Chapter 3

Dearest Rex and Emmeline,

This is just a brief letter to tell you I am safe and well. It has been the most appalling few days and I hardly know where to begin, but I must tell you Enoch Goodfellow kidnapped me. He intended to force me into marriage, though I tell you now, he would not have succeeded.

I was feeling quite pleased with myself for having escaped him by bashing him with a fireside poker until I fell into Lord Malmsey's hands.

I have never met a man so lost to honour and decency and I was truly in fear for my life. He tried to take me to his carriage, but I fought him as best I could. I should not have prevailed, however, if not for the intervention of Mr Muir Anderson. He came upon us and bravely fought Lord Malmsey. His lordship tried to kill Mr Anderson with a knife during the altercation, but in defending himself, Mr Anderson stabbed Lord Malmsey in the stomach. I am told he bled to death not long after.

It's all been quite remarkably awful, and I know that the scandal is of quite terrifying proportions. Mr Anderson is the most honourable of men, however, and has offered me the protection of his name. We are to be married in Scotland. He is taking me to stay with his brother, Viscount Buchanan and his wife whilst he prepares his home for my arrival.

He believes it is best we stay away from town for the foreseeable future until the dust settles. So, I may be back in a decade or so.

Oh, what a mess I am in!

―Excerpt of a letter from The Lady Cordelia Steyning to her brother, and sister-in-law, The Most Hon'ble Marquess and Marchioness of Wrexham.

25 th March 1850, The Rising Sun, Alconbury, Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire, England.

"You're quite sure she's in no danger?" Delia said for the tenth time, blowing her nose on the huge handkerchief with which Mr Anderson had provided her. The terrible story he'd related concerning her dear friend Narcissa and the attack her brother, Lord Richmond, had made upon Narcissa's new husband—and accidentally upon Narcissa herself—had brought Delia to tears.

"So said this morning's papers. And ye ken her new mother-in-law has a hand for healing."

"Oh, I wish I could go to her," Delia said thickly. "And I thought I'd had a horrid few days."

"And so ye have," Muir told her firmly. "Dinnae fash yerself over Mrs Anson. She's in excellent hands and by the looks of him, Ash would move heaven and earth for the girl. He's head over ears for her if ye ask me."

"It's truly a love match, then," she said with a contented sigh, her concerns eased by his words. "I suspected there was something between them, certainly on Narcissa's side, for she was forever asking me if I had seen him or what event he was attending. Oh, how romantic it must have been, eloping to escape her vile father. I do hope they will be happy, they certainly deserve it."

Mr Anderson said nothing more on the subject, intent on dishing up the meal a curious serving girl had brought up to them a few minutes earlier. The vexing little creature had been agog, staring between Muir and Delia as if she were viewing creatures in a menagerie. Her gaze had certainly lingered on Muir most of all, though, for which Delia could not blame her. She was finding it a little difficult to stop staring at him herself. The heroic way in which he had burst into her life was enough to make any girl feel a little weak at the knees, but being alone with him and in such close quarters, knowing he would soon be her husband… Well, it was all rather unsettling, to say the least. Muir had finally hurried the girl out of the room and Delia tried to turn her attention to the meal. It smelled divine, though after the vile eggs and bacon that morning, she was more than a little suspicious of it.

Rather to her surprise, Delia discovered the stew to be rich and meaty and well-flavoured, and finished a first helping with no trouble, even accepting the second serving that Muir offered her.

"My stomach is rather stronger than I believed it to be," she said ruefully. "I suspect I ought not to have such a healthy appetite after everything that's happened."

"There is nae point in starving yerself, lassie," Muir said, his tone matter of fact. "It serves nae purpose and none of what happened is yer fault, ye ken."

"I know," she replied, looking at him covertly whilst he applied himself to his meal.

His hair was on the long side for fashion, and in severe disarray after his fight with Malmsey. Unsurprisingly, his clothes had fared little better, his kilt dusty and his coat torn and just as filthy. He looked utterly disreputable, large and dangerous, her every notion of a Highland warrior come to life. Her idiotic heart gave a lurch as she remembered how magnificent he had looked rampaging towards Lord Malmsey, bellowing with fury as he went. The image ingrained in her mind was one she would not soon forget, and this great, untamed-looking creature was to be her husband! A shiver of something not quite fear prickled down her spine.

