by Fiona Neal
“Well, if I may be so bold as to remind you, Ian, I believe you were the first to use that term.”
“True, but not the first to express doubt, Deirdre, if memory serves me correctly.”
“Fair enough then, let us say we both entertained some uncertainty.” Why was he behaving like a pedantic troll?
“That was accurately stated.” A supercilious smile curled his lips.
She looked down at her nosegay. “Are we to spend our days exchanging jibes?”
“I hope not.”
“Then where is this discussion leading?”
“There’s no time to elaborate now,” he replied as the carriage halted. “We have a duty to our guests.”
Engrossed in their conversation, she had failed to notice the trip had ended. Knowing she would not have the opportunity to speak with him again for many hours, she looked up and caught hold of his sleeve. “When is the time?”
“Tonight, when we are alone,” he answered. His gaze, full of significance, bore into hers.
Deirdre comprehended the unspoken message. Feeling a flush of heat burn her cheeks, she looked away. “Doubtless that will give your legalistic mind plenty of time to conceive of ways to take advantage of me.”
He chuckled, mirthlessly. “As your husband, it is my right to take full advantage of you. As my wife, it is yours to conceive.”
Chapter Nine
The rain had begun again, noisily splattering against the panes of the casements. The great dining room glowed as the brass chandeliers, ablaze with candles, banished the gloom of the dismal afternoon.
Centerpieces of early roses, tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils splashed their gay colors on the long tables, their subtle scents mingling with the delicious odors of poached salmon, roast beef, saddles of lamb, and haggis.
Claret and whisky flowed in abundance.
“You are not eating, Deirdre.” Ian’s hand closed over hers. “Is it the excitement of being my wife?”
“For some reason,” she murmured glumly, “I have little appetite.” As always, her deceit continued to weigh heavily on her conscience, and it had quelled her appetite.
Her thoughts, at the moment, were focused on the money she needed to put things right. To make restitution to her unwilling benefactors, and ensure that Fergus could go somewhere safely away from Ian, she must commit another crime. Since her jewels were classified as moveable property, her husband exercised legal control over them. Now she must steal her own jewels, discretely sell them, and secretly reimburse her victims.
If only her uncle had excluded the jewels from the marriage contract. He could have, but stated her impulsive nature as his reason for not doing so.
Oh, the laws of the land remained so unfair to women and the poor! She had little choice but to choose between the lesser of two evils.
The thought that perhaps in time she could arrange a pardon for Fergus buoyed her spirits and gave her courage. Furthermore, she would exercise greater control of her lands, once she reached her majority.
And truly, she intended to make Ian a good wife. He need never know that she had been The Flame.
“Well,” Ian replied drolly, “let us hope that your desire for other things improves before the night is done.” He bobbed his brows, diverting her attention from her doleful thoughts to the marriage bed.
Deirdre felt the blush of heat scorch her flesh from the base of her neck to her hairline.
“You look bonnie when you blush.” Ian’s fingers tightened on her hand, torturing her with shock waves of physical longing for him. This was too insane. The man wanted her dead. She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“If you are not going to eat, at least drink some claret.” He offered her his goblet.
She took a sip and handed it back to him. She could not afford to dull her wits by becoming tipsy. Suppose she talked in her sleep? Deirdre was well aware that she sometimes screamed while in slumber. Morag told her so, and Deirdre’s sore throat gave evidence that the maid spoke truly.
She suddenly realized that the servants had delivered the bride’s pie. Deirdre loved the filling of minced meat, apples, candied fruit, Madeira, and spices. The crust was decorated with Cupids and hid the traditional gold ring. Everyone had a portion, and Bronwyn, Deirdre cousin from Dunvegan, found the ring, bringing a laugh when she feigned a broken tooth while holding the ring aloft triumphantly.
Deirdre became aware that the meal was over, and the guests processed to the ballroom where the musicians were already playing reels.
