Beyond the Highland Myst(11)

When she opened her eyes again she could have sworn the man of the cloth had a knowing and rather amused gleam in his eye.

"Help me," she mouthed silently.

Quickly, he lowered his eyes to the floor. He didn't raise them again.

In spite of herself, Adrienne dragged her reluctant gaze to the midsection of her bridegroom, then upward even farther, to his darkly handsome face.

He arched a brow at her as the flutists piped away, the rhythm increasing in gaiety and tempo.

She was rescued from the stress of his regard when a ruckus erupted and she heard the furious voice of her "father" carrying to the rafters.

"What say you he couldna come himself?" Red Comyn shouted at the soldier.

"'Twas a bit of a problem in North Uster. The Hawk had to ride out in haste, but he hasna forsaken his pledge. He does no dishonor to the clans." The soldier delivered his rehearsed message.

"He dishonors the troth by not being here!" Lord Comyn roared. Then he turned to the man at Adrienne's side. "And who are you, to come in his stead?"

"Grimm Roderick, Hawk's captain of the guard. I come to wed your daughter as his proxy—"

"A pox on proxy! How dare he not come to claim my daughter himself?"

"It's perfectly legal. The king will recognize it and the troth is thus fulfilled."

Adrienne couldn't prevent the joy that leapt into her face at his words. This man wasn't her husband!

"Am I so offensive then, lass?" he asked, smiling mockingly, not missing one ounce of her relief.

About as offensive as a platter of strawberries dipped in dark chocolate and topped with whipped cream, she thought wryly.

"I'd sooner marry a toad," Adrienne said.

His laughter teased a miserly smile from her lips.

"Then you're definitely out of luck, milady. For the Hawk is no toad for certain. I, lass, standing next to the Hawk, am truly a toad. Nay—a troll. Worse still, a horned and warty lizard. A—"

"I get the picture." Dear heaven, deliver me from perfection. "Where is he, then, my unwilling husband?"

"Managing the aftermath of a serious problem."

"And that might be?"

"A grave and terrible uprising."

"In North Uster?"

"Close." The man's lips twitched.

Adrienne was seized by a fit of urgency. No matter how she dragged her feet, this deed would be done. If she had to face the unknown, she'd like to tackle it now. Waiting only made it worse, and Lord Comyn's shouting combined with the wild cacophony of floundering flutists was flaying her nerves. Mad, am I, Janet? Works for me. Straightening to her full five and half feet, she sought the still bellowing form of her "father" and shouted into the melee.

"Oh, do shut up, Father, and let's be on with it! I've a wedding to be about and you're only delaying it. So what if he didn't come? Can't say that I blame him."

The chapel went deathly still. Adrienne could have sworn she felt the man beside her tremble with suppressed laughter, although she dared not meet his gaze again.

Whispers of "Mad Janet" rebounded through the chapel, and Adrienne felt a surge of relief. This fame for being mad could be useful. So long as she obeyed the Comyn's orders this one day, she could be as odd as a square ball bearing and no one would find it unseemly.

Adrienne had been worried that she wouldn't be able to remember all the details the Comyn had told her; that she would slip up and someone at her new husband's home would discover she was an impostor. Once she was uncloaked as a charlatan, the Comyn would make good on his threat to kill her.

Suddenly that pressure vanished in a puff of smoke. In the here and now (if she was really here and now) she was crazy Janet Comyn. How could she be held accountable for anything she said or did that didn't make sense? Madness was a license to freedom.

A license to do and say anything she wanted—with no repercussions.

No Eberhard, no guns, no bad memories.

Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.




* * *





CHAPTER 5




adrienne had been wandering the grounds of dalkeith for several hours when she stumbled upon the smithy. After a grueling two-day ride from Comyn Keep to her new home—Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea—by cantankerous steed, she'd planned to collapse in the nearest soft bed, sleep for days, and then when she woke up (if she was still here) find a good bottle of Scotch and drink herself into oblivion. And then check again to see if she was still here.

Not only hadn't she been able to find a soft bed in the riotous castle, but there had been no Scotch, no sign of a husband, and everyone had summarily ignored her. Made it awfully hard to feel at home. Grimm had made haste from her company the moment they'd entered the pink granite walls of the Douglas keep, although he'd seemed quite the gentleman during the journey.