Page 54 of Kidnapping Cordelia

To prove it, he kissed her, and didn’t stop until they were in sight of Wildsyde Castle.

The local constable guarded the prisoners, who were held at Wildsyde Castle until the sheriff came and spoke to everyone involved. From there, they were taken to the prison at Inverary until it was time to stand trial. As the Earl of Morven’s son was involved, it took very little persuasion to keep Delia’s name out of it, and knowing she would not be required to give evidence released Delia from the last cloud of anxiety that had lingered on her horizon. Though the weather had turned for the worst and the rain had lashed down for two solid days, she was living in a glow of permanent sunshine that no amount of wet weather could dim.

Luella had set the castle in a frenzy of motion as they prepared for the big day. Extra kitchen staff had been hired and Mrs Baillie was in her element, bossing everyone about and running her queendom with relish whilst making a fabulous bride cake for the celebration.

The only moment of anxiety that Delia had to endure was her first meeting with Muir’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Morven. Yet she need not have worried. Lady Morven had hardly put a foot inside the door when she spied Delia and hurried over to her. She gave her a critical look up and down, making Delia flush to the roots of her hair, and then embraced her fiercely.

“Oh, you poor darling. What an ordeal you have suffered. We had no idea, but we called in on Muir at the farm on the way here and he told us all about it, and how very brave you were. Goodness, but to think you overcame two men to get away—and so cleverly, too. I’m sure I would not have been half so courageous.”

“Twaddle,” replied a deep voice from behind them. The countess turned to smile at her husband, who grinned broadly. Delia could not help but return the smile, for it made him look so much like his sons that she felt she already knew him. “Dinnae listen to my wife, Delia. She’s the scariest woman this side of the Tweed and everyone hereabouts kens it well enough.”

Lady Morven did not look displeased by this description and turned back to Delia, lowering her voice confidentially. “It’s true enough, and it will do you no harm for the menfolk to think you are a force to be reckoned with. They respect strong women in these parts, and you will need to stand your ground at times. By the by, our daughter, Georgie, was so disappointed not to be here, but she’s in a delicate way, you see, and very close to her time and Rochford is terribly protective of her so he wouldn’t let her move an inch. She’s dying to meet you, though, and promises to come for a visit as soon as she can. Oh, and she gave me this for you,” she added, handing Delia a sealed letter.

“Thank you. I look forward to meeting her too,” Delia said, meaning it, for the entire family had made her feel like she belonged.

Muir adored his sister, whom he was certain would love her just as everyone else did. So, Delia could only take his word for that and look forward to the fact she was surrounded by people who thought she belonged with them very nicely.

Before Delia could think too much about it, she was taken up by Lady Morven who insisted she call her Ruth—or Mama, if she preferred—and was swept into a whirlwind of activity.

By the time Saturday came around Delia found herself dressed in her favourite gown, with her hair done by Ruth’s own dresser, holding a bouquet of fragrant blue hyacinths that symbolised steadfast love as she sailed down the stairs of Wildsyde Castle as if she were living in some wonderful dream. The castle was bedecked in finery too, with huge displays of flowers and greenery everywhere she looked. Great swathes of daffodils raised their sunny faces from every corner and seemed to fill the entire castle with the scent of spring.

Much to her delight, the earl, whom she had quickly discovered was not half so intimidating as he looked, had asked her rather diffidently if he might have the honour of giving her away. Now, she found him awaiting her at the bottom of the stairs, looking splendid in full Highland rig. He made a leg, bowing to her in a rather theatrical manner and grinning broadly.

“Well, ye look as beautiful as summer’s day in Scotland, lassie, and ye do nae see many of those, so they’re special, ye ken. Will I do to walk ye down the aisle? I ken I am nae the duke, but—”

“But I am very glad of that fact,” Delia told him firmly, taking his arm. “My father is the last person I would wish to give me away. I admit, I wish my brother were here, but as he is not, I am so honoured you offered yourself in his place. I shall feel very proud walking on your arm. You and Lady Morven have been so very kind to me and have made me feel a part of the family, which I really did not expect. I said from the start that coming here felt like coming home in some strange way, but now it truly does. I’m s-so h-happy,” she stammered, feeling her throat tighten and her eyes burn.

