by Fiona Neal
“There is plenty of time for that, and when we do go, we will stay in our own townhouses. My father built one in Edinburgh and one in Glasgow.”
“Oh,” she replied, grappling against his thrall.
He stood, enveloping her in his embrace. His hot breath tickled the whorls of her ears, and longing rushed over her like the incoming tide.
Deirdre tried to keep a clear head. If she seemed too anxious to leave Kilbraeton, Ian would suspect her motives. She must proceed carefully. After all, she still had not discovered where he had hidden her treasures.
But maybe she should change her tactics. Perhaps a direct question would return better results. After all, she had a right to know where her property was kept, and it was only natural to be interested her own possessions.
His lips hovered close to hers. “I do not want to share you with anyone for a while, Deirdre.”
As he kissed her, all thought of jewels and journeys fled her mind, and her body ignited with mindless need.
* * * *
Ian cradled his napping wife, holding her silken body. He had not planned to make love to her again, but her ardent response inflamed him beyond imagining, sweeping all restraint away.
Deirdre stretched against him and opened her eyes. “You are a very wicked man, Ian Campbell. Who would have thought that beneath your proper exterior beats a very wanton heart.”
“It is you who makes it pound, my sweet.”
She raised her eyebrows and her smile widened. “Ah, just like a man to blame a woman for his unquenchable lust.” She traced her fingernail around his nipple and giggled as he flinched.
“Do not deny your part.” He kissed the tip of her little nose. “You seemed quite a willing accomplice.”
She nodded happily.
“So you are not too disappointed about missing Edinburgh.”
She shook her head. “I am not disappointed about that, but…”
“What is it?” She seemed to be struggling with something. “Please, Deirdre, if I can put your mind at ease, let me.”
“It is the matter of my jewels.”
Ian wanted to groan. He had never felt comfortable about holding her property from her. “What about them, Deirdre?”
“I want to know where you are keeping them.” She sat up, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. “It is my right, although you have control over my moveable property, you should not deny me access.”
He saw the situation fast careening out of hand. They had no need for discord between them. Sitting up, Ian put a finger to her lips. “Deirdre, I never wanted to hold the jewels for safekeeping, but your uncle insisted.” He reached for her hand. “I didn’t wish to contradict him because he suffers from attacks, so I complied.”
Her darkening mood seemed to burst like a soap bubble, leaving no evidence that it ever existed.
“I am sorry, Ian. I should not have accused you falsely.”
“I understand. I would feel the same way if someone infringed on my rights. Let us dress and I shall show you where they are.”
* * * *
His hand gripping a huge old key, Ian led her up the stone stairs of the ancient central tower. The stone walls loomed above, dwarfing her as slivers of light beamed though the arrow slits.
Finally, they stopped one floor below the battlements and moved to a heavy, oak door scrolled with huge hinges. Ian slid the key into the lock. It tumbled noisily as the mechanism turned. He shoved the barrier and it opened reluctantly.
Inside the large room, Deirdre walked to the small window, throwing open the shutters. The cleanliness of the chamber astonished her. She had expected dust and grime, but no cobwebs festooned the stone walls or flagged floors.
“When we wrested this castle from the Stewarts, centuries ago, this chamber served as the counting room. Now we use it for storage.” Ian walked to a beautifully carved table. A large chest rested atop it. “This repository holds your jewels, Deirdre.”
She walked toward the chest as he unlocked it and lifted the lid. Her gaze fell on a number of smaller boxes filling the cedar-lined interior. Picking one up, she opened it. “Oh!” she exclaimed
A huge, square-cut, golden topaz ring set with emeralds and diamonds winked back at her.
He moved behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders. “The stone’s fire matches your own.”
Deirdre turned to him. His smile warmed her heart. She secured the piece and returned it to the chest. She reached for the next package, a rather large, rectangular box. Opening it, she nearly lost her breath. A necklace of sapphires, the size of robin’s eggs, hung from a lacework of gold and tiny diamonds. “I had no idea!”
