To Kiss a Highland Rose (Kiss the Wallflower #6) - Tamara Gill Page 0,36

He kissed her crown, holding her a moment before he raised his head and spied him standing in the doorway. He hated to think what the Scot thought of him. Sebastian felt as though he had not measured up to his standard from his cool consideration.

He spoke, his voice deep and commanding. A voice that, when spoken, others listened to. "Who is your guest, Elizabeth?"

She came back over to him, taking his hand and pulling him into the room. Sebastian made certain he put some of the desk between the two of them.

"Brice, I would like to introduce you to my husband, Sebastian Denholm, Earl—"

"Hastings," her brother finished for her, his eyes pinning Sebastian with ire. "Husband?!"

Sebastian did not want to flinch or show any sort of fear before the laird, but his yelling of the word husband had been unexpected and did catch him off guard. He pulled Lizzie beside him, holding her close. "That is right, my lord. We were married several days ago in Dalmahoy."

The laird's glower did not bode well, not for either of them. "Ye are the brother to the late Earl Hastings?" he queried, his brogue a lot heavier than his sister’s. Sebastian also did not miss the thread of wariness in his tone.

"Yes. Emmett Denholm was my elder brother."

"And ye are in Scotland for the Season, hell-bent on catching my bonny sister’s hand in marriage by the looks of it. Why are ye not in England like all the other Englishmen marrying English ladies?"

He shrugged, smiling, knowing that from the tone of Lizzie's brother, he did not like Sebastian at all, or the fact he'd made her his wife. "Is not your wife English, my lord?" he put in, not allowing the continual slights to pass undefended. He would only put up with so much before words had to be said.

The laird's eyes narrowed, and Sebastian wondered how far he could taunt the Scot before he had a solid crack across his jaw. He held no regard for the fiend, not after the laird had stolen Halligale from under his brother's nose when he wasn't in the position to gamble and think straight in the first place. Practically robbing his family of their inheritance, their land. If the laird thought he would bow down to his supposed superiority, he was delusional.

"And ye married my sister without my consent, without marriage contracts being signed. Where is the paperwork, Elizabeth?" the laird said, not sparing Elizabeth a whisp of a look, his eyes pinning Sebastian to the spot.

Sebastian choked on his words, having not expected the Scotsman to be so cold. He met Lizzie's eyes and found them wide with alarm. "Brice, I'm not sure I appreciate yer tone. Lord Hastings is my husband. I'm Lady Hastings now. Do not be so cutting and rude."

The laird looked at him, nonplussed, seemingly ignoring his sister’s words. "And I'm not sure if I appreciate ye marrying a rogue we dinna know much about, other than the fact he's the brother to a man I trusted less than the Jacobite army trusted King Charles II."

"Brice," Elizabeth gasped, glaring up at her brother. She had mettle, his wife. Few would look up at such a giant of a man and chastise him. "I shall tell Sophie what a beast you're being, and then you may realize your mistake."

The laird crossed his arms over his chest. "Ye will do no such thing. Ye know Sophie is unwell and needs rest. She's not to be troubled with this dilemma you've tangled yourself into. I shall deal with this false marriage and extradite ye from it."

"You will not." Lizzie took a step forward, using the desk to lean on and press her point. "The marriage is consummated. There were witnesses and a reverend. There is nothing ye can do to change the course of my life. I married the man I love, and I shall remain so no matter the reason ye dislike him so much."

"Mayhap ye would like to know, sister, where my dislike comes from." the laird said, a muscle working in his jaw.

Dread coiled in Sebastian's stomach. This was the moment he had been dreading. If Elizabeth found out the truth as it once had stood, she would never forgive him. He would lose her.

"Come, Elizabeth," he said, clasping her hand and trying to drag her from the room. "We shall return to England. Maybe in time, Laird Mackintosh will cool his ire and think more clearly and fairly