by Nancy Pirri
The MacAulay Bride
A Historical Romance
By Nancy Pirri
Published by Awe-Struck E-Books
Copyright ©2003
ISBN: 1-58749-422-1
Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.
Dedication
To Mom who introduced me to romance novels,
To Dad for his love and generosity,
To Kathryn Struck and Dick Claassen who gave me a chance,
To Judith B. Glad--Editor extraordinaire,
To the Wepublishers, some of the best writers I know,
And to my husband, Steve, who brings out the best in me.
PROLOGUE
June 1, 1888
Winterhaven Manor,
Edinburgh, Scotland
"My God, Raleigh," Harrison MacAulay said, " I feel as though I've just awakened from a bad dream, and none of what you have told me is true. Och! You are saying I must produce an heir or lose my home?"
"That's precisely what I'm saying. It's right here, in your father's will, which he drafted when he was healthy and of sound mind, in case you have doubts."
Raleigh McKenna smoothed the parchment on the desk and read the old laird's words aloud. "My elder son, Harrison James, shall produce an heir by his thirty-first birthday. Otherwise, the MacAulay estates, including the ancestral home, Winterhaven Manor, shall accede to my second son, Payton Edward."
Harrison paced the green and gold Aubusson carpet, from one end of the walnut- paneled library to the other, a scowl firmly planted on his face. After a while he paused and leveled his gaze on Raleigh. "Must I abide by this?"
Raleigh folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "If you expect to keep possession of your home and wealth."
"What in the world was the old man thinking, other than the fact he held a deep obsession at the prospect of becoming a grandfather?" Harrison raged. "Did you know Payton had contacted Father from America years ago and told him about his own two sons? Payton wrote to me and said he never received an acknowledgement."
"You're not surprised by the lack of response from your father, are you? Your brother fought a duel, killed a man and left the country, never to be seen again. Not to mention leaving the family name tarnished."
"Not surprised at all. I was the one who took the brunt of my father's fury with Payton's leaving." Harrison would never forget that fateful day ten years ago. Payton had killed the husband of his latest mistress. In order to avoid repercussions from the law, and to save his own life, he was forced to flee Scotland.
"You do earn a decent living from your work as a physician. Would it be devastating to give up the home and lands to your brother?"
Harrison shrugged. "Not at all. I spend more time at my townhouse in Edinburgh than at Winterhaven, anyway, since my clinic is nearby. But have you any doubt that Payton would run the place into the ground?"
"I see your point." Raleigh grimaced. "That younger brother of yours has been undeniably irresponsible at times."
Harrison snorted in disgust. "And what about all the cousins who reside here? I took on the responsibility of raising them when their families couldn't, not to mention my duty caring for our tenant families. Payton wasn't raised for the job.
"So, it appears I must marry, hmm?"
A frown creased Raleigh's forehead as he perused the document. "Don't see marriage mentioned at all."
That gave Harrison pause. "But would my heir be legal if I weren't married?"
"Of course! This is Scotland, not England," Raleigh replied. "Hell, man, you could run off in an instant to Gretna Green and handfast, instead. Have you anyone particular in mind?"
"Perhaps."
"Connie MacPhearson?"
Harrison heard the stiff tone in Raleigh's voice as he sank into a chair across from his friend. "Not even remotely."
Raleigh growled, "Och, are ye saying she's not good enough for ye?"
"Hell, no!" Harrison shouted, laughter in his voice. "Watch it, Englishman. You're starting to sound like a Scot. She would not have me because she's in love with you."
Sputtering, Raleigh jumped from his chair. "Now, see here...that is preposterous!"
"A moment ago you were ready to blow my head off! Thank God you hadn't a gun in your hand. When are you going to admit you're in love with the woman, and she's in love with you? The two of you are too stubborn for your own good, do you know that?"
"Enough," Raleigh snapped. "As your solicitor, I advise you to find a woman. Quickly. In eighteen months you will be thirty-one. I'm leaving now. Do you require anything else?"
"No." Harrison rose and followed Raleigh to the door. "My thanks," he said, shaking his friend's hand. "I'll be making my decision soon."
After Raleigh left, Harrison stared out a long, narrow window, his hands folded behind his back. He watched his solicitor and long-time friend mount his horse and gallop away, all the while contemplating his choice of available womanhood. Other than one particular woman who was always on his mind, none were appropriate. Brianna MacAulay was the only woman he'd thought about on a daily basis for the past ten years.
It was truly unfortunate she was his brother's wife.
CHAPTER ONE
November 1888
Stillwater, Minnesota
Brianna MacAulay stood inside the train depot for the third afternoon in a row, watching passengers disembark the last train of the day. She peered at the people swarming through the doorway, worried that some mishap might have befallen her husband's brother, but found no sign of the man.
There was nothing she could do now but go home and hope he would arrive tomorrow. She presumed it would then be a simple matter for him to settle her late husband's will. She frowned as she thought about the money she hadn't been allowed to withdraw from Payton's bank account. It was hers! She needed that money--every single penny--in order to furnish two more bedrooms in her home by spring. More lumberjacks would be arriving to work for the town's sawmills by then, and they would be in need of a place to stay.
