The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,85
Please say you’re not telling tall tales. Promise me now before my heart bursts!”
He lightly brushed her cheek. “Marriage was his idea. He was rather emphatic about it.”
Emma clasped her hands together. “No elixir could possibly take the pain away as much as the news you just gave me.”
“I’m glad you are happy.” He took her hand between his palms. “But I must say, if for any reason whatsoever you harbor doubts about Dunollie, I will put an end to—”
“Doubts? I’ve never been so certain about anything in all my days.” She pulled her hand away, eager to leap out of bed. “Tell me, where is Ciar now? I must see him.”
“I have asked him to stay away until the wedding can be arranged.”
She sat straight as if a rod had just prodded her spine. “You did what?”
“He must prove to me his patience in this matter.”
“But isn’t it common for betrothed couples to visit with each other?”
“These circumstances are a wee bit different. After all, you stole away in the middle of the night. Risked your reputation to rush to his aid. Whilst a fugitive to the crown, he harbored you. No, you both need time to think this through.”
“I ken my heart.” She slammed her fist into the mattress. “I do not need time.”
The bed bounced up as Robert stood. “In the interim, I shall contact the vicar, and you and Janet must commence wedding plans. There are guests to invite, gowns to make, meals to plan.”
Guests? The only guest Emma wanted at the wedding was Ciar himself. “Then tell the vicar I want to be wed in a sennight.”
“A sennight?” Robert asked as if her request were preposterous. “I’ll agree to no less than a fortnight.”
Two weeks without Ciar? She’d die.
“And there will be no slipping out of this house in the middle of the night. I am putting the Grant guardsmen on alert. And mind you, your arm must heal. Acting irresponsibly might possibly put everything on hold.”
“Oh, will it now? I recall you and Janet enjoyed a great deal of interesting activities when she broke her arm.”
“Janet’s broken arm has nothing to do with your present circumstances.” Robert kissed her temple. “As your guardian, it is my duty to see to your health and happiness. Dunollie has agreed to these terms, and I expect you to do so as well.”
She pushed him away—albeit gently. He had agreed to the wedding, after all. “Where will he stay for an entire fortnight?”
“That is up to him.”
* * *
By the time Betty returned, Emma was up and pacing the floor of her bedchamber. “Oh, thank goodness you’ve come. I’ve been ready to jump out of my skin.”
“What are you doing out of bed?” Betty grasped her elbow. “Come now, you need your rest. Mary Catherine left a sleeping tincture to relax you.”
“I don’t want to relax.” Emma yanked her arm away. “But I need your help.”
“Of course, miss.” Betty chuckled. “Do you realize in a fortnight hence I’ll be calling you ‘my lady’…that is if you care for me to accompany you to Dunollie.”
“Yes, yes, I want you to come with me.” Emma led the maid to the settee. “But Robert is having me guarded, and I simply must see Ciar. We’ve barely had a chance to talk. And my dear brother sent him away before he could properly propose. I need to hear he wants to marry me from his own lips.”
“Believe me, if you could have seen the look on that man’s face when he was hovering over you like a mother hen, there would be no doubt in your mind.”
“Please. I need you to go to town and tell Dunollie that I will meet him at the bower two days hence. And you mustn’t tell a soul.”
“If Robert is guarding the house, how do you expect to visit the bower unseen?”
Emma rubbed her hands. “I have it all planned. Dunollie will go to the bower around noon. After we’ve eaten, you and I will take a stroll, and lo and behold, who should we run into in Great Grandpapa’s old bower but His Lairdship.”
“Oh, dear,” Betty sighed.
“Then you’ll go to town?”
“I’ll need a good reason. And ’tis too late to go today.”
“Then you’ll have to do it on the morrow. And aside from meeting with Dunollie, take a message to Master Tailor and tell him I want a yellow gown.”
“But you wore yellow to the wedding at Achnacarry.”