"It's like that in small communities," Alice Matthews said placidly. "But Skoalans have good hearts. With your island background, you'll soon be accepted."
Thinking this was a good time to ask questions, Catherine said, "I know nothing about my mother's family. Do I have any aunts or uncles, or other close relatives?"
Glynis and Alice shared a glance, as if wondering whether to reveal some secret. "Your mother was a De Salle," Glynis said. "She was an only child so you've no first cousins, but I was a De Salle, so you and I are related. Second cousins, I believe."
"How lovely. I think I'm going to like having relations." Catherine leaned forward in her chair. "Did you know my mother?"
"Aye, though I was just a tiny lass, I remember her well. She was the most beautiful girl, but then, you'd know that." Glynis smiled wryly. "Headstrong, too. It was plain to anyone who saw her with Will that they were meant to be together, but neither set of parents wanted to believe it. Too much difference in their stations, him being the son of the laird and her the daughter of a smallholder, not even a member of the council."
"What is the council?"
Looking surprised by Catherine's ignorance, Alice explained, "The original Norman charter said the laird must be able to field forty armed men to fight for his overlord,the Duke of Cornwall. The first laird assigned a plot of land to each of his men-at-arms. The land and the right to sit on the island council descend to the eldest son."
"I see. Is Davin a council member?"
Glynis glanced at Alice again. "No, but he was a bright lad, so he was sent to the mainland to study agriculture."
Catherine wondered what wasn't being said. Before she could pursue the point, the vicar and Davin joined the ladies. "The laird wished to speak privately with your husband." Amusement showed in Davin's eyes. "I don't think it will be fatal."
Poor Michael; he was paying dearly for the nursing care he'd received in Brussels. When he and her grandfather joined the others half an hour later, Catherine was not surprised that they both looked tired.
Michael came to her side. "Would you like to go onto the balcony for some fresh air?"
"That would be welcome." They went outside. After closing the French doors behind them, Michael draped his arm around her shoulders. "Since everyone can see us, we might as well put on a small show of spousely affection," he said under his breath.
She smiled, glad for an excuse to slip her arm around his waist. "Was my grandfather interrogating you?"
Michael rolled his eyes. "It was easier being a French prisoner. The laird seems to have heard of every wild thing Colin ever did. After throwing it all in my face, he announced I was not good enough for his granddaughter. Naturally I agreed with him instantly."
Half amused, half appalled, she said, "How dreadful. Did that mollify him?"
"Eventually. After I mumbled a lot of platitudes about how the horrors of war can make a man act recklessly, but that peace and my fortunate survival have made me reevaluate my life and vow to reform." He frowned. "I dislike deceiving him. Though he's difficult, his concern for his tenants is very real."
She bit her lip. "I'm sorry to have put you in that position. You were right at the beginning when you said there would be all sorts of unexpected consequences."
His arm tightened around her shoulders. "In this case, I think the end justifies the means. You'll make an admirable Lady of Skoal. But first we must convince your grandfather that we are reliable and very married. He has an old-fashioned belief that a woman must have a husband."
"Then it's time for more spousely affection." She stood on her toes and touched her lips to his.
She meant it as a gesture of thanks and affection, so she was unprepared for the intensity of his response. He made a choked sound and his mouth crushed into hers. Her lips opened under the force of the kiss. Sliding, languid richness. Fierce, consuming power. She felt strengthless, her body melting into his, yet at the same time she was blazingly alive, her fatigue seared away.
She had not known, never dreamed, that a kiss could be like this. Her hands opened and closed helplessly on his ribs. This was what she had wanted since the first time she met him. This dark masculine force that dissolved her fears, this flowering of desire that filled her heart and flooded her senses.
His palms kneaded her back, shaping her body and pressing it into his. Then the hardening ridge of male flesh against her belly shattered her mood and returned her to reality. She wanted to cry out and shove him violently away.
But the fault was hers, not his. She put her hands on his upper arms and stepped back, saying lightly, "That should convince everyone we're married."