“You’ve never seen your jewelry before?” he asked, equally astounded.
“Just the tiara I wore the day we wed, some pearls and the amethyst my uncle gave me on our wedding day,” she replied, mesmerized. “Uncle Robert kept them locked away. There is a king’s ransom here.”
“More like an emperor’s,” Ian added. “Your uncle showed me every piece.”
The treasures here amounted to thousands of times more than what she needed to make restitution.
“We should take an inventory,” Ian suggested. “We need some record of their existence.”
Just what she did not need if she were going to smuggle one away! But he had already seen them, and his memory was keen. “Oh, that is unnecessary. They will be safe here,” she countered.
Ian took the necklace out of the box and fastened it around her neck.
Deirdre suddenly remembered Ian removing his aunt’s necklace when The Flame stopped them. She had really frightened the kind, old woman. A wave of hot guilt scorched her conscience.
He stepped around to look at her. “I cannot say if they adorn you or if you adorn them.”
She did not deserve his sweet compliment. At this moment, he was restoring her belongings to her while she was scheming to deceive him. Sadly, she had no other choice at her disposal.
Deirdre must make restitution and she must do it soon. Being a man of principle, Ian would be forced to condemn her and Fergus to death if he knew the truth. She felt compelled to wipe out her felonies and send her loyal servant away to safety. Now all she need do was wait for an opportunity.
“Keep this, Deirdre. The jewels are yours to keep.”
Her heart tripped as he placed the key in her hand. “But the law—”
“I have no need for your moveable property.” He kissed the tip of her nose.
“Thank you, Ian.”
“You’re welcome, lass.”
He kissed her, but Deirdre’s heart was breaking. She must betray his trust. And if he ever discovered the betrayal, all the jewels in the world would never buy it back.
Chapter Fifteen
Ian paced the fine oak floor of the drawing room, his concern mounting with every step. Spring had drifted into summer, and still the Jacobite plotters roamed at large. But the missive he just received from Colonel Crawford informed him that they planned to act soon. His tongue loosened by drink, a Jacobite had been apprehended at a tavern near Fort William.
The news sent icy fear skidding down Ian’s spine, making him feel helpless to protect his wife. Since they had arrived at Kilbraeton, his retainers had unobtrusively watched Deirdre day and night, but even those precautions could not stave off an attack if the rebels decided to make their move.
A duplicitous servant could aid a rebel to penetrate Kilbraeton. Moreover, a careless word dropped at an inopportune time or place could tip the scales against Deirdre.
Still, she defended The Flame, believing that he had no part in the plot and thinking he helped the poor. The rogue did cut quite a gallant figure on horseback—one that would appeal to a woman.
Nevertheless, after Deirdre pledged her sacred oath on the Bible, he finally believed her, but he still had qualms about Fergus. Something about the man seemed so familiar. Ian had searched his memory time and again, but nothing seemed to jog a recollection.
Stubbornl
y, Deirdre refused to heed a word of caution about the servant. Jealousy darted his heart. Ian did not fear infidelity, but he envied the bond Fergus shared with Deirdre—an invisible chain forged of a profound mutual loyalty.
Involuntarily, he felt his body tense. The depth of his own emotions shocked him, and he stopped in his tracks. Ian had always prided himself on being a rational person, but concerning his beautiful wife, he had lost his perspective. Was he also losing his heart?
“Ian.”
He turned to see her walk through the doorway, her gold lustring frock rustling softly.
“It is time for tea.” She stepped close to him.
Two maids brought the butler’s table while a third arranged the tea stand. Their tasks completed, they quickly left.
“You seem preoccupied.” Deirdre frowned, putting a soft hand on his arm. “What troubles you?”
“I was contemplating a decision I must make.” He uttered no lie. He still must decide whether to tell her this latest bit of information from Colonel Crawford.
