The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride. Raven McAllan

And it mattered to me. It had, she had thought on several occasions, been one of the most momentous happenings in her life. A golden moment of youth to look back on and savour. Even if for all these years she had decided it meant nothing to Fraser, it had still been something she cherished. Now though, she wondered exactly what it all meant.

      ‘No minister, I agree, but we did exchange vows,’ Fraser said, quietly. ‘Morven, I…’

      ‘Hold on.’ Her temper began to spike. ‘What vows? Marriage vows? We held hands and said…said…’ What exactly had they said? ‘We exchanged vows?’ Surely she would have remembered that, inferior brandy or not.

      Fraser smiled wryly. He seemed to do that a lot at the moment, and it was new to Morven. He was older, more serious, and she mourned the spark he seemed to have lost. Then he grinned. His eyes crinkled up at the corners and for one brief second she saw the man she had fallen in love with.

      ‘Vows?’ Morven prompted. ‘You, me and whoever?’

      ‘So it may seem.’

      Morven racked her brain, but other than enjoying the day, and holding hands, she only had the haziest of recollections of the exact proceedings of the day. ‘When do you mean? When we were at the games?’ After the brandy?

      He nodded. ‘Exactly then.’

      It didn’t make sense to Morven. ‘But that was fun surely?’ she asked in a puzzled voice. ‘That gypsy saying why not tell me your vows, and we did. Not to be taken seriously. It was all part of the atmosphere.’

      Fraser reddened. ‘So we thought.’ He didn’t look her in the eyes, but it seemed his gaze was fixed on the wall above her head.

      ‘Fraser?’ The strong, determined voice Morven had hoped for wavered and she bit her lip. That would never do. ‘Fraser Napier, what are you not telling me?’

      ‘Oh Lord.’ He pushed himself off the mantelpiece and gestured to the chair next to her. ‘Do you mind?’

      ‘Mind? Oh you sitting down? Of course not.’ She waited until he did so and resumed their previous conversation. ‘You were saying about vows.’

      ‘I’m an idiot.’

      Morven inclined her head and his breath came out in a long hiss. Well what did he expect? ‘I will reserve judgement until you tell me what, so far, you have been reluctant to share.’

      ‘That there was more to it than there seemed. I should have realised that. Hell, I’ve lived here all my life. I know the people, including the gypsies, and I know a fair bit about their lives, but please believe me, I also never thought it was more than a bit of fun.’ Fraser shook his head. ‘You know, let’s entertain the villagers who don’t want their fortunes told. Involve the Master of Kintrain. More fool me.’ He stroked her cheek. That tiny connection sent tingles down her spine, and Morven forced herself not to lean into his touch. She needed her wits about her, not addled by arousal.

      ‘However, fun or not,’ Fraser continued with a whimsical smile, ‘I should have paid more attention to what we did. I discovered later that in Scotland as long as you are of age and exchange vows in front of two witnesses it is considered to be a valid marriage. In honesty, I as laird in waiting should have known that.’ His disgusted tone told her what he thought of that omission to his education. ‘I thought it needed to be two witnesses chosen by the couple, not just any two people.’

      What? Morven’s jaw dropped and she pressed her fingers to her ears. He must be joking, surely? However, one look at Fraser’s set expression told her he was serious. She went over his words in her mind and grasped one salient point.

      ‘Oh… Well we have a reason this could not be valid,’ Morven said thankfully. If she ever got married it would be because she and the so far unknown man would love each other. Rules of the ton be blowed. Deliver the heir and play away was one trend she would have nothing to do with. ‘I was underage.’ Although she knew she had strong feelings for Fraser, whatever he protested, he needed to show his emotions were as engaged as hers.

      Fraser laughed. ‘Good try but not any use to us here. You were not underage in Scotland.’

      ‘But we didn’t have any witnesses,’ Morven said desperately. This was becoming more like a nightmare with every passing second. First the blow that he had written to her twice and she had received neither missive. Now she may or may not be wed. Did he want to be? Did she want to be? Not like this she didn’t. Could they get out of such an arrangement?

      ‘Fraser, you know we didn’t,’ she said in a rush, and ignored the tiny idea that told her that perhaps she might need to think very carefully over what she wanted with regards to getting out or staying in a marriage—if it was legal. ‘There was only that gypsy, and I don’t remember him saying he pronounced us man and wife or anything. He just muttered something under his breath and then told us to remember the day.’

      ‘I have a suspicion the muttering was the man and wife bit,’ Fraser said flatly. ‘The conniving devil. His wife, Beshlie, told me a week previous she knew what my future held. I dismissed it as a plea for more victuals and told her she didn’t have to pretend and I promised her a sheep without any mumbo jumbo. Beshlie laughed and said it was written in my palm. She wouldn’t say what the “it” was, just it was preordained and that was it, and to remember she had second sight. I heard when I got back from Barbados, that Tam Curtin, that’s his name, hopes all went well for us.’

      ‘You what?’ Morven stood up and faced him. This was a disaster. But you might want to think about it before you dismiss the idea out of hand. A thought hit her. ‘Oh Lord pray my mama doesn’t hear that snippet. She won’t know whether to crow or rant.’

      Fraser laughed as he pulled her down and onto his knee, and she wriggled. Was that his staff that teased her rear?

      ‘No, for the love of God, don’t jiggle about,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘Just sit as you used to for a second. No one can see us, and I need that contact.’

      ‘Anyone could enter and come across us,’ Morven pointed out prosaically and ignored the hard length trying to imprint itself onto her body. Otherwise she might roll over and accept the unspoken, and she assumed, unwitting, invitation. ‘The door isn’t locked.’

      ‘It is you know. I locked it.’

      ‘Don’t sound so smug,’ she said crossly, although she couldn’t put any heat into her words. Five minutes of being so close to him and she was a hopeless case. ‘How did you lock it? I looked earlier and there is no key.’

      ‘I don’t need one.’ Fraser grinned and looked like the carefree man he had been the day they had spent at the games. ‘Tricks of a wild Highland youth.’

      She tried to raise one eyebrow in disbelief, failed miserably and giggled. What was the point of expending energy on staying annoyed? ‘Highland?’

      Fraser nodded and rubbed his chin over her cheek.

      ‘Ouch, stubble.’ Morven rubbed her cheek theatrically.

      ‘I’ll kiss it better.’

      He suited his actions to his words and his breath feathered over her skin before his lips touched the place he’d scraped.

      ‘I notice you didn’t question the wild bit.’ Fraser tightened his hold on her, and Morven relaxed until their bodies were plastered together.

      ‘Naturally.’ Morven slid her arm out of his embrace and patted the top of his head. ‘The wildness I can well believe. Therefore?’

      ‘The castle straddles the line between the Highlands and the rest of the country. Papa was a Highlander, Mama a southerner. I therefore have the best and worst of both peoples in my make-up.’

      Morven nodded. ‘I’d forgotten you told me that. Well then. Continue.’ She winced at her peremptory tone, but accepted it stemmed from nervousness, and hoped he would realise and