She saw the shock of interrupted desire in his eyes, the rapid pulse in his throat, and despised herself. She had failed to keep her distance, and now he was paying for her weakness.
Because he was stronger than she, it was only a handful of moments before his feelings were masked behind cool, social amusement. "We might have overdone it. People who have been married for a dozen years seldom kiss like that in the middle of a dinner party. This would be more believable."
He raised her chin and his lips slanted across hers for an instant. She saw when he released her chin that he was unaffected by the caress. She was not so lucky; the swift, passing touch was enough to restore the fever in her blood. With despair, she wondered why life was so unfair. It would be far easier if she were incapable of desire.
Placing his palm in the small of her back, Michael guided her toward the French doors. "I think we've done our duty as guests and can honorably retire now. I'm so exhausted that I won't even be aware I'm sleeping on the floor."
Perhaps he wouldn't notice, but she would. She noticed every breath he took.
Michael spent half the night lying awake and feeling like an adulterer. Catherine's expression after that damnable, heedless kiss haunted him. Granted, she had initiated it, but her intentions had been innocent. He was the one who had turned a simple embrace into raging lust.
When she broke away, her eyes had been filled with dismay, almost fear. He had hated himself for doing that to her. She considered him a friend, and was trusting him in a situation vital to her future. But because of that kiss, she had watched warily when he locked the door of the bedchamber behind them. Her body had been stiff, as if she feared he would force unwelcome attentions on her, and she did not speak as she went behind the screen to change from her evening dress.
She had emerged in a nightgown that was large and shapeless and quite opaque. Nonetheless, she had looked utterly desirable as she slid under the bedcovers.
He had done his best to be matter-of-fact, as if sharing a bedroom with her was a perfectly normal business. The pallet he made up was as far from the bed as possible. He carefully dowsed the candles before changing into his nightclothes and lying down.
His behavior must have allayed her concern, for soon her breathing had become soft and regular. He envied her clear conscience, the result of being a saint rather than a sinner. Proof of his depraved nature was that he could not suppress the satisfaction of knowing that she had briefly responded to him with an intensity that matched his own. Though she was a good and virtuous wife, she, too, felt the sexual pull between them.
It would be safer if she did not. As he stared into the darkness and listened to the ceaseless rumble of the sea, he wondered if their honorable principles would be strong enough to prevent them from doing the unforgivable.
Chapter 23
Catherine threw back her head and laughed into the wind. "Beautiful!"
Silently Michael agreed, though his gaze was on her sunlit form, not the crashing waves far below at the base of the cliff. She looked eerily like the sketch that Kenneth had drawn of the diabolically beautiful Siren who stood on a wild, rocky shore, singing a lethal song to draw sailors to their doom. If the Siren was as lovely as Catherine, those ancient sailors had died happy.
Davin Penrose was giving the visitors a tour of Skoal, explaining the sights a
nd introducing Catherine and her "husband" to the islanders. The Skoalans were reserved with the laird's granddaughter. Slow, thoughtful gazes would go from her to the constable to Michael, then back to Catherine. She would have to prove herself before she would be fully accepted.
Michael guessed that her beauty counted against her, for it was hard to believe a woman so lovely could also be serious of purpose. The islanders would learn in time.
Davin spoke again. "Even though the island is small, the edges are so rough that it's said the coastline is forty miles long." He indicated the rocky path that led down the cliff face. "Below is Dane's Cove. There's a small beach below. You might like to visit another day. It's a good place to picnic."
Catherine smiled. "If the seagulls don't steal one's food. I've never seen so many gulls."
"It's illegal to kill a gull on Skoal," Davin said. "In the fog, their cries warn sailors that land is near."
Michael shaded his eyes and peered into the sun. "Is that another island out there, or a mirage?"
"That's Bone, our sister island. It's almost as large as Skoal. You've not heard of it?"
"I'm afraid not," Catherine replied. "What an odd name."
