Bride

by Stella Cameron

  “We certainly must. Your sister suffered a childhood accident that rendered her a cripple. Her hip is not completely formed and her leg is a withered monstrosity. It is my duty to point out to her future husband that he cannot expect to receive other than damaged goods in this match.”

  Struan’s fingers, digging into her flesh, became the focus Justine clung to. “If you were not my fiancée’s grandmother, madam, I should refuse to converse with you further.” His voice was barely audible.

  “But I am her grandmother, and apparently I am the only one concerned enough about her health to ensure she comes to no harm. First I must ask if you have already had her. Don’t hold back. What is said within these walls is of too much importance for it to be repeated elsewhere. Have you breached my granddaughter’s maidenhead?”

  Calum said, “My God!”

  Struan brushed the side of Justine’s neck and murmured, “It’s all right, my sweet.” To Grandmama he said, “No, I have not. And I will not until we are man and wife.”

  “Good. I am in time, then. You must understand that there is to be no… you must not risk entering her?”

  Arran swiveled away and went to the windows.

  Calum scrubbed at his face with both hands.

  “What does that mean?” Justine whispered to Struan.

  “The marriage will take place within a few days,” Grandmama said. “It’s imperative that I have your word before it does, Lord Hunsingore.”

  “Grandmama,” Calum said. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Justine could never give birth.”

  “How dare you speak like this in front of her,” Struan said.

  The dowager shrugged her frail shoulders. “I did my utmost to avoid her hearing any of this. I was overruled. Her deformities would turn the successful sowing of your seed within her into a potentially murderous act.”

  Justine slumped. She would faint. Surely she would faint. Why didn’t she faint—or just die?

  “Your word, sir,” Grandmama demanded.

  “I would never do anything to hurt Justine,” Struan said. “But surely—”

  “She would never bring a child into the world without killing herself and very possibly the child.” Black silk rustled as if in emphasis. “Even if she were not severely damaged, her advanced years would make such an attempt ludicrous. She is elderly, frail, and deformed.”

  “And I shall not marry Struan,” Justine said, her voice breaking with shame. “Kindly forget any of this occurred. All of you, forget it. I shall leave for Cornwall at once.”

  “Not with the Franchot name in ribbons, my girl,” Grandmama told her. “You have made your bed and now you shall lie upon it. It must be a separate bed from your so-called husband’s, that is all.”

  “No man should be shackled to a woman for reasons of propriety.”

  “He certainly should, and he will be. He has no one but himself to blame.” The dowager stretched out her sinewy neck. “And he already has two perfectly dreadful children. Why should he want more?”

  Struan stunned Justine by coming to kneel before her, gathering her into his arms and pressing her face against his shoulder. “We shall be happy, my love. I promise you that. This outrage will be forgotten.”

  “You will marry,” the dowager duchess said. “On Monday morning next—the day after the final banns are called—you shall marry and I shall happily return to Cornwall.”

  “Praise the Lord,” Struan muttered.

  “Praise Him, indeed,” Grandmama said. “And accept it as His will that you find your pleasures elsewhere than with your wife. If you make her truly your wife you may kill her. Not one of us would ever forgive or forget that. Once the ceremony is over and a respectable interval has passed—to still any nimble tongues—it might be as well for Justine to return to me in Cornwall.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adam and Eve.

  There had been more than one lord of Stonehaven with an odd sense of humor.

  The twin drum towers fronting Kirkcaldy were dubbed Adam and Eve. The tower Arran had made his own—which he now shared with Grace—was Revelation. Throughout the great castle, biblical names vied with those of Greek gods and Egyptian royalty.

  Struan looked out from the Adam Tower at the view down the oak-lined Long Drive to the massive gatehouse with its castellated bridge spanning the carriageway. At the base of the castle’s mound, beyond the walls, stretched low hills dotted with tenant crofts. The village of Kirkcaldy lay some ways distant and a river forked to surround the valley like the tongue of an elegant silver serpent.