"My name is Cordelia. My friends and family call me Delia," she added.

He glanced up at that. "Ye dinnae like being called lassie, aye?"

"Oh, I don't mind it," she replied with a smile. "It's rather endearing actually, but I thought you might like to use my name now and then, too."

"Ye dinnae prefer I call ye ‘my lady?'" he asked her curiously.

"Good heavens, no," she said, shaking her head. "I am not nearly so formal as that and… and if we are…" She swallowed, still having some difficulty with the truth of it.

"To be married?" he finished for her. "There's nae point in being squeamish. I reckon I am nae the husband ye wished for, but I cannae change it any more than ye can."

Delia held her tongue, too uncertain of herself to reply, especially as it would be to contradict him. He was exactly the kind of husband she had wished for. She had dreamed of a bold, dashing man who would stop at nothing to keep her safe. A hero who would throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of danger and off into the sunset. The trouble was, she was only now realising that such an exciting husband might not be very comfortable to live the rest of her life with. She did not know Mr Anderson well, but though he was a fine, handsome man, and he had made her laugh a good deal during their brief conversations in the past, he was a little… well, rough about the edges. Not that she minded that, nor his frank speech. It was only that she wondered what kind of life she might lead as his wife, and what he might expect of her.

"I cannot imagine I am the kind of wife you wished for either," she replied quietly.

There was a brief silence, which was answer enough for Delia.

"I consider myself a very fortunate fellow," he said, and whilst she appreciated the gallant try, she wished he had lied a bit harder.

"You are kind, sir, but I pray you are better at hiding your true feelings when you play cards," she replied dryly.

He sighed and set down his cutlery, pushing the empty plate aside. "I spoke true enough," he said, his tone gruff. "Yer a very lovely girl, beautiful, in fact, and no doubt ye will bring me a healthy dowry. I'd be a fool to turn my nose up. It's only I think ye will nae like the life ahead of ye. I expected to marry a lass who was more… robust," he finished after a pause.

"Robust?" she replied with a frown.

"Aye. Ye husband-to-be is nae more than a glorified sheep farmer in the wilds of Scotland. My brother Lyall inherited the title, ye ken. Wildsyde is his now, but I inherited the home farm."

"Sheep farming is a successful enterprise in the Highlands now, I understand. Since the clearances—"

"There wisnae clearance at Wildsyde," he said, his voice sharp. "There wisnae need, for the land was never forested, but even if it had been, neither my da nor my brother holds with putting people off the land they've farmed all their lives. We've land enough for our needs, and we deal in quality, nae quantity. I've the best sheep ye will find anywhere in the Scotland, or in England too."

"I beg your pardon," Delia said meekly, flushing with mortification. "I did not intend to insult you."

"Ach, nae," he said, his expression becoming less forbidding in the face of her apology. "Ye must forgive me. There's nae reason ye should know such things. Dinnae heed me, lassie—I mean, Delia."

"We've a good deal to learn about each other," she said hesitantly, wondering what life as a sheep farmer's wife might entail. She could not begin to imagine it.

"Aye," he replied, sounding even more dejected than she did. "I reckon we do."

The next day, Muir went to a deal of trouble to send her brother one of the newfangled telegrams that the railway now offered, to assure him of her safety. Then they both sent letters to everyone who needed to be informed in more detail of their situation. By the time Muir had resolved things with the magistrate summoned upon the death of Lord Malmsey, it was late in the morning.

Setting off to the train station at Huntingdon, Delia could only stare out of the window in bemusement. Her life had never been her own, for her brute of a father had been a far too domineering figure in her life, keeping her isolated from the world until her brother had married and insisted on taking responsibility for her. As the duke had by that time bankrupted himself through a lifetime of selfishness and mismanagement, he'd had little recourse.