Still, she felt cheated by the absence of the bagpipes and the men swaggering about in their kilts. Now the brave Highland men dressed in knees breeches, stockings, waistcoats, and wide-cuffed jackets. And the women could no longer wear their arisaids either. Their distinctive garb and ancient identity denied them, her guests appeared like the Sassenachs to the south.
Her cousins from Dunvegan joined the dancing and even the Duke of Argyll, once one of her unwitting benefactors, was stepping lively with Lady Mary. Always the handsome gallant, Lord Strathaven paid court to every woman there, but he chose no favorite.
Deirdre caught sight of her uncle’s smiling face, and her heart warmed. Perhaps he would marry Lady Mary. He was certainly keeping a close watch on her movements around the dance floor.
Hour after hour wore on. She and Ian danced until Deirdre thought the soles of her satin slippers had worn through, so she sat.
Now intoxicated, some of the guests staggered about unsteadily like ships on a rough sea.
“It is time to break the oatcake,” Lady Barbara announced to the guests as they circled around, and Ian moved to Deirdre’s side. Her new aunt stepped behind her, and Deirdre heard the oatcake snap and felt the crumbs fall to her shoulders.
The crowd cheered and lifted their drams in toast.
“You must retire, my lady,” Lady Mary whispered discreetly.
At that moment, Uncle Robert threw an old shoe at Ian’s feet. The gesture symbolized the end of his responsibility to the bride and the passing of it to her new husband.
Without a word, Deirdre rose, and made her way out of the ballroom. The guests followed her to the door, and then stopped there since Ian pointedly stayed behind.
Grateful to her new husband, Deirdre felt relief flow through her when the guests did not accompany her to the bedchamber to witness the bedding, as was customary. Tired, she had no wish to participate in the raucous horseplay the celebrants usually performed.
Hurriedly, she walked toward the soldiers who waited for her, Morag, Lady Mary, and Aunt Barbara. Deirdre was beginning to feel stifled by the constant military presence, but she could hardly tell them The Flame no longer posed a threat. A part of her mourned that she would no longer ride the moors for the benefit of the poor.
A warm hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see her uncle.
Looking at Lady Barbara, Lady Mary and Morag, he remarked, “I wish to have a few moments alone with my niece.”
“We shall go on to your new apartments, my lady, and await you there,” Lady Mary declared, annoyance evident in her eyes.
The three women bowed and departed.
“Deirdre, I have a wedding gift for you.” Her uncle smiled. Taking her hand, he placed a box in her palm.
Deirdre opened it. “It is beautiful, Uncle Robert.” The velvet-lined box contained a huge, oval amethyst surrounded by diamonds.
“It was your mother’s, my dear.” Her uncle’s eyes became misty. “I gave it to her as a wedding gift. She wore it often. I held it back from her other jewels because I wanted to give it to you on your wedding day, just as I presented it to her.”
“Thank you, Uncle Robert.” Deirdre struggled to keep the tears back, knowing this was the one piece she would never sell. “I know you did not want to marry right now, Deirdre, but in years to come, I do not think you will regret your decision. You will understand my actions when you have your own children.”
“Perhaps you are right,” she sai
d.
“Go now, lass. Ready yourself for your husband.”
Deirdre complied. Holding her mother’s amethyst tightly, she wondered when she would gain access to the rest of her treasures. Legally, they were now her husband’s, but Ian wouldn’t begrudge her wearing them. Then she would have her chance to make things right. Only when she had made restitution could she rest easily.
* * * *
Lady Mary, Lady Barbara, and Morag quietly left the suite of rooms that Deirdre and Ian would share. Two adjoining bedchambers and two dressing rooms comprised their new lodgings. From this time forward, whenever they came to Ballanross, they would occupy these chambers.
Alone now, dressed in just her shift, Deirdre stood by the fire, fighting the chill in the air. She extended her hands toward the leaping flames. Their radiance soothed her nerves and heated the bricks of the hearth on which she stood.
