The Earl's Convenient Wife

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She didn’t get an air kiss. He’d released her hands. He put his hands on her waist and he lifted her so her mouth was level with his.

He kissed her.

It was a true wedding kiss, a lordly kiss, the kiss of the Lord of Duncairn claiming his bride. It was a kiss with strength and heat and passion. It was a kiss that blew her fragile defences to smithereens.

She shouldn’t respond. She shouldn’t! They were in a kirk, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t seemly. This was a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience, and he had no right...

And then her mind shut down, just like that.

She’d never been kissed like this. She’d never felt like this.

Fire...

His mouth was plundering hers. She was raised right off her feet. She was totally out of control and there was nothing she could do but submit.

And respond? Maybe she had no choice. Maybe that was the only option because that was what her body was doing. It was responding and responding and responding.

How could it not? This was like an electric charge, a high-voltage jolt that had her locked to him and there was no escape. Not that she wanted to escape. The fire coursing through her body had her feeling...

Here was her home? Here was her heart?

This was nonsense. Crazy. Their tiny audience was laughing and cheering and she fought to bring them into focus. She fought desperately to gather herself, regain some decorum, and maybe Alasdair felt it because finally, finally he set her on her feet. But his dark eyes gleamed at her, and behind that smile was a promise.

This man was her husband. The knowledge was terrifying but suddenly it was also exhilarating. Where were smelling salts when a girl needed them? she thought wildly, and she took a deep, steadying breath and turned resolutely back to the minister. Get this over with, she pleaded silently, and let me get out of here.

But the Reverend Angus McConachie was not finished. He was beaming at her as a father might beam at a favourite daughter. In fact, the Reverend Angus had baptised her, had buried her mother, had caught her and her friends stealing strawberries from his vegetable patch, had been there for all her life. She’d tried to explain to him what this wedding was about but she doubted he’d listened. He saw what he wanted to see, the Reverend Angus, and his next words confirmed it.

‘Before I let you go...’ he was beaming as if he’d personally played matchmaker, and happy families was just beginning ‘...I wish to say a few words. I’ve known our Jeanie since the time she turned from a twinkle in her father’s eye into a pretty wee bairn. I’ve watched her grow into the fine young woman she is today. I know the Lady Eileen felt the same pleasure and pride in her that I do, and I feel the Lady Eileen is looking down right now, giving these two her blessing.’

Okay, Jeanie thought. That’ll do. Stop now. But this was the Reverend Angus and she knew he wouldn’t.

‘But it’s been my sorrow to see the tragedies that have befallen our Jeanie,’ the minister continued, his beam dipping for a moment. ‘She was devoted to her Rory from the time she was a wee lass, she was a fine wife and when the marriage ended in tragedy we were all heartbroken for her. That she was brave enough to try again with her Alan was a testament to her courage—and, dare I say, it was also a testament to the Lady Eileen’s encouragement? I dare say there’s not an islander on Duncairn whose heart didn’t break with her when she came home after such trouble.’

‘Angus...’ Jeanie hissed, appalled, but Angus’s beam was back on high and there was no stopping him.

‘And now it’s three,’ he said happily. ‘Third-time lucky. I hear the Lady Eileen has her fingers in the pie this time, too, but she assured me before she died that this one would be a happy ever after.’

‘She told you?’ Alasdair asked, sounding incredulous.

‘She was a conniving lass, your grandmother.’ Angus beamed some more. ‘And here it is, the results of that conniving, and the islanders couldn’t be happier for you. Jeanie, lass, may third time be more than lucky. May your third time be forever.’

* * *

Somehow they made it outside, to the steps of the kirk. The church sat on the headland looking over Duncairn Bay. The sun was shining. The fishing fleet was out, but a few smaller boats were tied on swing moorings. Gulls were wheeling overhead, the church grounds were a mass of wild honeysuckle and roses, and the photographer for the island’s monthly newsletter was asking them to look their way.

‘Smile for the camera... You look so handsome, the pair of you.’

This would make the front cover of the Duncairn Chronicle, she knew—Local Lass Weds Heir to Duncairn.

Her father would be down in the pub now, she thought, already drinking in anticipation of profits he’d think he could wheedle from her.

‘This is the third time?’ Alasdair sounded incredulous.