Operation

by Barbara Bretton

  Sam tried very hard not to notice the Elvis impersonator who was strutting his stuff to the amusement of the other couples awaiting their turn to enter the Love Room. The Love Room, they’d been informed, was where the actual wedding ceremonies took place. “Tastefully decorated in flocked velvet wallpaper and plush carpeting,” the brochure proclaimed. “Why settle for second best?” As far as Sam was concerned, the only thing missing was a framed portrait of the poker-playing dogs.

  Duncan had had little to say since they left Houston. It was late afternoon by the time they’d finished at the attorney’s office, which left Sam only a few hours to tie up loose ends and pack for her new life. She’d purchased the condo furnished and had had neither the time nor the inclination to add her own personal touches.

  For as long as she could remember, work had been her life. Home was the place she went to when the office was closed. Once they announced their elopement, she would get on the telephone with her assistant and arrange to have her files shipped to Glenraven. Duncan had listened to her as she outlined her plans then asked about who would ship her clothes. “Ship them?” She’d laughed out loud at the thought. “I can get everything I own in two suitcases.”

  The two suitcases were already checked through at the airport for their flight to London.

  Next to her, Duncan shifted position and glanced at the clock.

  “We still have time,” Sam said. “Our flight doesn’t leave for another two hours.”

  One of the Happy Chapel’s cheerful assistants bounded over to them. The name Lisa was embroidered on the breast pocket of her hot pink blazer. “Now you two are the Wilde-Stewart wedding, right?”

  “Aye,” said Duncan, looking as if he wished he were any place but where he was.

  “Ooh,” said the assistant. “An accent! Are you Irish?”

  Duncan’s scowl deepened and Sam jumped in. “He’s from Scotland,” she said quickly. “Can you tell us how much longer the wait will be?”

  “Oh, we have plenty of time,” Lisa chirped. “Now, you two bought the Standard Happy Chapel package that comes with one photo.” She eyed them up and down. “Such a handsome couple! You really should consider upgrading to the Ultra-Deluxe Happy Chapel package. It comes with five eight-by-ten color glossies to help you remember this special day.”

  Sam hesitated. It might be nice to have pictures to show their child when he or she was older. She looked toward Duncan.

  “No,” he said, jaw set in a rock-hard line.

  “Maybe we—”

  “No.” His tone brooked no argument and Sam, for once in her life, backed off. She felt as if he’d tossed cold water in her face.

  This isn’t a real marriage, Sam. Whatever else you do, don’t forget that fact.

  “He’s right,” she said. “No pictures.”

  Lisa, however, wasn’t about to give up that easily. “We have our Happy Chapel Honeymooners package. Only two photos but we add one wonderful night at the Mirage.” She paused for effect. “And tickets to see Siegfried and Roy.”

  “We’re happy with our choice,” Sam said.

  “We’re happy,” Duncan agreed.

  From the look on Lisa’s face, it was obvious she didn’t believe a word of it and Sam couldn’t blame her. They must look like they were about to face the executioner rather than Reverend Bob, Las Vegas’s Marryingest Minister.

  They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity until Duncan again checked his watch. “Our flight leaves at midnight,” he said.

  “We have time,” Sam said. “The airport’s not more than ten minutes away.”

  That seemed to be Lisa’s cue to join them once again. “You’re next,” she announced, beaming at them like a happy bride herself. “Now you didn’t want the Elvis package, did you?”

  Both Sam and Duncan shook their heads.

  “Okey-dokey,” Lisa said, checking off something on her clipboard. “Then we’re ready for you right now.”

  They didn’t hold hands as they followed Lisa down a plushly carpeted hallway toward an enormous pair of brass double doors.

  “Now you wait here just a sec,” Lisa said. “We want to get the music cued.”

  A second later the strains of the “Wedding March” filled the air as Lisa returned with a small nosegay of flowers.