  From these windows, generations of Rossmaras—the family name of the lords of Stonehaven—had observed the land that was theirs.

  Struan had come to the circular room at the very top of the tower to find solitude, solitude to consider how to deal with the dilemma that had been presented him by Justine’s grandmother—and solitude to reread the sickening letter.

  Justine had refused his company on her return to the lodge. And she’d refused with a tight-lipped, barely restrained agony that brooked no argument.

  He made fists on the stone casement and rested his brow on leaded panes. He would allow her time for the private healing she would attempt. Then he would be the one to draw together the wounds a selfish old woman had wrought.

  “… successful sowing of your seed would be a potentially murderous act.”

  Why had he never considered that he could harm Justine simply by loving her—by taking her as his own?

  “God!” He brought his fists together to pound his forehead. This was a burden he must carry alone, but carry it he would. “I love her.” Aloud, the words brought a sudden burst of joy amid the pain. He did love her, dammit. Whatever it took to be with her, he would do it—bear it. And no man crazed with hate and a lust for vengeance would take her from him, either.

  The only furnishing in the austere room was a single ancient leather chair, placed where a lone watcher might view sky and treetops—and sun and moon.

  Soon there would be darkness.

  Struan sat in the shiny, brass-studded chair and took out the letter. Once again he pulled out two folded sheets of paper. As ever, the elegance of the writing struck a discordant note with its mission—like a fine silver blade employed for a woodcutter’s task.

  Love has no eyes, but you know that, my lord. Ah, yes, now you do indeed know that. You have found your own lady, your own love. At first I thought it to be a convenience. Other evidence has been brought to my attention which leads me to believe I was very wrong.

  This match you intend to make is dear to you. You love Lady Justine despite her infirmity, just as I love my lady despite the stain you spread upon her.

  I love my lady but I cannot forget that you stole what was rightfully mine. And now there is something that you want for yourself and yourself alone. Perhaps it would only be appropriate for me to take from you what you took from me.

  There is a price to be paid, my friend. You may have to pay it more than once—or twice—or even more times to satisfy my honor.

  Struan’s palms sweated. He flexed his fingers, one hand at a time, and glanced over the darkening landscape. Justine? Ella? Even Max? Grace when she returned? Little Elizabeth?

  He could leave this place.

  The madman would punish him regardless; Struan knew it was so. Somehow he must protect his Own. They must never be alone, never be far from his sight or the sight of someone he could trust absolutely.

  Or—the letter continued—I may decide that I have no need of human sacrifice.

  Human sacrifice? Mad! What sickening possibilities did the creature contemplate? To rape them? To steal them away never to be returned to him? To kill them?

  Yes, that is it. I want what you have, my lord Riches and respect. To look upon the land and know it is mine and that every man I see will bow and every woman beg to be taken to my bed.

  Struan’s throat dried and he couldn’t swallow. What would appease this
monster? What did he truly intend?

  It is time. Very soon it will begin. You will do exactly as I order you to do, when I order you to do it Be prepared to give me whatever I ask for. If you offer no resistance you will be allowed to remain where you are. If not, you will find it necessary to go elsewhere. And certain arrangements will have been made to pass the ownership of a portion of Kirkcaldy— including your present home—to me.

  You will think me foolish. No portion of Kirkcaldy is yours to give. It is, however, your brother’s. When the time arrives— not yet—you will take him and none other into your confidence. You will tell him that if he wishes to help you preserve the safety of your loved ones, he will assist you in what must be done. If that does not persuade him, remind him that he has a succulent wife of his own and a charming baby daughter. And I know where they are. I will not touch them unless you and your brother leave me no alternative. I advise you both to keep your own counsel.

  Why did he not simply ask for money? Why did he insist upon drawing out this agony of waiting? Struan knew why— to torture him. If he could only catch the creature out, surprise and overpower him. The letter continued:

  There can be no hiding from me, Hunsingore.