Squaring her shoulders and hitching up her black taffeta skirt and petticoats, she moved swiftly to the depot entrance and swung open the door. Huge drops of cold late autumn rain slashed across her face, and she squinted against the onslaught. She tucked the umbrella under her arm, since opening it would afford her little protection. She sighed, wishing it were snow instead of rain. Snow wouldn't ruin the hat she wore. It was her favorite, with a bird's nest perched on top, its cloth occupant having long since flown away.
She dodged puddles on the deserted boardwalk before gingerly stepping into the muddy street. She had just tossed the umbrella into the back and placed a foot upon the running board when she heard someone shouting.
"Madam! A moment, please."
A big man wearing a top hat approached her. She lowered her foot just as he arrived at her side. He swept his cloak off his shoulders, held an edge of it high above her head, and gallantly shielded her from the rain.
"I must speak with ye," he said in a deep, accented voice.
As she peered up at him, she thought him familiar, but could not place him.
He took her elbow and nodded at Francis Marshall's Dry Goods. "Let us find protection."
She accompanied him across the street, where they ducked beneath Marshall's dark green and white striped awning. Lord knew she should never have gone willingly with this stranger, yet she could not help but wonder why he had approached her. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes, but discovered them concealed behind a pair of rain-spattered, wire-rimmed spectacles.
Brianna's cheeks grew warm under his intent look. "You are Harrison MacAulay?" From the moment he spoke she should have guessed his identity because of his Scottish dialect.
"I am, dear sister-in-law," he said, inclining his head, "and at your beck and call for as long as you need me." He lifted her hand and brushed it with a gentle kiss.
She shivered. Her heart raced at his warm touch that she felt through the thin fabric of her glove. She pulled her hand away, not at all happy about the way his kiss caused a funny feeling inside of her. Of course, many women would have difficulty ignoring a handsome man of such extraordinary height, lean yet powerful build, black, wavy hair and deep brown eyes.
"I...I worried that something had happened to you." A sudden bolt of lightning splitting the sky startled her, and she added, "I suggest we leave for home before the roads become impassable."
"And where are your sons?"
"My neighbor, Mrs. Crane, offered to stay with them on the condition I return shortly."
"I apologize for my lateness. Two days ago I boarded a train in Chicago. That was shortly after I sent the wire notifying you of my arrival. Alas, the train derailed and I was forced to wait for another that did not leave until this morning. I sent you a second wire."
"I never received it."
For some reason, she trusted his word, though she had long ago given up believing a single word from her husband. Payton had been a gambler and tippler, until he drowned a month ago in the St. Croix River. During the last two years of their marriage, she had learned to depend upon herself for her livelihood. Which was fine with her. She'd never been the sort of woman to sit idle day after day. Running the boarding house gave her something worthwhile to do, and she earned a fair living besides. The money she'd saved from her boarders was dwindling, though, and the next season's lumberjacks wouldn't be arriving for four long months.
"I suppose it could not be helped. Now, we must get out of this rain, although it doesn't matter since we are both drenched."
He replaced his hat, took her arm and escorted her to her buckboard. "I must fetch my bags," he said, assisting her into the driver's seat. Within moments, he returned with two leather bags and tossed them into the back of the wagon. "Have you any suggestions regarding accommodations in town?"
"I wouldn't hear of you staying at a hotel. I've a room at home ready for you."
He raised his brow. "For propriety's sake, that may not be a good idea."
"My friends and neighbors wouldn't think poorly of me for offering a family member a place to stay." She saw the hesitant look on his face and she flushed, chiding herself for being so forward. Oh, she wanted him to stay with her, yet he appeared ready to decline. If he did, it would greatly disappoint her sons. They missed a man's presence in their young lives. And as much as she hated to admit it, as much as she enjoyed her freedom, she missed a man in the house.
"Verra well. Then I shall see you later," he said and whacked Winney's hindquarters.
Brianna held onto the reins as the horse started moving forward and she shouted over her shoulder, "Aren't you coming?"
"I have business to tend to first."
"But you have no idea where I live!"
In the dimming light, she caught a flash of white and bristled when she realized he was smiling. "I'm certain I will have no trouble finding you."
As she headed for home, she couldn't help but wonder what business a stranger from Scotland could have in town with the approach of evening. From past experience where her husband was concerned, there were only a few reasons why a man went to town after dark. She shook her head and heaved a sigh, chagrined at her wayward thoughts. "All right, Brianna MacAulay. That will be enough of that sort of thinking."
***
Brianna stood in her parlor, satisfied that the cherry wood tables still glowed from her most recent polishing. The white lace curtains covering the windows were fresh and clean. The red, green and gold floral carpeting held nary a speck of lint. Her boys had their noses jammed against a parlor window as they anxiously awaited the arrival of their uncle.