Wrexham kept their father on a tight leash these days through the allowance he paid the duke. Anything resembling inappropriate behaviour and Wrexham simply refused to pay. It had changed Delia's life beyond recognition, bringing her society and a few dear friends of the kind she had never had before. But a lifetime of solitude, where novels and daydreams about exciting adventures and romantic escapades had been her only friends, made her ill-equipped for the ton . They thought her peculiar at best, and her habit of speaking to herself out loud, or worse, having make-believe conversations with animals or inanimate objects, did not help matters. She had a lively imagination and often found humour in things other people did not seem to appreciate. Besides which, animals were far easier to talk to than most people. Though she had tried to cure herself of the habit, it was too ingrained, and she seemed unable to stop it entirely.

And now here she was, once again swept away by the tide of life, picked up like a leaf and towed along by the current, with no means of fighting her fate.

She told herself she was not ungrateful. Even now she might be married to Enoch Goodfellow, or worse still, at the mercy of Lord Malmsey. Shuddering, she reminded herself she had escaped Enoch through her own efforts and running into Malmsey had been sheer bad luck. She was not entirely helpless, and she had a will of her own. Having extracted an agreement from Mr Anderson that they should have a few weeks to get to know each other before they wed, if things between them did not appear to be working, she would simply refuse to marry him, no matter how bad the ensuing scandal would be.

If she was destined to be Wrexham's peculiar sister and eccentric maiden aunt to his and Emmeline's children, it would be no more than she had ever expected.

Across the carriage from her, Mr Anderson had closed his eyes and appeared to be dozing. She suspected he had slept no better than she had, for despite her exhaustion she could not rest easy after everything that had happened. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lord Malmsey clutching the knife in his belly and accusing Mr Anderson of having killed him. She did not doubt the horrific scene was etched on the poor man's mind too, and most likely accounted for his rather haggard look this morning.

Not that he wasn't a handsome fellow. He had strong features and an uncompromising square jaw that suggested he had a stubborn streak a mile wide. He had broken his nose at some point in his life, but it added to the rather uncivilised air he carried and in no way diminished his looks. Quite the contrary, in fact. Involuntarily, her eyes dropped to his knees, and to the long legs that stretched out diagonally across the carriage. Colour rose to her cheeks, and she looked hurriedly away, only to find herself studying him again just moments later. With his tawny hair brushed more neatly this morning, and his dress clean and properly arranged, he still looked not quite tame, like a man out of time and place. She could easily imagine him wielding a broadsword and defying the English at that awful ultimate battle that had taken place at Culloden over a hundred years ago. He was an honourable and brave man, the kind that would die before he yielded to what he believed to be an evil influence.

Delia realised she found him rather intimidating. Though she had met him in society and his manners had been impeccable, she had never felt he was entirely at ease there. At first, she had assumed it was her company he disliked and that he'd been eager to get away, but then she had wondered if he experienced the same sense of being out of place as she did. He certainly never made the same kinds of faux pas that Delia did with humiliating frequency, and he was always witty and engaging. There was no real reason for her to suppose he was anything but at home there, other than some sixth sense that told her he was not where he would choose to be.

The carriage lumbered over a rut in the road and Delia dragged her gaze from his legs to his face just in time as he blinked awake.

"Where are we?" he asked thickly.

"I've not the least idea," she replied with an apologetic smile. "But I think we must be nearing the station."

"Aye," he said, staring out of the window. "Reckon so. Lord, but I shall be glad to be out of England."

"Is Scotland very different?" she asked, feeling foolish as he looked at her incredulously.

"Have ye never been?"

Delia shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Though I have long wished to. Is it really as wild and remote as people say?"

"Not all of it. We have cities that could rival London," he said with no small amount of pride. "But aye, Wildsyde is about as far from the world as ye can get, I suppose. Ye winnae be feart to be so far from everything?"

Delia shook her head. "I grew up in the countryside and, whilst we were not so far from the world, I saw nothing of it, so I may as well have been on the moon."

He considered this, studying her with interest. "Your da, Sefton. He's nae a kindly fellow, I think?"

Delia suppressed a shiver at the mention of her father. "No, Mr Anderson, not a kindly fellow at all."

"Ach, dinnae call me that. If we are to be wed, I reckon ye may call me Muir."

"Thank you," she said, but his expression had grown serious.

"He didnae beat ye, I hope?"