  Sending your lovely fiancée to Cornwall with dearest Ella and Max, or trying to hide them anywhere else, would be a waste of time. I shall find them.

  And, no, you may inform Stonehaven that it will not be as simple as disposing of me when I appear.

  Since opening the letter late that morning, Struan had regretted not drawing Arran into his confidence sooner. Now he must decide whether to take the risk of defying the letter-writer and doing so now.

  I shall not announce my arrival.

  You will hear from me again very soon. I shall remain near, as I have been near—so near you have looked into my eyes and not known me.

  If you attempt to force my hand you will discover what manner of man I am—after the deed is done. If you force my hand my decision will be difficult but far from devoid of pleasure.

  Force my hand and I shall have to decide which of your beloved ones to take from you first.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Well,” Blanche Bastible said, one pudgy hand spread upon the very exposed swell of her plump bosom, the other wafting a sugared confection in emphasis. “I must say that I’m disappointed. Far too small. Far too quiet. Not at all the kind of affair I should have expected.”

  Justine eyed the chocolate-dipped figs on her plate with distaste and reached for wine instead.

  “As I remember, Mother-in-law,” Arran said from his place at the beautifully decorated table in a dining room off the red salon. “As I remember, you chose not to be present at all for your own daughter’s wedding.”

  Blanche pouted and raised a fan made of the same ivory satin as her fussy gown. “You seem to forget that I was about to be married myself at the time. This is quite a different matter. I can’t see why we couldn’t have waited for Grace to come from Yorkshire for this occasion, and for the Duchess of Franchot. And ever so many other people. Don’t you agree, Mr. North?”

  Devlin, who had arrived bearing Saber’s apologies for not attending, made an unintelligible noise in response to Blanche.

  “I should have thought the reason for simplicity obvious,” the dowager said. She had already spoken her mind on the subject of Blanche’s rapid and “amazing and utterly deplorable abandonment of mourning.

  “Both of my weddings were simple,” Blanche persisted. “But, I assure you, there was no hint of haste in either case.”

  “I hardly think this is the moment to discuss any wedding but the one that has just taken place,” Struan said coldly, leaning aside to allow an under butler to pour champagne.

  Justine smiled valiantly and was grateful for the warmth the wine brought. She had done everything within her power to avoid this marriage—and failed. Struan had simply refused to be dissuaded from the course he had chosen and, together with Arran, Calum, and Grandmama, had orchestrated the austere ceremony without her assistance.

  Seated at her side, Struan said, “Are you comfortable, my dear?”

  “Very,” she lied.

  He had eaten no more of the extraordinary wedding breakfast than Justine. His left hand touched hers on the snowy linen cloth scattered with wildflower petals. Justine felt nothing but that contact—his skin on hers—and wanted to feel nothing else.

  Grateful for the shield provided by many-tiered golden epergnes spilling luscious fruits, and tall vases of flowers from she knew not where, Justine dared to regard her new husband. He returned her attention with steady intensity, as he had during the simple ceremony performed in the Kirkcaldy chapel.

  The perfect elegance of his dark clothes and white linen served only to echo the forceful presence of the man who wore them.

  “You look wonderful,” he told her very softly. “The subtlety of ivory becomes you. The gown is a delight. I hope it pleases you, too.”

  “It is a marvel.” She had been required only to submit to measurement and fittings. A modiste and four assistants who had miraculously appeared at the lodge had accomplished the seemingly impossible within three days. Of tulle over silk, the square-necked gown had been pleated, each pleat edged with a row of seed pearls and the same pearls used at the wrists of long, full sleeves.

  Struan turned in his seat and framed her face. He behaved as if they were alone, or as if he did not care who saw them behaving as if they were alone. “My wife,” he said. “I find I like the sound of those words very well.”