"You will smear the glass, and after I just cleaned it," she scolded. "Now, come back to the kitchen and finish your supper."
"Not hungry, Ma," said seven-year-old Jamie.
"Me neither," announced Harry. The nine year old stared at her over his shoulder. "When did Uncle Harrison say he'd be here?"
She sighed and tried to count how many times they'd asked that same question since she arrived home more than an hour ago. "He didn't say. There will be no dessert if you don't eat the rest of your stew."
The boys turned to her, disappointment stamped on their faces. She crossed her arms and waited, fighting the urge to give into them. Admittedly, she indulged her boys-- even understood her reasons for doing so. With the loss of their father, they seemed so sad much of the time, Harry, in particular.
Harry asked, "What's for dessert?"
"Do you not recognize the scent?"
Jamie inhaled and grinned. "Apple pie!"
She headed down the hallway, slowing at the sound of someone knocking on her door. She retraced her steps, but by the time she arrived at the door her sons had already opened it. They surveyed their uncle, small faces filled with suspicion, awe and curiosity.
Harrison's cloak hung over one arm. His black jacket fit his wide shoulders to perfection. A matching waistcoat, white shirt with crisp starched collar and gray tie completed his attire. He looked handsome, authoritative and wealthy.
Her younger son stuck out his hand. "I'm Jamie." Brianna noted the pleased but melancholic expression crossing Harrison's face.
"Jamie," he said, taking his nephew's hand in his own. "You look remarkably like your father."
Brianna saw tears glistening in his eyes and thought how dreadful he must be feeling at the loss of his only brother, whom he hadn't seen in ten years. She smiled when he reached down and swept Jamie into his arms, held him close. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He appeared to be inhaling the essence of her son's innocence, as one would inhale the sweet scent of a newly opened rose. Jamie allowed the affectionate embrace until Harrison lowered him to the floor.
She frowned when Jamie clung to his leg. "Your uncle cannot walk with you attached to him."
"He is fine where he is." He settled his big hand on Jamie's blonde thatch of hair, then turned to Harry, who stood by in silence.
"Greet your uncle, Harry," Brianna gently ordered.
"You don't look much like Pa," Harry blurted out, tilting his head to the side. "Except for your smile."
"Verra astute, my boy. I favor our father, while your father took after your grandmother."
"I must also look like my grandfather, since I look like you."
From the moment Brianna had met Harrison at the train depot, she'd realized her son's strong resemblance to his uncle. Yet she'd always thought Harry resembled her.
Harrison opened his arms to welcome him, but Harry reached out and shook his hand, instead. Disappointment crossed Harrison's face but he veiled it. "You know that your father named you after me, don't you?"
Harry shook his head. "Nope. I didn't." He grinned. "We were just going to the kitchen for dessert. Want some?"
"Depends on what it is."
"Oh, well, does it matter?" Harry asked, looking his uncle over carefully. "You look like you eat everything."
"Harry!" Brianna exclaimed, shocked.
Harrison threw back his head and laughed.
Harry's wide-eyed gaze never left his uncle. "But, Ma, he's big as old Farmer Jorgenson's ox!"
Brianna sighed, gave Harrison an apologetic smile. "Have you eaten
supper yet?"
"Haven't had a bite since noon."
"How does beef stew, apple pie and coffee sound?"
He grinned. "Wonderful."
After the boys ate their pie, and Harrison had finished his meal, the conversation was lively, interspersed with bouts of boisterous shouts and laughter. Brianna hated ending the evening. It had been a while since she'd seen her sons so happy. But at ten o'clock, she announced, "It's past bedtime, boys."
"Oh, but Ma, we don't have school tomorrow, and we want to talk more with Uncle!" Jamie protested.
"It is late," Harrison inserted. "I'll still be here come morning."
Brianna settled them down for the night and quietly made her way to her bedroom. With a critical look, she examined herself in the oval mirror positioned over the cherry wood bureau, tucking a stray lock of black hair into the bun atop her head. While her sapphire-colored eyes were pretty and her long, straight nose was rather ordinary, she thought her high, wide cheekbones attractive. Enough, Brianna MacAulay! Whom are you trying to impress, anyway? Still, she pinched her cheeks before joining Harrison in the parlor.
He sat in a gold velvet gentleman's chair, which happened to be large enough to accommodate his bulk, one leg crossed over his knee, arms draped over the chair's arms. He rose upon her entrance and she took a seat on the threadbare crimson divan. She welcomed the heat from the fire he had stoked. Just the thought of kicking off her shoes and tucking her toes beneath her warm woolen blanket prompted her to close her weary eyes.
"Tell me about my brother. What caused his death?"
"If I could have kept him here with me he would not have died," she said, opening her eyes. "You received my letter, didn't you?"
"Aye, but you offered no explanation as to how Payton drowned, which I couldn't understand at all since he'd been an excellent swimmer."
"Drunk on spirits was the mortician's findings. He had difficulty controlling himself in that way."
"You mentioned if you could have kept him here with you, he wouldn't be dead. What did you mean by that remark?"