"No, he never raised a hand to me, though I had a strict governess who did the job for him often enough," she added with a wry smile. "I suppose I gave her cause to, for I was not a very adept student."

"Student? Yer father educated ye like a lad?" he asked with interest.

Delia let out a laugh at the idea. "Good heavens, no. My father would think that a ludicrous idea. No, but I was supposed to learn to paint and sew and play the pianoforte and the harp. All the ladylike accomplishments."

"And ye couldnae?"

Delia shook her head. "Only very poorly. I have a fair hand with a pencil, I suppose, and I play the piano a little, but as for the rest. No, indeed. I have very few talents I fear."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Muir replied, which she suspected was nothing more than another try at gallantry on his part, but he sounded more sincere this time and she appreciated the sentiment.

The train journey to York, then Berwick and into Edinburgh, was long and wearying and Delia was not displeased about stopping for the night before going any farther. The inn where Muir secured lodgings was a bustling place and as Delia waited in the carriage, watching the comings and goings, she doubted Muir would be able to find them rooms for the night. However, he returned to her, hurrying through the dark and drizzle to tug open the carriage door.

"Well, ye have a bed for the night, but ye may not like it overmuch," he admitted.

"I think I could sleep pegged to a line," Delia said, smothering a yawn.

He chuckled at that and offered her his hand. "Come then, lassie, and ye may scold me after if it 'tis nae to yer liking."

"I'm sure I shall do no such thing," she said, tugging her cloak up over her head, for they were not yet married, and she did not wish to add more fuel to the fire… if that were even possible. Obediently, she hurried up the stairs in Muir's wake, and into a cosy, low beamed bedroom with a large fourposter and a blazing fire in the hearth.

"Oh, but it's perfectly charming," she said, turning to Muir in confusion. "Whyever did you think I would not like it?"

"It wisnae the room I suspected ye would dislike, but the fact there is only one. We must share it, lassie. Dinnae fret yer head about it, though. I signed ye in as my wife, and I shall sleep on the floor."

"Oh," Delia said, trying her best not to look dismayed by this information. She had been so longing to go to bed and have some peace to collect her thoughts. The idea of resting with a burly Highlander sleeping in the same room was one she did not find the least bit soothing. "Well, I am grateful that I have a bed to sleep in," she said resolutely, determined not to be missish and give him further cause to regret having helped her.

"Good girl," he said with approval. "I've ordered supper up here too. I dinnae think it wise to show ourselves too openly. I'm known in these parts and the news I have a wife will spread soon enough now, we don't need the other business muddying the waters."

"No, indeed. I doubt the news could have spread this far yet, but I should feel conspicuous all the same," Delia admitted.

"Aye. I shall be glad to get home. Ye will have nae gossip to fret yerself over there, save for the servants gabbing a little. But they'll do ye nae harm with it, for they're decent folk and ken better."

"How far from Wildsyde Castle is your farm, Muir?"

"Oh, a hop, skip and a jump," he said with a shrug before catching her eye. He laughed then. "I suppose two or three miles. Nae far. Ye can see the high tower from the bedroom windows."

A knock at the door announced the arrival of their dinner and Muir oversaw the servants as they set everything on a small table by the window and then left them alone.

"Well, it smells good," Delia said as Muir pulled out her chair for her.

"It does," he agreed, taking up the spoon and placing a generous portion of cottage pie onto her plate. It was served with cabbage and Delia watched with amusement as Muir practically inhaled his plateful before helping himself to more.

"Would ye like wine?" he asked, pausing for a moment to fill his glass.

"Yes, please," Delia replied, for she was alone in a room with a man after having been quite thoroughly ruined. She did not see the least reason why she ought not to indulge herself with a glass of wine too.

Muir poured her a glass, and she took it, sipping thoughtfully.

"Good, aye?" he asked, watching her.

"Better than the whisky," she said solemnly.

"Ach, nae. Ye must no say such things, Delia. 'Tis sacrilege."

She smiled at him, seeing he meant it, and shook her head. "I shall try to like it if it's important to you."

Muir returned her smile, regarding her with interest. "Thank ye. If yer to make yer home in Scotland, I think ye best had." He paused, looking a little ill at ease. "I suppose we ought to get to know each other a bit better, aye?"