As she watched the fire, the incongruity of Ian’s behavior baffled her. He behaved flirtatiously and seductively one moment. The next, he made her feel like a defendant in the witness box. For obvious reasons, any thoughts of court and the legal system terrified her.
Right now, she must calm herself. When Ian arrived, she had no doubt he would press her for answers. Or would he? Hopefully, the claret had caused him to forget their conversation in the coach this afternoon. Likely, he would proceed with making their marriage legal.
The thought of his body possessing hers took her breath away. Heaven help her, she wanted the man—perhaps too much.
Still, guilt gnawed away at her. “Please God, forgive me for the deception I must commit,” she whispered.
* * * *
As Ian walked through the door adjoining their suites and entered her chamber, he saw Deirdre start. “Sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”
“It is quite all right.” She smiled. “I-I must become accustomed to your entering my chamber.
Deirdre stood before the fire. Against the glow of flames, Ian saw the slim silhouette of her body through her chemise. Beneath his banyan, he felt his loins stir to life. He had not been able to stay in her presence without having that reaction since the moment he saw her. How he wanted to follow his natural instincts, but he could not proceed until she answered certain questions to his satisfaction.
“And you must visit my rooms.” He walked toward her, noticing the outline of her nipples poking provocatively beneath the linen of her shift. The sight made him ache all the more, but though he wanted her more than he could express, a caution bell tolled within his wary mind. “I believe we have a discussion to continue.”
“We do.” She nodded.
He took her hand and led her to the bed. As he sat, the straw mattress beneath feather ticking creaked and sagged under his weight. He patted the place beside him, and she sat there.
“Deirdre, why do you have doubts about our match?”
She sighed. “Isn’t it a little late to ask me that?”
“Nay, if we discuss things, perhaps we can resolve them.”
“But I have already explained. We’ve not seen each other in ten years.”
“But we have known each other since childhood. If you had reservations, why did you wait until now to voice them?”
“I expressed my concern before, but my uncle refused to listen.”
Her words wounded him like the thrust of a rapier’s point.
“As for knowing you, Ian, it is more precise to say we are acquainted with one another.” She lowered her thick lashes and stared into her lap. “What do we really know about each other?”
“I know you are impulsive. You ignore your uncle’s orders and go abroad in the night when he forbade you to do so. You ventured forth when you knew The Flame lurked in the area. Why, unless you were sure he posed no threat to you?”
She looked up at him, her face taut. “I will not be interrogated like a criminal.” She abruptly stood and walked to the hearth.
“You could allay my doubts.”
“I have explained, and my uncle, Fergus, and Effie verified my story. Yet, you still suspect me,” she replied with her back still to him.
She heard the mattress creak as he stood. Suddenly, she felt him close behind her as he placed his hand on her shoulders and murmured in her ear, “Last night you wandered again, and the Flame made another appearance, though the guards watched the area. That is too much of a coincidence.” He turned her around to face him. “The man must have an ally within these walls. Maybe he has a Jacobite sympathizer of noble rank everywhere he goes in order to make these miraculous escapes. You defended him earlier. You consider him a hero of the poor. You think that the ills of our society produced a need for the rogue. Now, tell me truly, Deirdre. Did you meet The Flame last night and conspire with him to return my aunt’s jewels?” Please tell the truth.
“As God is my witness, I encountered no one but you.” She raised her chin and held his gaze. “I suppose your next question will be to ask me if I am the rogue.”
He stared at her, astonished.
“Well,” she continued, “I saw you looking at my hair when you removed the strand from The Flame’s clothes.”
“And you suggested that the hair came from the head of the knave’s lover.”
“How dare you imply such a thing?”
“Why are you so angry, my lady? Have I come close to the truth?”
She arched a brow. “For all I know you could be The Flame since you were skulking about the halls yourself.”
“Me?” he asked, astounded. “The rogue robbed me, my family, and my best friend.”
