Bride

by Stella Cameron

  Ella listened to the hum and snip of insects and the faint rustle of larger creatures going on their way.

  A whinny … She clutched the reins. For a second she thought she heard a horse nicker and a muffled sound of hoofs.

  Her stomach seemed to echo the beat of her heart.

  Alone.

  She looked behind her and then along the trail again. No horse and rider traveled her way this night—except in her fear-filled imagination.

  To go back might take as long—or longer—than to go on. And if she went back she would have given up on her only hope for help … and peace.

  At a fork in the track, she chose the left way and prayed she’d chosen well. Breaking from a copse, she arrived at the top of a knoll. She looked down upon a wall that showed pale in the moonlight and stretched as far as she could see in either direction. The bulk of an impressive house stood only a short distance inside the nearest stretch of the wall.

  The little filly had tired. Ella rested her awhile and ordered her own thoughts. Devlin North had made his interest in her quite plain, and even though she had given him no encouragement, he could doubtless complicate what she had come here to do.

  She would plead a private family matter involving Saber and hope Devlin would not press her further.

  The approach was to the back of the house; nevertheless, a handsome stone stag topped an archway over the entrance to a well-kept drive. Ella chose to take her horse onto the smooth grassland where the sound of hooves would be dulled. The less attention she excited, the better.

  Northcliff Hall lay where sloping, tree-dotted parkland swept down on all sides. Devlin had spoken of the place with barely concealed pride, and Ella understood why. Devlin had also hinted—while gazing at her—that the place needed a mistress. Ella sighed in the gloom. Poor man. He was charming, handsome, and very kind, but probably wanted a connection to a titled family. He would not gain such a connection through the likes of one who did not even know her family name.

  She discarded the notion that she might seek entrance through the rear of the house and rode around to the main doors. Light showed in a number of windows, but an air of slumber hung over the grand building.

  Ella dismounted, tethered the filly to a stone bench, and climbed the fan of semicircular steps to the door. Taking a giant breath, she pulled the bell and stepped back, wincing at the echoing ring that gradually faded.

  Seconds passed before the door opened the merest crack and not one, but three faces—one above the other—peered out at her. The crack became a few inches wider.

  “A gir-rel,” the middle, round-faced man said. His red hair stood on end.

  “Lost,” the uppermost, bald man announced.

  Beneath these two hunched an ancient with creased white skin almost as pale as his hair. “Ye barley-brains!” Spittle flew with each word. “What would a girl the likes o’ her be doin’ lost at this time o’ night?”

  “Good evening,” Ella said with extreme politeness. “I am—I am Ella. I live at Kirkcaldy and I am acquainted with both Mr. Devlin North and with Saber, Earl of Avenall.”

  “She’s acquainted with the master,” the bald man said.

  The red-haired servant announced, “Called away on business,” with evident relish. “Left suddenly. For foreign parts.”

  Ella was afraid they would slam the door. “Mr. North isn’t here?”

  “Let the lassie in.” Straightening with enough bony force to knock his companions backward, the old man opened the door fully and beckoned her inside a vestibule lined with green Italian marble. A circle of columns of the same marble rose to the perimeter of a domed ceiling. Green and white marble tiles completed an austere and cold welcome to Northcliff Hall.

  “Thank you, Mr.—?”

  “Nudge,” the three chorused. They wore identical garb that suggested they were butlers.

  She puckered her brow. “I do believe there’s a Nudge—”

  “Newly installed butler at Lord Hunsingore’s establishment,” the oldest Nudge announced. “Nephew. Family tradition.”

  “I see.” Ella smiled uncertainly. “Well … in fact, I came to see Lord Avenall. He—”

  “Doesna see anyone,” the bald servant pronounced.

  “He is my … my stepmother’s cousin,” she said around a lump in her throat. “There is a family matter of some urgency, and I have come to make certain Lord Avenall is informed.”

  The three men looked at each other, then back at Ella.

  She checked her habit and brushed at her skirts. “This is of the utmost importance, I assure you.”

  “Hmmph.” The oldest member of the committee was stooped but still taller than the other two. “Away wi’ ye,” he told his cohorts. “I’ll see t’this.”

  Without another word, the men did as he bade them.

  “Ella, y’said?”

  “Yes.”

  “And his lordship’ll know ye?”

  Ella’s hands were so cold. “He’ll know me.”

  “How should I announce ye?”

  “As Ella. Nothing more.”

  He turned away. “Follow me if ye please.” They started up a beautiful, curving staircase—marble, naturally. “The master keeps worry in’ I’m too old. Y’said ye know Mr. North?”

  “I do. A fine gentleman.”

  “Fine indeed. There’s not many in his station as would consider an old man’s bones. It’s only that he worries about me bein’ put out by the likes o’ this visit o’ yours and so on. He brought in my son. The smarmy one wi’ red hair. Supposed t’help me. Then the master thought mayhap my grandson— him wi’ no a hair on his daft head—thought he might be of service t’us both. Hah! Useless, t’pair o’ them.”

  Ella smothered a laugh and the desire to ask just how old her guide was.

  “The earl’s a quiet one. But I expect ye know that.”