  “Sorry,” Lisa said with a shrug. “If you’d like to upgrade to the Happy Couple package, I can give you a stunning bouquet.”

  “This is fine,” Sam said stiffly. “It’s lovely.”

  “Well, then,” said Lisa, “I’d say it’s time for the ceremony to begin.”

  Reverend Bob was waiting for them at the glitter-dusted altar. He was a round little man with a Santa Claus beard and wide professional smile. Sam disliked him on sight.

  “The happy bride and bridegroom,” he boomed. “Step right up.”

  For a split second, Sam considered cutting her losses and running for her life. Anything had to be better than this travesty. She looked at Duncan’s serious face and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

  They took their places as Lisa introduced them to Mary and Art, their two witnesses. Mary was a pleasant-faced woman in her mid-forties. Art looked like her male twin. Duncan nodded at the couple but didn’t smile. Sam tried very hard to smile but failed miserably.

  Reverend Bob said something but all Sam could hear was the sound of her heart thundering inside her chest. This is for the rest of your life, Sam. Forever. She realized Reverend Bob was waiting for her to say something.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Could you possibly—?”

  The reverend’s eyebrows shot up toward his receding hairline. The witnesses exchanged glances. Duncan, however, continued to look straight ahead.

  Reverend Bob intoned the vows again and this time Sam parroted them perfectly. Then it was Duncan’s turn. He sailed through the drill flawlessly.

  “The ring?” asked Reverend Bob.

  Duncan’s eyes met Sam’s.

  “The ring,” he said.

  Sam nodded. “We forgot the ring.”

  “We have rings,” the female witness piped up. “Four hundred dollars for a nice gold band, but if you’re looking for something special, we can offer—”

  “We’ll use this.” Duncan removed the heavy signet ring from his right hand.

  Sam’s fingers trembled as he easily slid the ring onto the middle finger of her left hand.

  The Reverend looked dismayed. “I’m sure we have something that will fit the bride better than that.”

  “It’s fine,” Sam said, covering the ring with her other hand. “Go on with the ceremony.”

  “Now where was I?” the Reverend muttered, flipping through his little book. “Oh, yes. By the power invested in me by the state of Nevada, it is my pleasure and privilege to pronounce you two fine young people husband and wife.” He looked at them and burst into laughter. “So what are you waiting for?” he said to Duncan. “You’re entitled to one photo with your wedding package. Kiss your beautiful bride!”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Sam murmured so only Duncan could hear.

  “I know that,” he said. “This is for posterity.”

  She understood immediately. He placed his hands on her waist. She rested her palms lightly against his chest. He lowered his head. She raised hers. His mouth brushed hers, gently at first, then with more insistent pressure. Her lips parted and he deepened the kiss. She could taste the wine they’d had at dinner and, for an instant, she wished this could be a real ceremony, with her family gathered around her instead of strangers, and that their first kiss could have been given in love and happiness.

  “Wonderful!” cried the photographer as the quick flare of a flashbulb captured the moment.

  Duncan abruptly broke the kiss and looked at his watch. “We’d better get to the airport.”

  “You’re right,” Sam said, as reality crashed down on her. “We don’t want to miss our plane.”

  It was good to be reminded t
hat hadn’t been a real kiss any more than this was a real marriage.

  * * *

  “SIR?” The flight attendant stopped next to Duncan’s seat. “Would your wife like an extra blanket?”

  Duncan stared blankly at the pleasant young woman.

  “Your wife,” she repeated, grinning at him. “Would she like an extra blanket?”

  “Yes,” he said, his face reddening with embarrassment. “Thank you.”

  The flight attendant handed him a neatly folded blue blanket and a postage-stamp size pillow. “Newlyweds?” she asked.

  He nodded. “We are.”

  “How long?”

  He looked at his watch and she laughed.

  “That long, huh?” She waggled her left hand and he saw the glint of light flashing off her diamond ring. “I take the plunge in October.”