  Her eyes filled with silly tears. “Your burden,” she told him. “If you allow such a travesty to occur.” So far he had given no sign of responding to her insistence that she was perfectly fit, and capable of living life as a normal wife. “Do you understand what I tell you, Struan?”

  His smile did nothing to halt the hardening of his eyes. “You must leave these matters to me. You must be led by me.”

  This was not the moment to assert her independence, but the moment would come.

  With his thumbs, Struan wiped tears from her cheeks. He brought his brow to rest upon hers and whispered, “I love you.”

  Justine’s heart turned and seemed to stop beating. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands over his against her face.

  “There is nothing about you that does not please me,” he told her. “I think I shall always want to see pearls in your hair as they are today. And flowers. You should be forever surrounded by beautiful things, and so you shall be.”

  “I intend to leave for Cornwall in the morning,” the dowager announced suddenly. “Calum will accompany me.”

  Justine, intent upon staring into Struan’s eyes, did not respond to the woman she could not see clearly for the screen of precious metal, fruits, and flowers.

  “We will certainly be ready to receive you as soon as possible, Justine.”

  Never, it would never be possible.

  “My wife will be otherwise occupied for some time,” Struan said. He turned a strained face to the company and held Justine’s hand tightly on the table. “Eventually we shall of course make the journey to Cornwall together.”

  Justine watched the figs removed. My wife. He regarded her as his. Finally, she was truly a bride. She smiled at him and he smiled in return. How long must they wait to be alone?

  “Certain things to be taken care of,” Calum said, his voice not quite hiding the emotion of the moment. “Pippa is beside herself that she could not reach Scotland in time for the wedding. But she sent a rider with a suggestion for what we might give Struan and Justine to mark this occasion. Naturally her suggestion is perfect.”

  How very much she loved this serious brother of hers, Justine thought.

  Calum stood. “As you know, Cloudsmoor has been in Pippa’s family for generations. The property borders ours in Cornwall, and we shall always require safe passage for our tin to the port that is part of that estate. But we have no need of the house. We wish you, Struan, and y
ou, Justine, to make it your home whenever it pleases you. A parcel of land to the south—abutting the ocean—goes with the gift and we hope you and your children will enjoy it from now on. We shall certainly relish having you so close as often as you choose to come.”

  Justine found she could not swallow. She breathed through her mouth.

  “Too much,” Struan said.

  “Never too much,” Calum said. “Nothing is too much for my sister and the man who is as close as a brother to me.”

  “Then we thank you,” Struan said.

  Justine noted an edge to his voice that she didn’t understand. His face revealed nothing but reserved pleasure.

  “My turn,” Devlin North said, standing as Calum resumed his seat. “I bring you Saber’s gift to Justine. He is recuperating well, by the way, and hopes to feel like receiving company soon.” He gave a velvet box to Shanks, who progressed at a stately pace around the table.

  “For myself,” Devlin continued. “Please accept the spices that will be delivered within the week. One of the benefits of attachment to shipping.” As he spoke he looked steadily at Ella, who never raised her eyes from her lap.

  Saber’s gift was a necklace of diamonds and aquamarines Justine recognized as having belonged to his mother. “He should have kept them for his own bride,” she murmured. There was no note.

  “That is a situation we must explore as soon as possible,” Struan said softly, referring, she knew, to Saber’s strange withdrawal from his family.

  With self-conscious haste, Ella presented Justine with a length of lace she’d made herself. Max gave her a roughly carved footstool and said, “To rest your leg when it’s tired. Robert found the wood for me.”

  Justine kissed the boy and managed not to smile when he turned as red as his hair.

  “I grow tired,” the dowager said. “From me you will receive your mother’s Bible.”

  “Thank you, Grandmama.”

  “Don’t thank me,” the old lady said. “She died after giving birth to your brother. A worthy cause. Given the viscount’s position, the cause served by your following her example would be virtually pointless. You would do well to consider her plight as you read the pages she turned to for solace.”