  “Yes,” Ella said, thinking of the times when Saber had been full of spirit and anything but quiet.

  “O’course, wi’ his trouble he’s not fond o’ visitors. But, since you’re family, I expect …”

  Knowing she was supposed to offer reassurance, Ella said, “Oh, yes. He’ll be quite agreeable to seeing me, I assure you. We’re old friends.”

  Their ponderous progress took them to double doors at the end of an easterly wing. The butler knocked discreetly, entered without being told to do so, and closed Ella outside.

  Within moments the door opened again and the butler emerged, his face expressionless. “Follow me, please, miss,” he said, heading back in the direction from which they’d come.

  He’d refused to see her. “But—”

  “Lord Avenall isn’t able t’have visitors. I’ll show ye out.”

  Ella looked from the butler’s back to the door he hadn’t quite closed, and stepped quickly into the room. She searched desperately about a library of elegant proportion. At any moment the servant would return and insist she leave with him.

  Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Drapes the color of fine Burgundy and tied with gold satin ropes looped back from a bow casement.

  The light in the room was so dim, Ella could make out nothing that moved or breathed.

  “Saber?” she whispered.

  Dark-green leather wingback chairs flanked the hearth. A meager fire burned.

  In front of the window stood a majestic rosewood desk, but the chair behind it was empty.

  “You should not have come.”

  She jumped and spun toward the voice. “Saber?”

  Then she saw a hand on the arm of one green leather chair. A long, elegant hand and a full white sleeve.

  Ella crept forward. “Oh, Saber, It is you.” He stared into the fire’s embers, his dramatic profile somber. His dark hair curled past his collar. “It’s me—Ella. May I sit down and talk with you?”

  “No.”

  She felt ill. Finally she managed to say, “I had to come.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I n
eed help. You once told me that if ever I needed help you would be as a brother to me.”

  “I cannot help you.”

  Ella glanced nervously at the door but heard no sound of returning footsteps. “Lady Justine and Papa are married now.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “It is because you and Lady Justine are cousins that I come to you for help.” And because she thought he had shared some measure of the feelings she had for him.

  “Viscount Hunsingore is not my cousin. And he is not your father. Did you think I would forget that?”

  Her stomach twisted. “No. No, I did not think that. But when I told you I was a … when I told you, you said it did not matter.”

  “When you told me you were a bastard I said it did not matter. It doesn’t. It also doesn’t matter that you were in a brothel, or that the viscount bought you at auction or some such monstrousness.”

  Ella crammed a fist against her mouth.

  “Is my cousin well?”

  She could not speak.

  “Is she?”

  “Yes.”

  “The viscount treats her well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for coming to tell me as much.”

  Blinking back tears, Ella made herself ask what she’d truly come to ask. “All is not well with … with the viscount. I believe his life may be in danger.”

  Saber rested his head against the back of the chair and regarded a palm. “What is that to me?”

  Stunned, Ella took a step forward.

  “Come no closer,” Saber said, motioning her away. “I do not wish to look upon you.”

  “Why?” She did as he asked, retreating again. “What have I done to make you hate me so?”

  “I do not hate you.”

  “Why will you not help me, then?”

  “What do you think of Devlin?”

  “He is a nice man.” Saber did hate her. “You have not told him about me, have you?”

  “No. You will tell him yourself when the time is right. I think he would make you a fine husband. He is certainly very taken with you.”

  “But”—Ella’s chin sank to her chest—“I am not a good catch, am I, Saber? I am nothing. Nobody.”

  “You are incomparable, my dear. Forgive me if I distress you. I have not been well.”

  “Let me tend you. Let me—”

  “No.” He cut her off sharply. “And I cannot do anything to help Viscount Hunsingore. I can urge you to encourage Devlin’s suit.”

  I do not love Devlin. “You cannot help?”

  “I cannot.”

  “And you want me to leave?”

  He averted his head so that she saw only the back of his overlong hair. “God bless you always, Ella. Good-bye, little one.”

  She wrapped her arms across her middle. “Could I … Can I give you just one hug? As sister to brother?” To feel him, just to feel him once more. Little enough to ask for a lifetime.

  “Good-bye, Ella. Neither the viscount nor my cousin would approve of this jaunt. I hope you have a coachman who will not reveal that you have taken such an unwise outing.”

  Coachman? She was about to ride back through the darkness without as much as a word of hope of affection from the one man who held the power to make her the most happy creature in the world.

  “One of the Nudges will see you safely to your carriage. They greeted you when you came.”

  With her lips pressed together, Ella swung away and ran across the room. “It did matter,” she said, her throat aching. “And it does. All of it. Everything about my hateful past. I disgust you.”

  As she pulled open the door, she glanced back in time to see Saber leaning from the shadows of his chair to watch her. Instantly he averted his face.

  Ella didn’t stop running until she’d let herself out of the icy cool vestibule. No servant appeared to help or hinder her. Her heart pounded. Pulsing thudded at her temples and she let tears pour, unchecked, down her scorching cheeks.

  She stopped, casting this way and that. The filly wasn’t where she’d left her. The animal must have tugged her reins loose.