What good would it do for her to know? Her knowledge of the facts would not change the situation. In fact, it would just add to her feelings of unease.
“Come, let’s enjoy our tea and relax a bit.” She sat on the sofa and poured two cups.
How could he relax when the knaves were hiding in wait at this very moment to kidnap her? He took a seat beside her, exhaling a deep breath.
She smiled.
Ian reached for a scone, gobbling it down, and the hot tea temporarily braced him. Perhaps Colonel Crawford would apprehend the rogues before long. With that worry out of the way, he would feel free to take Deirdre to Italy. He and Lord Strathaven had taken the grand tour years ago. His parents and sister had been alive then, and Ian had not a care in the world. Now, his responsibilities almost crushed him, especially the job of keeping Deirdre safe and alive.
“What are you thinking about, Ian?” She smiled mischievously.
“Italy.” He set down his cup.
“I have never been there. The extent of my travels has been limited to Scotland, the Netherlands, and France.”
“Italy is magical. I want to take you to the Lake District. The Villa Charlotte sits at the summit of the hill, and flowers sweep bright colors from its doorstep to the edge of Lake Como.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“I enjoyed a happy time there.” He took hold of her hand. “I should like to recapture that contentment.”
“But you said we could not travel because of this plot.”
He leaned forward, taking her in his arms. “We’ll go after the rogues are caught.”
“But I, uh, do not think I shall go even then.”
“But you said Italy sounded wonderful. You traveled to France and Holland.” He kissed her temple, her cheek, and the juncture of her shoulder and neck.
“Then I was not carrying your child.”
Speechless, he stared at her, joy exploding in his heart. “Deirdre, nothing could make me happier!” A surge of protectiveness overtook him. He embraced her again.
“Oh, Ian, I hated blurting the news out like that. I wanted to tell you in a special way.”
“This moment will always be special.” He caressed her cheek.
“But I worry, Ian. We were married in May because my uncle refused to delay further. Remember the old adage, about marrying in May and your bairns will decay.”
He chuckled. “That is a silly wives’ tale, sweetheart. When is our child to make an appearance?”
“In February,” she whispered. “You were right when you said it could happen quickly. I think it must have been that morning in the orchard.”
Since that first time, they had sometimes made love two or three times a day. Ian just could not stay away from her, and the intensity of her ardor seemed to match his. He definitely would keep Colonel Crawford’s latest information from her. Nothing need upset Deirdre now.
* * * *
Damn and damn again! Deirdre looked out her bedchamber window, watching the swans glide between the water lilies on the pond in the garden below. Unfortunately, the peaceful sight did nothing to alleviate her turmoil.
Ian had ignored her objection about the inventory of her jewels. At this very moment, he was busily making a detailed list, describing each piece. Likely, he would stay at the task for days.
Deirdre dared not complain about his undertaking because her meticulous husband would become suspicious. Now that she had discovered the location of her jewels, Ian unwittingly barred her access to them.
This should be the happiest time of her life. She had married a good man, and she was expecting their child. Ian proved himself attentive to all her needs. But how could she ask him for hundreds of pounds to pay off her crimes?
The discovery would infuriate Ian, violating his sense of loyalty. He would never forgive the deception she had perpetrated. How would he retaliate?
Would he tear their child from her breast and send her to the gallows as he had sworn? Furthermore, he had never declared his love for her, although the passion they shared proved undeniable.
Often, in the warmth of their big bed as he lay close to her, Deirdre pretended they were in love. Sometimes, she almost convinced herself of it as she dropped into slumber.
But then, the dreams always interrupted her peace, and reality cloaked her like a shroud. Besides, his father had killed hers. How could she ever give her heart to the son of her parent’s murderer?
She felt positively miserable. Her crimes still weighed heavily on her conscience since she had no opportunity to expiate her sins. Since they married, Ian hardly ever let her out of his sight for very long, giving her no chance to slip into the tower to get her jewels.
