified.

“Well, what d’ye make of her, now ye have had her company for a few days?”

Muir watched, genuinely wanting to know Lyall’s opinion. His brother’s first marriage had been a disaster and for a time had made Lyall both cynical and deeply distrustful, yet marriage to Luella had changed that, and Muir knew his opinion now would be both measured and worth listening to.

“She’s too good for you.”

Muir glowered at him. “If yer just going to insult me—”

“Haud yer wheesht,” Lyall said, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I like the lassie. She’s an original, aye? I mean, if patter was water, she’d drown, but she’s entertaining. For all her odd ways and notions, Lady Cordelia is nae a little pea goose that chatters about nothing.”

Muir was about to ask precisely what she’d been talking about when his sister-in-law appeared.

“Oh, you’re here,” she said, with rather less enthusiasm than she usually showed him.

“Aye, well ye invited me, did ye nae?”

“Yes, because I feared you would ignore your fiancée for another two days if I did not do something. Good heavens, Muir, what are you playing at? She’s a lovely girl who’s endured a horrific ordeal. You’ve brought her here after proposing marriage, and then dumped her among strangers. What are you thinking?”

Something that felt horribly like shame curdled in Muir’s belly, making the whisky turn sour as heat crept up the back of his neck. Luella had said nothing he didn’t know already.

“Aye, I’m—” he hesitated, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d be better off telling her, not me,” Luella said tartly. “I mean, I know you’re busy, but I’d think in the circumstances—”

“Aye! I ken I have nae acted very well, there’s nae need to batter me about the heid with it,” he said impatiently.

“Well, why did you stay away, then?” Luella demanded. “If you knew that?”