need to go to Stirling to discover that for sure.’
‘You do? Why, what do you need to find out?’
‘Whether we are really married or not.’
Chapter Four
‘Pardon?’ Morven saw stars in front of her eyes and there was a horrible buzzing noise in her ears. Louder than a wasp that flew around her head it gave her a hazy, out of the world feeling. Had Scotland got a new insect she knew nothing of? One that addled her brains?
‘Did you…’ It was ridiculous. Her hearing had to be defective. Fraser couldn’t have said he needed to discover if they were husband and wife, surely? She shook her head to try and focus. It didn’t help. Her skin prickled and goosebumps appeared.
Get a grip.
‘You…what?’ Lord she sounded a pitiful specimen. ‘I…’ Her ability to speak deserted her.
‘Put your head between your knees,’ Fraser said peremptorily as she experienced the sensation of being in his arms once more, and then deposited indoors, on one end of the soft-cushioned chaise next to the cushion she had so recently dropped. ‘I’ll get the brandy.’
Bile rose in Morven’s throat and she swallowed and grimaced. ‘Not brandy, water please. Brandy will send me to be sick,’ she said as Fraser pressed her head down, his fingers cold on her nape. She gladly let him take charge. The way she felt at that moment, she would be hard-pressed to dictate anything. ‘I never drink brandy these days.’ Brandy had, she surmised, been her downfall. One glass at the games, when the whisky had run out, and she’d eagerly followed Fraser’s lead. Look where that had left her? Nowadays she rarely drank at all, unless you counted holding and twirling a half full wine glass at balls and soirees.
Vaguely Morven heard the sound of liquid poured, and then a glass was pressed into her hand and said hand lifted to her mouth.
‘Drink this then. It’s only good, soft, Scottish water.’ Fraser didn’t let go of her hand or the glass as she let the welcome cool liquid slide down her dry throat. ‘Sip it slowly, don’t rush.’
Morven had no intention of rushing. The longer she took to compose herself the longer she had to come to terms with his words and think of a reply.
The seat of the chaise next to her dipped as Fraser sat and waited for her to look at him. Eventually, Morven decided she could shilly-shally no longer and held the empty glass out. ‘Thank you, I needed that. I’m sorry for my momentary weakness.’
‘Ah, love.’ Fraser took the glass and set it on the table. ‘Believe me, there is no need to apologise for anything. I imagine my news was not what you expected to hear.’ He leaned against the mantelpiece and looked down at her. Worry clouded his expression.
‘That, my lord, is the understatement of the year if not the decade,’ Morven said sarcastically. ‘And do not call me love.’ That sobriquet was more than one step too far at that moment. All those years ago she had thought it meant something, only to be disabused of that idea when she heard nothing from him.
But he says he wrote.
That thought made her move uneasily. Was she being too hard on him? Perhaps, but Morven didn’t want him to call her love unless it was heartfelt and meaningful. At the moment she wasn’t sure that was the case. How could it be after no contact for so long?
‘You are my love, whether you like it or not,’ Fraser said earnestly. ‘Get used to it.’
‘
You
are talking twaddle,’ Morven said crossly. ‘You don’t know me any more, if you ever did.’
The look he gave her could only be described as devilish. ‘I will soon, one way or another.’
The man had an answer for everything.
‘Oh stop it. Can you imagine the furore it would cause if you addressed me so in front of either of our parents?’ she retorted, waspishly. ‘Not to be thought of. They would have so many plots and machinations we wouldn’t know where we were.’
‘We can outwit them at any time. They’ll get used to it,’ he
‘You do? Why, what do you need to find out?’
‘Whether we are really married or not.’
Chapter Four
‘Pardon?’ Morven saw stars in front of her eyes and there was a horrible buzzing noise in her ears. Louder than a wasp that flew around her head it gave her a hazy, out of the world feeling. Had Scotland got a new insect she knew nothing of? One that addled her brains?
‘Did you…’ It was ridiculous. Her hearing had to be defective. Fraser couldn’t have said he needed to discover if they were husband and wife, surely? She shook her head to try and focus. It didn’t help. Her skin prickled and goosebumps appeared.
Get a grip.
‘You…what?’ Lord she sounded a pitiful specimen. ‘I…’ Her ability to speak deserted her.
‘Put your head between your knees,’ Fraser said peremptorily as she experienced the sensation of being in his arms once more, and then deposited indoors, on one end of the soft-cushioned chaise next to the cushion she had so recently dropped. ‘I’ll get the brandy.’
Bile rose in Morven’s throat and she swallowed and grimaced. ‘Not brandy, water please. Brandy will send me to be sick,’ she said as Fraser pressed her head down, his fingers cold on her nape. She gladly let him take charge. The way she felt at that moment, she would be hard-pressed to dictate anything. ‘I never drink brandy these days.’ Brandy had, she surmised, been her downfall. One glass at the games, when the whisky had run out, and she’d eagerly followed Fraser’s lead. Look where that had left her? Nowadays she rarely drank at all, unless you counted holding and twirling a half full wine glass at balls and soirees.
Vaguely Morven heard the sound of liquid poured, and then a glass was pressed into her hand and said hand lifted to her mouth.
‘Drink this then. It’s only good, soft, Scottish water.’ Fraser didn’t let go of her hand or the glass as she let the welcome cool liquid slide down her dry throat. ‘Sip it slowly, don’t rush.’
Morven had no intention of rushing. The longer she took to compose herself the longer she had to come to terms with his words and think of a reply.
The seat of the chaise next to her dipped as Fraser sat and waited for her to look at him. Eventually, Morven decided she could shilly-shally no longer and held the empty glass out. ‘Thank you, I needed that. I’m sorry for my momentary weakness.’
‘Ah, love.’ Fraser took the glass and set it on the table. ‘Believe me, there is no need to apologise for anything. I imagine my news was not what you expected to hear.’ He leaned against the mantelpiece and looked down at her. Worry clouded his expression.
‘That, my lord, is the understatement of the year if not the decade,’ Morven said sarcastically. ‘And do not call me love.’ That sobriquet was more than one step too far at that moment. All those years ago she had thought it meant something, only to be disabused of that idea when she heard nothing from him.
But he says he wrote.
That thought made her move uneasily. Was she being too hard on him? Perhaps, but Morven didn’t want him to call her love unless it was heartfelt and meaningful. At the moment she wasn’t sure that was the case. How could it be after no contact for so long?
‘You are my love, whether you like it or not,’ Fraser said earnestly. ‘Get used to it.’
‘
You
are talking twaddle,’ Morven said crossly. ‘You don’t know me any more, if you ever did.’
The look he gave her could only be described as devilish. ‘I will soon, one way or another.’
The man had an answer for everything.
‘Oh stop it. Can you imagine the furore it would cause if you addressed me so in front of either of our parents?’ she retorted, waspishly. ‘Not to be thought of. They would have so many plots and machinations we wouldn’t know where we were.’
‘We can outwit them at any time. They’ll get used to it,’ he
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