  “Here, girl,” Ella whispered hoarsely. She could not face the Nudge trio now—or anyone else.

  A nicker from somewhere nearby brought a great leap of relief. Ella lifted her skirts and rushed in the direction of the noise. “Come on. Here, girl. Here. Oh, there you are, silly.”

  The piebald horse cropped the grass close to a large Grecian urn mounted on a short, thick base. Desperate to be gone, Ella grabbed the bridle and brought the horse around.

  A length of something rough—swung over her head from behind—-jammed her teeth apart.

  Ella had no chance to scream.

  The old mill stood beside an overgrown tributary of the river some distance from the castle. In disuse since Struan’s father’s time, what had been the mill house now amounted to little more than a shell with holes in the roof. The rotting mill wheel creaked in the morning wind and there was no sign of life.

  “Perhaps your holy man has spread his golden wings and flown away,” Arran said grimly.

  Calum clapped Struan’s back. “We don’t need him, friend. Let’s turn back and make this female tell us where to find the man who threatens you.”

  “You cannot begin to understand what manner of woman this is. I cannot risk inciting danger to my family—or yours.”

  Arran reined in his horse. “If only you’d come to me direct. I could have stopped this foolishness before it ever began.”

  Struan laughed without mirth. “Come to you and told you I believed I’d as good as raped an innocent maid when I was supposedly making up my mind to take my final vows as a priest? And knowing how you felt about the entire affair?”

  “You only went in that direction to spite me. You—-”

  “We’ll not waste time on that now,” Calum broke in. “It is in the past. Are you set upon speaking with this abbot?”

  “I’ve told you as much,” Struan said, dismounting. “He’s got a wisdom few men can hope to have. And he told me he came here hoping to be of some help to me. I want him to know what’s happened.”

  Calum swung down to join him. He walked his horse toward the ramshackle building. Arran remained astride his mount but rode beside his brother and his friend. “Struan,” he said when they were close enough to see through the gap where the front door should have been. “Whatever happens, you know you have my support.”

  “Mine, too,” Calum said promptly. “I shall speak with Justine and explain the way of things.”

  “No,” Struan said quickly. “I thank you both for supporting me, but I will win my wife’s trust in my own way—through making her believe in me again.”

  Calum grasped Struan’s arm and put a finger to his lips. He pointed toward the river.

  “I’m damned,” Arran muttered. “He is here, then. Someone should have told me the condition of this place. I’d have made certain he was better housed.”

  Kneeling on the riverbank, Abbot John Grably, his brow pressed to his entwined fingers, bowed in an attitude of deep prayer.

  Struan halted and turned away.

  “What is it?” Arran asked. “You wanted the monk. There he is.”

  “He’s at prayer,” Struan said.

  “You, there!”

  At Arran’s shout, Struan closed his eyes, remembering how it had once been to sink deeply into himself and to feel the separation from all worldly matters.

  Calum’s arm descended firmly over Struan’s shoulders. “Take heart. You are no longer alone in this horror. If you weren’t such a stubborn devil, you need never have been alone with it.”

  Struan looked over his shoulder and saw that the abbot had risen to his feet and now hurried toward them, the skirts of his brown habit flapping about bare ankles.

  “Good morning to you, my lord,” he said to Arran. “I know you from Robert Mercer’s description of you. Bless you for your goodness to your tenants.”


  Arran’s response held derision. “I doubt you would thank me for my goodness to you, Brother.” He indicated the mill house. “This is not a way I come. Had someone told me the condition of this hovel, I would have found something more suitable.”

  Grably pushed back his graying hair. “I am comfortable enough. I have many friends who make certain I want for nothing.”

  “They tell me it is you who share what little you have,” Struan said, advancing on the abbot. “But we have other things to discuss this morning. I need you. We three will speak together, and then I would ask you to come to my home. I believe you can be of great service to me and the question of a suitable lodging for you will be solved.”

  Grably frowned.

  “We know what happened to Struan at the abbey,” Calum announced. “The woman. Glory Willing.”

  The abbot tilted his face to the sky, and Struan heard his slowly expelled breath. “I was wrong to allow the viscount to leave under such circumstances.” The man leveled an intense stare at Struan. “I was not certain you would ever take your final vows. I never doubted your sincerity—only the wisdom of encouraging you to leave behind your family, your music, your keen interest in this estate, and the others the Rossmaras command.”

  “You considered me wedded to earthly things?” Struan knew he should be beyond feeling judged unworthy of a state to which he no longer aspired.

  “I considered that you could be of more use here. There are plenty of men available to pray and read scholarly books. You can do these things and be useful to your brother and the people of Kirkcaldy.” Grably smiled, sending deep lines into his lean cheeks. “And now Robert tells me you are married to a wonderful lady. Allow me to congratulate you.”

  “Thank you.” Struan could not bring himself to smile in return.

  “All is not harmony in my brother’s house.” Arran, ever blunt, delivered the news without finesse. “His new wife has expressed a desire never to lay eyes upon him again. She believes he is a debauched fiend.”

  Grably frowned deeply. “Surely you jest.”