And with him sharing her bed each night, she couldn’t even sneak away in the wee hours of the morning. A light sleeper, Ian woke at the slightest provocation.
Unless divine providence showed her the way, her child would have a felon for a mother. Deirdre put her hand over her abdomen, picturing a sandy-haired, green-eyed boy.
Oh, she had to find a way to sell those jewels! Just one necklace would wipe the slate clean, vindicating both Fergus and her. She could not bear the sustained shadow of all those felonies to darken her future.
Surely, Fergus wanted to marry Morag and get on with his life. He had been in love with her for some time now, and he deserved a life of his own.
Deirdre needed guidance, direction. Locking both doors of her chamber, she walked to the cherry wood desk. Opening the lid, she reached into one of the cubbyholes, her fingers curling around the deck of hidden tarot cards.
She sat at the desk, shuffling the cards several times. Then she selected a card and turned it face up. Reshuffling, Deirdre cut the deck into three piles, reassembling them in reverse order. Then she began taking the cards from the top of the deck, laying them out in the Celtic cross spread.
As she read the message, her scalp tingled with fear. The eight of swords covered her. That accurately described her situation. She felt restricted by her current circumstances. The reversed devil made an appearance, meaning her bondage would be over, but the death card followed. That meant the end of something and a new beginning. The tower indicated a shocking change, disruptions, and possible havoc. The ten of swords also foretold of a dangerous situation, of pain, of an ending, of desolation, hazard, and again, a forced change.
A cold chill spread over Deirdre like the waters of an icy loch. Did this mean that Ian would discover her secret? That occurrence was possible. If that happened, she would lose him and their child forever. The thought devastated her.
To make matters worse, she may have sealed not only her own fate, but also that of Fergus. She must get him away from Kilbraeton. They had no time to lose either.
“My lady,” Morag said and hurried toward her, her golden curls feathering her hairline. “His lordship asked me to find you. He’s waiting for you in the morning room. He had a sense of urgency about him. Lady Gl
enmuir is with him and she seems quite upset.”
Deirdre hurried out of her chambers, approaching the morning room with an added sense of apprehension. Her dread intensified as she stood in the doorway. Ian paced as Aunt Barbara lay on the sofa, wailing.
She stepped in. “Ian, what goes on here?”
Concern in his eyes, he moved toward her and took her in his arms, hugging her tightly. His gesture spurred the memory of the time he told her of the kidnapping plot. Fear settled in her stomach like a block of ice.
“Oh!” Aunt Barbara cried. “We are ruined!”
Ian released Deirdre, moving to the ailing woman. “It is not as bad as that, Aunt Barbara.”
The woman’s maid came bustling in.
“Thank God,” Ian murmured.
“Come now, my lady.” The feisty servant helped the woman to her feet. “There’s nothing so bad that a pot of good, strong tea and a dozen scones with butter and jam cannot fix.” She winked at Ian and Deirdre.
“Perhaps you are right,” Aunt Barbara responded. Leaning on the maidservant’s arm, his aunt waddled from the room.
Ian expelled a long sigh and picked up a letter.
Deirdre’s knees felt weak, causing her to take a seat on the sofa. “Do you have more news about the kidnappers?”
“Nay,” Ian answered. “There has been a terrible accident at my shipyard in Glasgow. One of my merchantmen was transporting gunpowder. There was a fire. The ship exploded, and what was left burned to the waterline.”
Deirdre raked her mind for some words to say, but her brain felt numb. Instead, she rushed into his arms. “Oh, Ian, I am so sorry for you! That is why Aunt Barbara said you were ruined.”
He sat beside her. “Aye, but as I told her, the situation has not come to that yet.”
“Was the ship insured?”
“Aye, and its cargo as well,” Ian answered.
“Then what is the problem?”
“Many good men lost their lives. Their families find themselves without husbands, fathers, and brothers. The widows and children will need help.”
“Do you need funds to help them then? I can give you some of my jewels to sell.”