"Not so odd," Davin said dryly. "Skoal meant 'skull' in the old Viking tongue. The warriors' toast of 'Skoal!' was drunk from the skull of an enemy. Since Vikings named this island, it makes sense that the neighboring one is called Bone." Having earlier received permission from Catherine to smoke when he wished, Davin took out a clay pipe and filled it with tobacco from his pouch. "Bone is part of the Bailiwick of Skoal, so it belongs to the laird."
Catherine gazed out over the white-capped waves. "Does anyone live there?"
"It's an unlucky place." Davin shielded the bowl of his pipe from the wind and lit the tobacco. "There's a huge seabird colony, and sheep and cattle graze there, but no man has lived on Bone for at least a hundred years."
"Why is it considered unlucky?" Michael asked.
"Irish monks built there as well as here, but one Easter they were murdered by Vikings while singing mass. It was a long time before Bone was settled again. Things were well enough at first. Then a plague killed every man, woman, and child. No one has wanted to live there since." The constable gazed pensively across the sea. "There are other problems. The landscape is rocky and the soil not so fertile as here. Also, though the islands are only a couple of miles apart, the waters are so rough and the currents so strong that crossing between is difficult."
Intrigued, Catherine said, "Is it possible to visit?"
"Oh, aye, with a good boatman and a calm day. We go over once or twice a year to shear the sheep and slaughter some of the cattle. Tough beef, but it means that more land on Skoal can be cultivated for crops."
"Skoal is a tiny kingdom, isn't it?" Catherine observed. "Almost entirely self-sufficient, every inch of land known and loved by people whose roots run centuries deep. You must be proud of your part in making it this way."
Davin's teeth clamped onto the stem of his pipe, and a muscle jerked in his jaw. Catherine didn't notice because she was still looking at Bone, but Michael saw, and was surprised. He wondered what caused such a reaction in a man who was usually so calm. One would think the constable would be pleased by the approval of a woman who might become his employer.
After a long silence, Davin removed the pipe from his mouth and said dispassionately, "I merely do my job. Everyone on Skoal contributes in his own fashion. We need and trust each other. There are no locked doors on this island."
As they went back to where their horses were tethered, Glynis Penrose and two young boys strolled into view from behind a stand of wind-gnarled trees. The constable's wife also carried an infant in a sling fashioned from a shawl.
She smiled sunnily at the visitors as the older children skipped up to greet their father. "Good day to you both. These are our boys, Jack and Ned." She grinned. "I think they saw you riding this way, and had hopes of a meeting. You two are the most exciting news on Skoal in years."
Jack and Ned bowed politely when they were introduced to Catherine, but their real interest was in Michael. Jack, about eight years old with vivid island eyes, said, "You were at Waterloo, Captain Melbourne?"
Michael affirmed that he was, and was instantly besieged with questions. Ned, two or three years younger and with blue eyes like his mother, favored the cavalry, while Jack hero-worshiped the Rifles. Obviously a child of outstanding intelligence.
As Michael answered the barrage of questions, Catherine said, "Who is the youngest member of the family?"
"This is Emily." Glynis lifted the baby from the sling. "Would you like to hold her?"
"Oh, yes." Catherine accepted the infant with enthusiasm. "What a pretty poppet. I'm your cousin Catherine. Are you your mama's favorite girl?" She rubbed noses with the child. "Your papa's little sweetheart?"
Emily squealed with delight and waved her plump arms. Soon the two were conversing in the nonsense sounds of baby talk.
The sight of Catherine's radiant face made Michael's throat tighten. She was everything he had ever idealized in a woman. The loving mother every child deserved, and few had. The irresistible woman who had captured his heart. The fiercely caring nurse who had risked her life to save his.
The wife who was not his own.
Yet he could not stop himself from wanting her. In a moment of bittersweet clarity, he recognized that he did not regret his desire, even though it made this mission so difficult. Simply being with Catherine was worth almost any price.
"What a darling," Catherine said as she handed the chortling baby back to her mother. "It's interesting-I've noticed that most islanders either have dark hair, like me and Davin and Jack, or blond hair, like you and Ned and Emily. Almost no one seems to be in the middle, with brown hair." She glanced at Michael with a smile. "Like you, who haven't a drop of Skoalan blood."
