The Untamed MacKenzie

“Louisa is important to me.” Fellows slid his hand over Louisa’s. “Very important.”

“Which is why you moved heaven and earth to help her,” Daniel said. He grinned. “We tumbled to that.”

“A June wedding,” Isabella said. “Not much time to prepare, but Louisa will have the most beautiful gown and a lovely ceremony. All the trimmings. St. George’s, Hanover Square?”

“No,” Louisa said. “We’ve discussed it. A quiet family wedding is what we want. Not all of London gawping at us at a fashionable church. We’d like to marry either in Berkshire or at Kilmorgan. Just the family, Isabella.” Louisa gave her a severe look, then added one for the duchess. “Eleanor.”

Both ladies looked innocent. “You may trust us,” Isabella said. “We’ll give you exactly what you need. The world will be green with envy that they couldn’t attend.”

Louisa let out a sigh. “A quiet wedding, Izzy.”

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time.”

Mac winked at Louisa across the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll rein her in if she gets too flighty.”

“I am not flighty, Mac Mackenzie,” Isabella said indignantly.

“Yes, you are, my sweet Sassenach.”

Isabella’s cheeks went prettily pink. She subsided, but Louisa knew she’d have to keep an eye on her sister. Isabella loved to come up with grand occasions.

“I won’t have a mansion to take you to,” Fellows said to Louisa as other conversations began again. “I have enough salary for a modest house, but not in the fashionable district. And no hordes of servants. One or two at most. Are you certain you don’t want to reconsider?”

Louisa leaned her head against his strong shoulder. “Those are practical things. We’ll work them out. I am so very good at being practical.”

Mrs. Fellows winked at Louisa. “Don’t worry, dear. I have plenty of dusters put aside you can borrow. And I’ll show you how to black a stove.”

“Mum,” Fellows said, half weary, half affectionate.

“I’m only teasing,” Mrs. Fellows said. “But the dusters will be handy.”

Lloyd didn’t look convinced, but Louisa would show him she’d be fine. She’d grown up with every luxury handed to her, but she’d learned how empty that luxurious life could be. Her father had used his money and position dishonorably, had betrayed his friends’ trust.

Louisa had discovered how to live simply once the money was gone, she and her mother staying alone in the dower house. It wasn’t money and a title that made one honorable, Louisa had learned, but one’s character and actions. And Lloyd had plenty of honor.

Ian alone hadn’t spoken throughout the meal. He’d listened to Lloyd’s explanation of Cavanaugh’s actions then gone back to eating without a word. Now he put his arm around Beth and kissed her hair.

“What do you think, Ian?” Louisa asked him across the table. “Lloyd and I will do well together, won’t we?”

Ian didn’t answer right away. The table quieted, waiting for Ian’s words of wisdom, but when it became clear he wasn’t ready to respond, they took up conversing again. The family had learned not to push him.

Finally Ian looked at Louisa. He met her eyes full on, warmth and intelligence in his gaze. “I believe he loves you.”

“I believe Ian’s right,” Fellows said quietly.

Louisa didn’t answer in words. She tugged Lloyd down to her and kissed him, her heart in the kiss. She didn’t care who saw, and neither did Lloyd. He put his arm around her and let the kiss turn passionate.

Daniel whooped, and the ladies applauded. Louisa broke from Lloyd, laughing.

Mrs. Fellows dabbed her cheek with her napkin. “Aw, look at that,” she said. “You made your old mum cry.”

Lloyd didn’t smile. The look in his eyes when he leaned down and kissed Louisa again was full of love, and full of heat. Fire burned, but it also warmed.

Epilogue

June, 1885

The woods north of Kilmorgan were deep, isolated, quiet. The two men in kilts had walked a long way, Hart leading, his half brother following.

Fellows acknowledged that a kilt was good for walking in the woods. Thick boots and socks kept the underbrush from scratching his legs, and the wool of the kilt kept him warm as he and Hart made their way through the cool, dim forest.

Fellows’ wedding to Louisa had been more or less a blur, and thoughts of it came to him in a series of images. He standing in the Kilmorgan chapel, a minister before him, Hart at his side as his groomsman. Aimee Mackenzie scattering flower petals down the aisle, Isabella Mackenzie following her. Then Louisa walking in on Ian’s arm, and everything else fading.

Fellows knew he’d said the vows, put the gold ring on Louisa’s finger, done everything right. But all he could remember was Louisa in ivory satin, her smile behind her gauze veil, the sweet-smelling yellow roses in her flame-red hair. Once Fellows was married to her, he’d lifted the barrier of the veil, taken her into his arms, and kissed her.

And kissed her. One taste of her had not been enough.

Only Louisa had existed for him as they’d stood in the sunlight coming through the chapel’s plain windows. Her warmth, her touch, her love.

As the kiss went on, the rest of the family had started to clap, then to laugh, until finally, Hart had tapped Fellows on the shoulder and told him to take it to the house.