Cailean nodded at whatever she said, and the old woman turned back to Hugo. “I told him to be a good lad and mind you and Martha.”
Hugo suspected Cailean didn’t need to be told that, but he understood it was probably the old woman’s way of showing that she cared.
“If he doesn’t like it in London, I’ll make sure he gets back to you safely,” he promised her.
Beside him, Cailean bounced on the balls of his feet, staring at Hugo as if he were a god.
Bloody hell.
“You want to come over to the Vicar to see Martha?” Hugo asked, more than a little embarrassed by Cailean’s worshipful stare.
Cailean bolted out of the kitchen and Hugo smiled at the old woman. “I guess that’s a yes, too.” He hesitated, and then added, “I hope you’ll come and enjoy a celebratory glass of sherry with us, Mrs. Fergusson.”
Her wrinkled face creased into a smile. “Aye, thank you. I’ll be over in a bit.”
Hugo left, pleased with himself for offering the olive branch.
The Vicar was already crowded when Hugo and Cailean arrived. For a moment, everything went silent, and Hugo felt the weight of several dozen eyes.
But then somebody yelled, “Hugo!” and the room erupted into warm, noisy chaos as the people he’d come to know over the past weeks shouted out congratulations, clapped him on the shoulder, and generally roasted him on his impending nuptials.
Martha sat at the table closest to the tiny bar and Hugo made his way over to her, having to stop frequently for good wishes and congratulations.
“Good evening, Mistress Pringle,” he teased.
She gave him a shy smile, her cheeks rosy. “Mr. Higgenbotham.”
Hugo laughed.
“Hello Cailean. I hope—” Martha bit her lip and looked at Hugo.
“Cailean has agreed to join us.”
Her smile was glorious. “Oh! I’m so happy to hear that.”
Hugo grinned at Cailean, who looked fit to burst. “Why don’t you go tell Joe what you want to drink, Cailean. And bring me a pint of bitter, if you don’t mind.”
The lad nodded and darted toward the bar.
Hugo dropped into the chair next to Martha with a sigh.
“I’m so happy he’s coming with us, Hugo.”
Her adoring look made him want to preen like an idiot. “Well, me too,” he said gruffly. So,” he said, changing the subject, “Was it a rough day?”
“Not as bad as I feared.”
“Everyone I talked to already knew,” he told her. “You must have been busy.”
“I only had to tell Joe and Mary and they did the rest.” She hesitated and then added, “But the day felt endless; I’m glad you’re here.”
Warmth spread inside him at her words. “Me too,” he said quietly, and then noticed the slight tightness around her eyes and frowned. “Was anyone unkind about our decision to marry so quickly?” Like Clark.
“No, not at all,” she assured him. “It’s just, well, I—I spoke to Mr. Clark first thing—I felt he deserved to know before anyone else. He was a perfect gentleman and wished me all the best.”
“Of course, he was.” Hugo scowled at the surge of jealousy in his belly.
“Everyone understands why we are doing it this way.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “People like and respect you, even though they’ve not known you long, and they care about me and are happy for us both.”
Hugo wasn’t so sure of her assessment, but, as the evening wore on and more people came to congratulate them, and he realized that she was right. The people of Stroma saw Hugo as a man who’d been wronged by the law and worked hard over the past weeks. Also, many of them still hadn’t forgiven Robert Clark for the help he’d given McCoy. The cynical part of Hugo—the larger part—suspected that was the true reason that so many people seemed happy about Martha’s decision to marry Hugo.
Whatever the reason, Hugo’s face hurt from smiling by the time the little taproom began to empty out.
“Do you need a lantern?” Martha asked as Hugo walked her upstairs to the inn’s one guestroom.
“No, there’s moon enough.” Hugo opened the door to her tiny bedchamber.
She cut him a furtive glance. “Well, good night, then.”
Hugo caught her arm before she could slip away. “Surely I can give you a kiss?”
She blushed adorably. “Well—”
Hugo gave her a chaste peck on her flushed cheek.
She frowned. “Is that all?”
Hugo laughed and claimed her petal-soft lips with a real kiss. “Sleep tight, Martha. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winked. “At our wedding.”
He’d only gone a short way up the road when he noticed somebody with a lantern approaching from a cluster of cottages.
Hugo stopped. “Good evening, Clark.”
Clark didn’t stop walking until he practically stood on Hugo’s toes. “I’ve been waiting for you, Buckingham.”
If Clark thought his behavior was intimidating, he was deeply mistaken.
Rather than step back, Hugo stepped forward. “Why, Robert,” he purred suggestively. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Clark jerked back so fast that he stumbled and Hugo caught his arm before he could go arse over tip.
Clark yanked his arm away. “There’s something rotten about you, Buckingham.” He snorted. “Even your name sounds false.”
He was right about that much, at least.
“I think what you are trying to say is ‘congratulations, Hugo.””
Clark’s jaw moved from side to side, his hands fisted at his sides.
Hugo’s body remained taut as he waited for the other man’s attack.
But then Clark’s shoulders slumped and all the rage seemed to drain out of him. He shook his head, his expression one of resignation and disgust. “I can’t blame Martha for choosing you—she’s just a simple country lass who lost her father and is confused and scared. Life on the island is hard and I’m sure that London must sound exotic and appealing to her. But she belongs here with people who will care for her. I think you know that Buckingham. If you care for her then you should think of her best interests. Don’t do this to her; don’t
