Page 11 of A Lady by Chance

Chapter Four

Stirling caught Patrick’s eye and Patrick yanked his gaze from the window beyond the chapel’s pulpit. Stirling leaned toward him and whispered, “Behold your bride.”

Everyone in the small, candle-lit, flower-filled church had gone quiet. Patrick’s heart thudded. If he had any doubts of this being a dream, the soft, stirring music that began to play and the tap-tapping footfalls of two sets of feet on stone ripped away his last hope that he’d awaken in his bed at Baldain House, his leg aching.

“Turn, you arse,” came Stirling’s harsh whisper. “She is beautiful. Just ignore the bruises on her face and the yew resin in her hair. She had a small mishap this morn—”

“Holy God!” Patrick whipped around.

The wood nymph approached, walking on the arm of the Duke of Roxburgh.

“It’s her,” Patrick whispered.

“Who?”

“The vixen I told you about.” Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes from her. “The lass in the yew.”

“Ahhh, the kitten rescuer.”

Amusement laced his friend’s voice and Patrick flashed him a look. “You knew.”

Stirling brushed at his sleeve. “I suspected.”

Patrick’s stared at him. “I dinnae believe this.”

“You should thank me.” Stirling’s gaze returned to the chapel aisle. The duke and his daughter were half its length away. “Look at those flushed cheeks and eyes. Christ, man, that hair. She’s spectacular.”

Patrick’s heart thundered. Stirling was right. She was spectacular—just as she had been when she tumbled into his arms. This last week he’d been so absorbed in the repairs on Baldain House that he’dgiven no thought to the pleasures a wife might bring. Now, however, desire sent a message to his groin that would embarrass him if he didn’t gain control.

“And I thought I was the military strategist,” Patrick whispered. “You planned this all along.”

Stirling shrugged. “I might have.”

“Christ, ye might have told me she was a hoyden,” Patrick snapped.

Stirling gave a low laugh. “What does it matter? She has saved you…perhaps in more ways than you yet know.”

“What the devil,” he began, but Stirling gave a small shake of his head and Patrick closed his mouth as the Duke of Roxburgh and the wood nymph reached the altar.

The duke gave his daughter a hug, then placed her hand in Patrick’s and left them standing before the vicar. She looked up at him through thick lashes. Her pretty mouth parted, and desire shot straight to his groin.

Before he knew it, a dull rumbling of the holy man’s words filled the chapel, then Patrick found a ring thrust into his palm and he managed to glide it onto the vixen’s finger. He stood numbly by as she did the same, an act that drew more low-spoken words from the vicar. The minister looked at him and, with great care, Patrick repeated his vows. The minister looked at the bride—Patrick’s bride—and Patrick held his breath as she spoke in a quiet, sweet voice that sounded nothing like that milkmaid he’d caught falling from a tree.

Patrick started when the vicar loudly proclaimed them man and wife. The world around him dissolved into oohs and ahhs and cheers as his legs carried him to the registry, then out the door to the waiting carriage. The duke and Stirling rode with him and his wife to Gledstone where a small orchestra played in a large dining room laden with a sumptuous bridal feast. And, may God help him, he did not think he could eat a bite—now or a month from now. He was married.

“Are you angry?”

“What?” He started at the sound of her voice.

She stared down at her plate. “You look fierce.”

“I am fierce,” he blurted. How had they come this far? It seemed only a moment ago, he’d caught her falling from that yew.

She looked up at him and his breath caught. Her eyes shone bright.

“Should I be afraid?” Her brow furrowed.

“Nae, you shouldn’t.” Damn, but he didn’t want her afraid of anything, least of all him. “I am fierce about things that matter to me. Things I care about. Scotland. Inverness. My home. And now…” He lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “You, my wife.”