“Aye, he did.” She smiled smugly, jabbing her finger into his chest. “But you could have arranged with him to do that to avoid suspicion because you robbed from your aunt and best friend. You are a peer of the realm and the nephew of the Duke of Argyll, but times are hard in Scotland. Many lords have grand titles but empty pockets. Who knows? You may have ambitions to climb higher on the social ladder. Perhaps you intrigue with the Jacobites. If they depose the Wee German Lairdie, you could become a duke yourself.”
He grabbed her wrist. “How dare you accuse me of treason and of robbing my family and friends?”
“Are you guilty? You cannot prove your innocence anymore than I. In fact, it appears extremely strange to me that The Flame returned the jewels to your aunt. I don’t remember hearing that he ever did such a thing before.”
“But he took over a hundred pounds from me and my guests.”
She jerked from his grasp. “None of us really knows how much you had with you. He could have returned the funds to you. After all, you were walking the halls last night, Ian.”
“Your suppositions are…”
“Perfectly plausible,” she finished for him. Hands on her hips, she asked, “How does it feel to be accused, Ian?”
Outraged and enraged! How could the woman stand here and render him speechless? He was a judge and a peer of the realm! Still, when presiding on the bench, he never became emotionally involved with the defendant, but he was involved with her—so much more than he should be—yet far less than he wanted to be.
To say that he had feelings for Deirdre grossly understated the situation. The more she argued her point, the more he admired her intelligence, her wit, and her spirit. Those attributes intensified his desire for her, but he refused to let passion rule reason. That strategy posed a mortal danger.
He walked away from her, slowly massaging the tense muscles in the back of his neck.
“Now, why did you proceed with this marriage if you entertained such doubts?” Deirdre demanded.
He should inform her of the terrible peril threatening her, but he hesitated. He had intended to tell her when she was safe in Kilbraeton Castle with his arms around her after they had made love.
But at the moment she angered him, hurt his pride, and let him appear incompetent. He wanted to see her fierce pride melt into humility, so he replied, “Let us say I felt obligated to honor the contract I had signed.”
> He saw her flinch and felt baser than the bottom of a privy. Remorse filled him.
“Was that why you wanted to bed me last night? Forgive me if I doubt that duty, honor, or any legality had anything to do with your advances.”
“Which you did not repel, may I remind you.” Damn her stubborn hide. He refused to let her get the best of him. “Furthermore, let me leave you with no doubt in your mind about this. I shall not come to your bed until you invite me; nay, beg me to visit it, and then only after I have satisfied my conscience that you have not conspired with the Flame.”
Frustrated and angry, Ian turned on his heel and stormed back to his room. As he slammed the door between them, he made a point to throw the bolt so its clink informed her that he was locking her out.
Breathing heavily, he rested his head against the doorjamb.
He must get her to Kilbraeton. Then he would inform her that The Flame was conspiring with her would-be abductors. Deirdre would discover that the rogue was using her as an unwitting dupe, and her haughty spirit would take a well-deserved fall.
* * * *
Deirdre started violently as the door crashed against its frame, and the bolt slid shut with a loud metallic ping. She stood and stared at the stout barrier keeping her from Ian. In reality, the oaken obstacle represented only a symbol of their separation. Lies and deception created the real obstructions.
But what could she do? If Ian knew she was The Flame, he would be honor bound to turn her over to the authorities. That was the nature of his character.
Still, she had pushed him too far. That had been the opposite of her intent. His falling in love with her constituted the only hope she had to avoid dancing from the end of a rope. If she was completely honest with herself, she had to admit that she looked forward to his kisses and caresses.
Perhaps he remained aloof from her bed because he planned to petition for an annulment. He had made it quite clear that he still harbored doubts about their marriage.
A part of her felt relieved. She would live without measuring her every word to him—without living a lie with him every day of her life. Then why did her heart cry out with a deep sense of overwhelming grief and frustration?