  He wished her luck and she went off to see to the other passengers in first class. He turned to look at Sam, who was curled in the seat next to him, deeply asleep. She slept small, her long arms and legs pulled in close to her slender body, as if she was afraid to take up too much space. During takeoff, she’d hung on to his hand as if it was a lifeline, and he’d wondered how she’d survive the four and a half hour trip to New Jersey where they were scheduled to change planes. Exhaustion, however, had overcome her fears and she fell asleep before they reached cruising altitude.

  What was it about her that touched him so deeply that his heart ached from it? There was a deep core of loneliness in his new bride that matched the loneliness inside his own heart, but that did not explain the depth of feeling she brought out in him. He told himself it was enough they shared the same dreams for their unborn child and were willing to do what was necessary to give that child a happy life, but he knew that was only part of the puzzle.

  There was her strength and her determination, the soft uncertainty that lurked behind the steel. The woman behind the mask. He knew he could love that woman with his heart and soul.

  And he prayed to God he never would.

  * * *

  THEY LANDED at Newark around eight in the morning. Their connecting flight to Gatwick was delayed and so they spent an hour in the VIP lounge, sipping orange juice and trying to make conversation. Sam felt groggy and out of sorts. Her stomach was queasy and twice she had to excuse herself to visit the ladies’ room.

  When she came back the second time, he was standing up with her overnight bag in his hand.

  “The flight won’t be leaving until evening, lassie.”

  Sam groaned. “You mean we’ll be spending the day here?”

  “I found us a hotel room next door.”

  “A room?” A faint alarm went through her. “I was only joking, Duncan. I can amuse myself here. I love airports.”

  “You can’t sleep here.”

  “Who needs to sleep? I napped on the plane from Vegas.”

  “But I did not.”

  Suddenly she took a good look at her new husband and saw the dark circles beneath his eyes and she felt instantly guilty. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  He nodded but said nothing. In silence they made their way through the terminal, then hopped a shuttle bus for the adjacent hotel. How could she have missed the exhaustion on his face? It must be days since he’d had any sleep. The wonder was that he’d managed to make it this far without falling flat on his face.

  They checked in at the front desk, then a bellman showed them to their room. Duncan reached into his pocket and pressed a bill into the man’s outstretched hand, and a moment later the door clicked shut behind him. Sam set both locks then added the chain for good measure.

  The room was small with nothing but the basics. A nightstand. A chest of drawers. A bed.

  It was the bed that held her attention.

  “Well,” she said with false cheer, “why don’t you wash up while I wait?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll wait,” he said. “You first, lassie.”

  They hadn’t been married long but already she knew that tone of voice brooked no argument. She picked up her overnight bag and disappeared into the small, well-lighted bathroom.

  She looked terrible. Her face was pale and drawn tight as a drum, making her eyes look enormous, like the eyes in one of those paintings people laughed about. Her hair was tangled and messy. And her clothes looked slept in which, indeed, they had been. She unbuttoned her skirt, sighing with relief to discover she could actually breathe again. At least now she knew why all her clothing seemed as if it had been made for someone else.

  She hung her skirt over the shower rod then removed her blouse and draped it over the skirt. Quickly she washed off her makeup, then dried her face on one of the scratchy blue towels stacked over the commode. The sharp smell of detergent made her stomach lurch, and it took her a second to recover. She prayed her luck would hold for the rest of her pregnancy.

  “Now what?” she mumbled. She didn’t have a nightgown with her, and she certainly couldn’t sleep in her clothes. Strutting around in just her bra and slip seemed strange, so she slipped her blouse back on then opened the bathroom door and stepped into the darkened bedroom. “Duncan, the bathroom’s yours—”

  She stopped as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He was sprawled at an angle across the bed, his large frame claiming most of the queen-size mattress. Quietly she walked to the far side and stood near the edge of the bed, looking down at the man she’d married less than twelve hours ago.

