In Scot Water - Caroline Lee Page 0,45

he was right to be concerned.

“Listen, lad.” His father’s tone was uncharacteristically somber. “Women are nae different from men when it comes to being lied to. She might no’ understand ‘twas a mistake on yer part. But yer marriage is new, and ye’re beyond blessed to have fallen in love with yer partner in life. Ye need to confront her and apologize. Ye need to make her understand ‘twas no’ a lie on purpose, and ye need to discover what ye can do to make amends.”

Malcolm remembered the way she’d come apart in his arms two nights ago. So many times, he’d brought her to orgasm, and when she’d agreed to be his wife, he’d felt that same joy.

Somehow, I dinnae think that’s what Da means.

“That’s no’ all,” Alistair said in a hollow tone. When they both looked at him, Malcolm’s brother shook his head. “If ye failed to mention yer father was laird, I take that to mean ye didnae tell her about Da’s ultimatum. About why ye had to get married? And why ye chose her in particular?”

Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Shite,” he whispered.

“Aye.” Alistair nodded solemnly. “If she was angered by ye no’ explaining yer parentage, how do ye think she’ll feel when she discovers that?”

Oh, shite.

“St. Thomas’s bones, I’m fooked, am I no’?” Malcolm groaned, running both hands through his hair. “I didnae tell her! I didnae think ‘twas relevant to the situation at hand—”

Da burst into laughter. “How could it no’ be relevant? For a man of learning, ye’re looking like a real dunce here, laddie!”

Malcolm turned wide eyes on his brother, whom he’d always trusted to give good advice. “What do I do?”

“Ye love her? Ye care about what she thinks of ye?”

“Aye!” Malcolm nodded emphatically. “Our marriage has just begun. I dinnae want her to think I married her under false pretenses.”

“But ye did, laddie!” Da boomed cheerfully.

Alistair held his gaze. “Go to her. Explain, as Da advised. Then get down on yer knees and beg her forgiveness.”

Beg her forgiveness.

Nay, first he had to explain. Shite, this was going to be hard.

“Go, laddie,” Da murmured.

Malcolm turned and ran toward the keep, dreading what was to come. But he’d never rushed toward a task he’d dreaded so much in his life.

Because now he knew he had to get this over with before he could have a chance at a future with Evelinde.

“Have ye heard the drummer, lass?” Lady Agatha asked from her chair in her solar, where the women were gathered.

Evelinde shook her head politely, her attention on Tomas, who was being held by Lara, the housekeeper’s daughter. “Nay, milady.”

The old woman tsked, but it was unclear if the reaction was because Evelinde forgot to call her by her given name, or because she hadn’t heard the clan’s drummer. So, forcing a polite smile, Evelinde asked, “I’m sure he’s verra talented.”

Agatha burst into chuckles, and even Lara smiled as she bounced the bairn on her lap. From her spot by the hearth, Nanny lifted her head long enough to whine softly, then closed her eyes again for her nap.

“Och, the drummer is no’ flesh and blood, Evelinde,” the younger woman said cheerfully. “He’s the ghostly drummer of Oliphant Castle and is famous in the Highlands!”

Remembering the strange beat she’d heard last night, Evelinde’s eyes slowly widened.

“Other clans have pipers or screamers or even entire ghostly hunts.” Nessa, Malcolm’s sister, didn’t look up from her embroidery. “ ’Tis nice and gothic, aye? Ye hear ‘Highlands,’ and ye naturally think of crumbly castles and beautiful, morose ghosts and ‘Oh, the stories these stones could tell’ and whatno’. Ye hear ‘ghosts’ and naturally assume ‘tis a suitably atmospheric wailer or haunting piper or some such, aye?” She jabbed her needle into the cloth with a frown. “Well, we get a drummer. Damned disappointing.”

“I’ve heard that the Sinclairs have an entire ghostly battle, played out in their courtyard, on the fourth full moon of the year!” Lara declared enthusiastically. “Imagine that!”

Unfortunately, Evelinde could. “It sounds…loud.”

“Loud! Ha!” Agatha snorted, hoisting one wrapped foot—did she suffer from gout?—up onto a cushioned stool. “Ye have no’ heard loud until that blasted drummer is pounding in yer bedroom at midnight!”

Evelinde glanced at the other two young ladies. Neither met her eyes, but ‘twas clear from their expressions they not only believed in this ghostly drummer, but had heard him too.

Had she?

“What does he…um, play?”

“Play? He plays the drums, ye daft lass!” Agatha was grinning. “And no’ well, although the wee ghostie has gotten