Delia felt suddenly uncomfortable, having not been in the least so until this moment. "I suppose so," she said, lowering her eyes to her dinner.

"Well, ye dinnae sound very happy at the idea," he said, and she felt his gaze as if it were boring into her head. "Do ye prefer to marry a stranger?"

"Oh, no!" Delia said at once, shaking her head and appalled he might think her disinterested. "I would love to know more about you, if you would be so good as to tell me more. It's only—"

"Aye?" he pressed her, when she failed to carry on.

Delia sighed. "When people get to know me, they usually run away soon after."

He laughed and shook his head at her words. "Dinnae be daft."

"Oh, I'm not," she replied earnestly, staring at her dinner and suddenly not so hungry as she had been. She toyed with the mashed potato on top of the pie, using the side of her fork to shape it. "I'm only being honest, for I'm afraid if you learn more, you shall dislike the idea of marrying me even more than you do now."

"I dinnae dislike the idea," he said stoutly, and then sighed as she shot him an incredulous look. "Alright, I admit I am nae over the moon. A fellow likes to have the choosing of his bride, aye? It's nae a secret, and to have this situation thrust upon me… well, I dinnae like it overmuch. But yer a fine bonnie lassie, and I reckon we can make things work if we give it a go."

Delia swallowed, feeling worse than ever. "You are very kind, Muir, but I beg you will tell me truthfully if the idea of marrying me becomes intolerable. I should far rather be ruined and free to live among my family than married to a man who comes to resent or even despise me."

"Ach, I could never despise ye!" he exclaimed.

Delia shrugged. "Perhaps not, but you might not like me. Even my family get exasperated you know, and they love me."

"Why do ye think I would not like ye?" he asked, his voice softer now.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But people don't, as a rule."

It was nothing but the truth. She was uncomfortable among the ton and nerves usually made her tongue run away with her, or worse, she could not think of a thing to say. Those occasions were the worst, for she would sometimes blurt out the first thing to come to mind, usually things she ought not say at all. Sighing, Delia glanced down at her plate, appalled to realise that while she'd been talking, she'd sculpted the potato into something that looked distinctly like a sheep. Hurriedly, she used her fork to shove the potato around and glanced up, praying he hadn't noticed.

"Who disnae like ye?" he asked curiously, and she felt a rush of relief that he must not have seen her inappropriate artwork.

"Well," she said, wondering if she ought to say it, but if they were to be married, there was no point in being anything but honest. "Well, I didn't think you liked me much, for one thing."

"Me?" he replied in surprise. "Ach, ye have rocks in yer heid. I liked ye well enough."

"The first time we met, you couldn't get away fast enough," she reminded him, taking another sip of her wine.

Muir frowned, looking uncomfortable. "I dinnae think—" he began, only to fall silent. "Oh, I remember."

Delia blushed and looked away from him.

"There, you see," she said quietly.

To her surprise, he chuckled. "It wisnae that I didnae like ye," he replied, scraping the last of the cottage pie from the dish. He lifted the spoon in her direction, but Delia shook her head. "It's just I was a little disconcerted. For I was talking to you while we strolled by the lake at Holbrooke House, and you began a conversation with a duck."

Delia groaned and covered her face with her hand.

"I mean, I dinnae mind ye talking to the duck, it was only when ye seemed to hear the duck's replies I got a little worried about ye," he admitted ruefully. "But when I spoke to Emmeline, she told me ye were very fond of animals, and liked to imagine the things they would say if they could talk, and that I could understand, once she explained it."

Her cheeks blazing, Delia struggled to meet his gaze. "Some animals are so expressive, you see," she said, feeling utterly stupid. "I feel like I know what they are thinking sometimes and… and… Well, the truth is, they are more fun to talk to than most people."

"Well, I cannae fault ye there," he said easily. "And my brother talks to his dogs, I suppose. I cannae say I have conversations with my sheep, for they have nae much resembling a brain, but I do talk to them, so I suppose it's nae so very different. But was the duck more interesting than I was?" he asked, humour glinting in his eyes.

"No, of course not," she said, a little crossly. "But I do particularly stupid things when I'm nervous and… and you made me very nervous."