  He slept angrily. His brows were knotted in a scowl, creating furrows above the bridge of his nose. His hands were clenched at his sides, as if he was ready to leap up and do battle at a moment’s notice. Most people betrayed vulnerability in their sleep, but not Duncan Stewart. Suddenly the enormity of what she’d done hit her full force and she sank onto the mattress before her trembling legs gave way.

  This stranger who lay sleeping next to her was her husband. From this moment on, whenever she turned over in bed, she would see him there. One day the sight of him asleep would become commonplace, the same as the sight of her own face in the mirror, but right now she found that impossible to believe. How would she ever get used to him if she never really got to know him?

  And how could she get to know him when that wasn’t part of the deal?

  Chapter 8

  Castle Glenraven was set prominently at the top of a jagged hill, looking out toward the sea. Heavy white clouds swirled about the turrets, softening the hard stone edges and making the castle seem like something out of a fairy tale. One thousand years of Frasers and Stewarts had looked out upon that sea and gazed toward those mountains. One thousand years of Frasers and Stewarts had trod the stone walkway and picked berries from the low-hanging branches of blaeberry and ling.

  Sam was stunned into silence as they approached the long, steep drive.

  “My God,” she said after a moment. “You live in a castle.”

  “You dinna know that, lass?” he asked, as he downshifted.

  “There’s knowing it and then there’s knowing it,” she said, shaking her head in utter disbelief. “I mean, I’m going to be living in a real castle.” Her baby would not only grow up within the castle walls but one day all of this would belong to him or her. Houston seemed very far away. “How on earth do you heat it?”

  “We don’t.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “We don’t heat it in the American sense.” They had fireplaces and room heaters and wood stoves but no central system. “Most of the rooms are closed off.”

  “Oh.” She had a sudden vision of the two of them huddled around the kitchen table, warming their hands at the stove. “Do we—I mean, how many rooms are livable?”

  “Not that many,” he said, turning left onto the rutted uphill path. “Thirty or thirty-five at last count.”

  “Duncan, I’ve stayed in hotels with fewer rooms.”

  His smile was so quick she might have imagined it, but she didn’t imagine the way it made her feel. When it came
to her new husband, her emotions were all over the place and they were always intense.

  “Your father’s home is large,” he pointed out.

  “I thought it was until now. Fifteen rooms sound downright puny.”

  He told her something about this place, his heart’s home, and she found herself listening with her own heart, as well. How could she not when he spoke with such passion and love. In the tenth century, the castle had been almost a city in itself. High stone walls had separated it from the rest of the countryside to the east. The deep wide sea formed a barrier to the west. He made her see the lives that had been lived behind those vanished walls. The coopers and the crofters, the wet nurses and warriors, the people who were his ancestors—they were all there, standing in front of her with their arms outstretched in welcome.

  And now their child would take his or her place in line. This child would know he was loved. This child would have both parents by her side. This child would know a sense of security that neither Sam nor Duncan had ever enjoyed.

  All Sam had to do was hang on to that thought and she’d be able to handle anything that came along.

  Minutes later Duncan brought the car to a stop at what apparently served as the front door to the castle. Before he had a chance to walk around to her side of the car to open the door, a little berry of a woman flew out, her huge white apron billowing around her like a bridal gown.

  If fury had a form, it was that fierce little woman as she stared at Duncan with blood in her eye. “It’s a fine thing when I hear about it from the Widow Campbell before I hear it from the likes of you. I told the daft one she’d gone away with the fairies and yet here you be.” She turned her fiery-eyed glare in Sam’s direction.

  Old Mag? Sam felt her stomach clench with apprehension. This was hardly the kind and loving housekeeper she’d envisioned.

  “Come in, come in,” Old Mag ordered, bustling around to Sam’s side of the car. “The wind’s high, ‘twill be rainin’ before long.” Duncan moved toward Sam, but Mag would have none of it. “Out with you,” she said to Sam. “You can’t be doin’ harm to the baby.”