“Ach don’t cry!” the earl said in alarm, fumbling about his person. “Dammit, where did I put that handkerchief? Ruth warned me I had better have one to hand and lummox that I am now I cannae— Ah! Here it is!” he said, with such triumph as he flourished it at her that Delia burst out laughing instead. The crisis apparently over, he let out a breath, still holding the handkerchief uncertainly aloft.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m ready now. Shall we go in?”

“Aye, lassie,” he replied with relief, tucking the handkerchief away again. “For between you and me, Muir was looking a tad peely-wally and if ye dinnae appear soon, I reckon he might boke.”

So it was that the earl led Delia into the grand hall that had been elegantly decorated for their nuptials, with the bride trying very hard not to laugh, right up until the moment she spied her husband to be. Then the solemnity of the moment calmed her, the sight of him standing there, so broad and handsome in his magnificent Highland attire that she could not take her eyes from him. He smiled at her, an expression so sincere and full of happiness that her heart soared with joy and excitement for the future, for all the adventures they had ahead of them, and she could not wait to begin.

“Congratulations!” Lyall clapped Muir on the back and pressed a glass of champagne into his hand. “She’s a lovely lass. Far too good for yer sorry hide, of course, but she’s foolish enough to take ye on. Dinnae mess it up, aye?”

“I will nae,” Muir said, not looking at Lyall, his attention riveted to his beautiful bride.

He’d not been able to stop staring at her since the moment he’d seen her walking down the aisle. The gown she had worn was an explosion of lace and ribbons that fluttered and trembled with a soft feminine rustle that was the only sound in the room as she’d glided towards him. To Muir, she looked like a delicious bridecake, one designed especially for him, and his heart had almost burst with pride at the sight of her. Now she was laughing with his father and mother, and seeing the three of them together gave him a peculiar sensation, happiness and hope and excitement for the future all tangling together in his chest and making him feel sentimental in a way he was quite unused to.

Belatedly, Muir realised Lyall was still talking to him and murmured a response he hoped was appropriate.

“I hear the lambing was a great success this year,” Lyall remarked as Hamilton joined them.

“Aye,” Muir replied, still not really listening to the conversation.

“Ach, ye may as well tell him the lambs have all turned green and sprouted wings,” Hamilton said, shaking his head. “He’ll still pay ye no mind. He’s thinking of nothing but his wedding night, ye ken. Which reminds me—Muir? Muir!”

Hamilton gave him a little shake, and so Muir turned, scowling at his brother. “What?”

Hamilton adopted a serious expression and laid his hand on Muir’s shoulder. “’Tis yer wedding night approaching, and Lyall and I were concerned, so we thought we had better ask ye… is there anything ye need to know? Do ye have any questions, a sheòid, because if ye do—”

“Away and bile ye heid,” Muir retorted crossly. “Yer are as daft as ever, Hamilton.”

“Ach, but ye cannae blame us for being feart for ye, or perhaps more for yer bride, aye?” Hamilton persisted, crowing with laughter as Muir rolled his eyes and stalked off.

The wedding breakfast was a jolly affair with music and toasts and everyone eating and drinking far more than was good for them. Muir enjoyed it a good deal to begin with but by late afternoon he decided he’d endured as long as he could. By the time his father had downed enough whisky to sing a mournful lament to them, he decided enough was enough. His brothers had been ribbing him mercilessly since the moment he’d arrived at the castle and his patience was wearing thin. He wanted Delia to himself, and he wanted her now. About to say as much, he turned to his wife, only to discover Hamilton hauling her out of her seat and insisting she dance with him.