Actually, he had gotten more than a drop from her, but he supposed that it didn't count in this context.
"You're right," Glynis said thoughtfully. "I suppose our ancestors were mostly blond Scandinavians or black-haired Celts."
Her husband added, "There's an old legend that the island eyes came from a selkie-a magical creature that's a seal in the sea and a man on the land."
"It's a grand tale," Glynis said. "The selkie loved a lass with raven hair and an angel's smile. But he could only come to land on the full moon, and she could not join him in the sea. They became lovers and she bore him a child. But she was wed, and when her husband saw the sea in the baby's eyes, he took his longbow to Seal Rock and slew his rival. They say the selkie's ghost still calls for his love when the moon is full."
"The moral seems to be that adulterers come to a bad end," Michael said dryly.
Glynis gave him a glance of amused exasperation. "Anglo-Saxons have no romance in their bones."
"I'm afraid not," he agreed. And he was definitely against adultery.
The constable checked the time on his pocket watch. "Since Lord Haldoran invited you for tea, we should be getting on." He gave his wife a private smile. "I'll be home for dinner."
The touring party mounted and waved good-bye to Glynis and the boys. They followed the track along the cliff for half a mile. The fertile fields ended, replaced by tough, wind-scoured shrubbery. The path turned sharply and Davin pulled to a halt. "Lord Haldoran lives on Little Skoal, This is the Neck, the natural causeway that connects the two parts of the island."
Michael's brows went up as he surveyed the perilous ribbon of stone and the waves crashing on jagged rocks far below. "The guidebook mentioned that the Neck is only ten feet wide and hundreds of feet above the sea, but words don't do it justice."
"The writer exaggerated. The Neck is a good twelve feet across in some places," Davin said with dry humor. "But beasts get nervous here, so it's better to walk across."
They all dismounted and set off across the Neck, leading their horses. In the middle, Catherine paused and peered over the edge. The fierce wind whi
pped at her clothing and the sound of the waves was so loud she had to raise her voice. "Shouldn't there be railings?"
"It's not necessary," Davin replied. "Only one man has ever fallen, and he was drunk. Islanders know to be careful here."
She glanced at the rocks below doubtfully. If she became the Lady, railings would go up soon.
The constable added, "By the way, that islet there is Seal Rock, where legend says the selkie was slain."
Sure enough, one of the barren rocks in the distance was draped with the bodies of sunning seals. Catherine had a mental image of a seal emerging onto land under the silvery light of the full moon and turning into a man. If he were tall and lithe and strong, like Michael, and with equally mesmerizing eyes, it was understandable how a girl would forget honor and wisdom…
With a sigh, she resumed her passage across the Neck. Her problem was not adultery, for she no longer had a husband. The insoluble dilemma lay within her.
Ragnarok was only a few minutes' ride beyond the Neck. It stood near the edge of the cliffs. Though the name was ancient, the house itself was relatively new. Its calm Palladian lines seemed almost incongruous in this wild, windswept setting.
Davin did not dismount when they reached the head of the driveway. "If you don't mind, I'll leave you here. I've work to do. Can you find your way back to the castle?"
"Don't worry," Michael said as he helped Catherine from her sidesaddle. "Skoal isn't large enough to get seriously lost."
The constable touched his hat brim, then trotted down the driveway again. Catherine watched him go. "I get the feeling he would rather not be Lord Haldoran's guest."
Before Michael could respond, a broad, muscular man with a scarred face emerged from the house. "I'm Doyle," he said laconically. "I'll take your horses to the stables."
Catherine studied Doyle curiously as she handed over her reins. He looked familiar. She guessed that she had seen him in Brussels, when he had been one of the brawny servants who had helped Haldoran convey Amy and the Mowbrys to Antwerp. Doyle's London accent marked him as a non-Skoalan, and his battered face made him seem like a ruffian. Like the house itself, he was an odd sight in this remote place.
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