Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,113

as husband and wife before things had become tangled, and she was sure he had been.

“I would have left the two of you alone. I made up my mind to do so once the wedding seemed doomed to occur despite my best efforts. But then you sent your lady’s maid to Kilgore, and I could not let you run into Kilgore’s arms when I have been waiting for you for so long. So I conspired yet again for us, Guinevere.”

She gaped at him for a moment before she could speak. “Did you tell Asher of my lady’s maid?”

“I had to. He had to see that you did not love him so he would do what I knew he would. He went straight to the club to find another woman. I would have fought for you!”

She didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe for one moment Asher had betrayed her. She refused to believe it, as she should have when Talbot had first told her. “I was not turning to Kilgore!” she cried out. “I wanted him to tell me what mo ghraidh meant because your stubborn brother would not tell me, and I hoped it meant that he loved me!”

“It means my love.”

Asher’s deep brogue filled the room, and Guinevere’s heart leaped at the sound. He’d come for her! She tried to move, but Talbot set a staying hand on her shoulder, and when he did, Asher roared.

Talbot swiveled around, but before he could even get his fists up, Asher was there serving his brother one swift punch to the nose, which drew immediate blood, and then another to the gut, which doubled Talbot over with a groan. When Asher grabbed Talbot by the shoulder to yank him up and drew his fist back as if to strike again, she grabbed his arm. Her husband looked immediately to her, his eyes lit with rage.

“Stop,” she said.

“Ye don’t know what he’s done,” Asher spat as Talbot struggled to get away from his brother.

“He just told me much of it,” she said, cupping a hand to the right side of his jaw.

Underneath her fingertips, his muscles twitched, and from behind Asher, Kilgore and a man she had not met but had seen before came to stand near Asher. She scowled at Kilgore, and he had the decency to look completely repentant.

“Release me!” Talbot roared.

Guinevere held her breath, exhaling in relief when Asher let go of his brother with a shove that sent him staggering. When Talbot was finally steady once more, Asher pointed a finger at him. “I know what ye did. I know every last detail. Father left me a letter.”

“No.” Talbot shook his head. “He would not have betrayed me that way.”

Guinevere winced at the pain she heard in his voice. Even now, she was certain he felt betrayed by their father, felt he had picked Asher over Talbot in his final days.

“Aye,” Asher said.

She feared what else he might say, what damage he might inflict in the midst of his fury, though he had every right to be furious, as did she. Still, she felt too sorry for Talbot to hold on to the burn of rage. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Asher to wait to continue until his ire had cooled, but he spoke before she could.

“This is over,” he said, jerking his hand to indicate the room while with his other hand he took Guinevere’s fingers and threaded them with his own. He brought their joined hands to his heart. “Guinevere is mine.” Asher’s gaze settled on her lovingly, and it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. “Ye’ve always been mine since the moment I met ye, as I am yers. I love ye, mo ghraidh, my love, mo chridhe, my heart. I hope ye can forgive me for being a clot-heid.”

“Clot-heid?” she repeated, her heart pounding at her husband’s declaration.

“A fool, lass, a fool. I hope ye can forgive me for being a fool.”

“If you can forgive me.”

He cocked an eyebrow, then drew her hand to his lips to press a kiss there that made her shiver. Then he said, “‘The course of true love never did run true.’”

She grinned as the rest of the men looked baffled. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“Act One, Scene One,” he replied, drawing her into his arms and well away from Talbot.

Perhaps his actions were out of possessiveness, or maybe out of protectiveness—likely a little of both—but she did not particularly