Read Online Devil Black by Laura Strickland - Free Book Online

have had your fill,” Dougal said, but filled a cup with whisky anyway and put it in O’Rourke’s hand. He had known the priest three years, since the fellow appeared in the district without warning or explanation, apparently banished from Ireland for deeds better left unspoken. O’Rourke looked like a leprechaun and had the mind of a lecher.
    “Who is the lass?” he inquired. “And why the great rush?”
    An interruption occurred then in the form of Lachlan hurrying into the room, his color high and his cravat askew. “Dougal, what in high hell is going on? Is it somewhat to do with—” He broke off abruptly when he noticed the priest. “O’Rourke?”
    “Good evening to you, Laird MacElwain. We are here for a wedding, it seems.”
    Lachlan’s mouth fell open, and he stared at Dougal. “You are not!”
    “I am that. My bride prepares herself as we speak.” Dougal poured more whisky and drank deep. Quite possibly he himself was no longer quite sober.
    Lachlan began to laugh, which explained in a nutshell his relationship with Dougal, or so Dougal thought. “Aye, so?”
    “You are to serve as witness, you and Meg.”
    “I believe I begin to enjoy myself.” Lachlan grinned, then spun about as Meg entered the room. He made her a bow. “Mistress.”
    “Oh, aye, just what this farce needed,” Meg said tightly. “A fool.”
    “Where is my bride?” Dougal demanded, drinking deep. “I am waiting.”
    “She is on her way, and you will wait.” Meg gave O’Rourke a disparaging look and then said to Lachlan, “I do not suppose you can talk sense to my brother?”
    Lachy bowed again. “Evidently I am a fool, lady. I speak no sense.”
    Dougal drawled, “Does what I do not fit with the King’s decree?”
    “The King?” O’Rourke’s eyes widened. “What has that bastard to do with it?”
    “Careful, O’Rourke—you could lose your head for such talk. The King, hearing complaint of me, has decided I should wed and settle.”
    O’Rourke snorted. “As if any woman alive could make you settle, man.”
    At that moment, the bride entered the room. Everyone turned to stare, and Dougal lost all the breath in his body.
    Meg and her woman had wrought magic. From out of nowhere they had produced a gown of soft green that clothed the woman’s body like a caress, showing to advantage her breasts and the length of her legs. She came with her head high, the auburn hair piled atop it like a crown, and pride in her eyes. At the sight of her, Dougal felt something strike him, sharp as pain.
    Lachlan swore softly. Dougal stood where he was, afraid to move and break the spell.
    She approached him, moving like a queen, her eyes clinging to his. Dougal MacRae, devil that he was and never at a loss for composure, nevertheless could find no words.
    O’Rourke cleared his throat and spoke up. “My good lady, I have been brought here to wed you with this man. I must ask if you come to the marriage freely and in good faith, of your own will.”
    A flush stole up her cheeks. Her glance strayed to O’Rourke, then returned to Dougal’s. “I do.”
    “Well, then.” O’Rourke swayed slightly. “The witnesses stand ready, as do I. I need only know your name.”
    “Catherine,” Dougal said. “Catherine—”
    “Maitland,” she supplied. Her chin lifted still higher. “But it is Isobel. Isobel Maitland.”
    Had she said she was the daughter of Lucifer, Dougal would not have cared, at that moment. He experienced one flash of surprise, sure that her servants had called her “Lady Catherine,” and then he stepped forward and offered her his arm. When she laid her fingers on it, he could feel the heat clear through his sleeve.
    He wondered how many bridegrooms had taken the holy vows with a length of iron between their legs. He saw little holy about this rite anyway, and he was so hard for her he ached. He remembered nothing of the vows, later, only that standing beside her intoxicated him as much as whisky and he burned