"Did I, then?" he asked, interest lighting his expression. "Why?"

Delia rolled her eyes at him. "Because everyone I don't know makes me nervous," she said tightly, and though that was perfectly true, she was not about to admit it had been Muir himself with his lovely accent, so handsome and kind, who had turned her into a blithering idiot.

He made a sound low in his throat that she could not identify, and they lapsed into silence until the maid returned to clear the dishes and serve an apple pie with cream. They ate in silence, which was not entirely comfortable, while Delia racked her brain for some safe topic of conversation and failed.

"Ye ken we must work at this, aye," he said, once he'd cleared his bowl and Delia had barely taken two spoonfuls of hers. "It's a damned strange thing for both of us to be fankled together so dramatically. I think we would do well to be honest with each other, even if it's nae always the thing the other wishes to hear. Delia, I must tell ye, I am having a hard time imagining ye in my home, in my life. Ye have been bred to run a grand house and be the wife of some fine English gentleman, and I am nae that."

Delia nodded gloomily. "I know. Though can you really see me doing that? I don't think I'd have been a very good wife to an English gentleman either, do you? Can you honestly imagine me hosting a dinner party to impress those in society?"

He considered this, frowning a little. "Perhaps ye have a point," he agreed, which was not very flattering, but it was honest, at least.

"Why do you find it so difficult to see me at your home?" she asked, hoping he'd be truthful about that too. If she decided to marry him, she needed to know what he did not want from her.

Muir shrugged. "It's a fine house, and I'm proud of it. I think ye will nae be displeased, but it is a working farm, and though I would never expect my wife to get her hands dirty in that way, there's a deal I would hope she could do. I know ye must have been trained to run a great household, but I have nae need to give splendid dinner parties. Ye will have very little society, and I have nae requirement to fill every room with exotic flowers and fruits. The kitchen garden has nae flowers, it is a large affair and ye would need to oversee using or preserving the produce. Winters are harsh in the Highlands, ye ken. Then there are the tenants. Could ye see yerself walking for miles, visiting the sick, taking care of our neighbours and keeping the peace when they fell out with each other?"

"I don't know," Delia replied. "It might be difficult at first, perhaps, but I think I could certainly learn a good deal. I know I said I was useless at ladylike pursuits, but that's because I always found them so dull and pointless. If the things I did had purpose, if they were valued, it would be different, I think."

Muir reached for her hand and Delia's breath caught as his warm fingers closed around hers, turning it palm up.

"Such a small, white hand," he said, shaking his head. "Soft as a bairn's."

"Would you prefer if it were hard and calloused?" she demanded, a little indignantly.

He shook his head at once. "I widnae, and that's the trouble. Look at ye, lassie, with all yer lace and ribbons. Yer pretty as a picture despite the ordeal ye have endured, but such a rig will nae be fitting at my home most days. Won't that trouble ye?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I do like pretty clothes, that's true, but if you dislike such things—"

"I didnae say that," he said, a touch of impatience in his voice. "It pleases me to look upon ye in yer finery. But during the day, ye will have nae cause for such a rig. Only the sheep, my housekeeper, and a few farm hands will see ye."

"Oh. I see," she said, frowning. "But is there no society at all?"

"Aye, of course there are neighbours, though they're not exactly on the doorstep, and there's Lyall and Luella and their bairns at the castle, of course. But it is nothing like being in London, with constant dinner parties and dances."

"Oh," Delia said, suddenly thinking that she might like her new life very well indeed. "Oh, I see."

"I'm sorry, lass. It's a blow, I reckon, but it's best ye know in advance."

"Yes, of course," she said, not paying him much mind as she considered the idea that she may never be required to hold a dinner party for anyone but family and friends.

"Are ye going to eat that?" he asked, drawing her attention back to him once more.

Delia looked down at her barely touched apple pie and then up at him. Though he'd eaten heartily, she suspected a man of his size must need a good deal to keep him going.

"No," she said with a smile, handing the bowl over to him. "You finish it for me, please."

"If yer sure?"

"I am," she said with a smile, feeling a good deal happier about the prospect of being a farmer's wife than she ever might have expected.