How much pain in the world was caused by the religious belief in the superiority of the rich with its oblivious ignorance, its warped and misplaced values, and its tawdry fashions.
“Arriving here at Tilmory Castle, she saw all of us as a challenge. Her intention from the very first was to elevate the Bartons to a place that was deserving of her. And that’s where she immediately ran into trouble with Mary. She was set on marrying Sellar. He was a gentleman, but still a farmer. Leana had other plans. She saw our sister being sent off to Edinburgh and introduced into finer society. But Mary got what she wanted and married for love in the end.”
Jo had learned from her father that the first time he met Josephine was when she came to live at Tilmory Castle after her parents died. This explained the families’ estrangement.
“Ainsley and I thought the bad blood died with the passing of Josephine’s parents,” Graham told her. “But we soon learned different when your mother arrived here at Tilmory Castle. She had the temperament of an angel. Cheerful and kind. It was impossible not to love her. But of course, Leana saw nothing but our sister, Mary, in her, and she was after her from the very first day.”
Thirteen, a difficult age. Not a child and not completely a woman. Jo now knew that her mother lost both parents and came under this roof when she was thirteen years old. A year later, she lost Ainsley, her uncle and guardian.
Graham’s attention shifted back to Charles. “I knew about you two. I saw how your feelings for each other grew more with time. I lived in dread of the day your mother saw it too. For I knew Josephine would be facing so much more trouble.”
Charles started saying something but, overwhelmed with emotion, he couldn’t utter the words. Instead, he scribbled them on a sheet of paper.
“We married on her sixteenth birthday in Garloch,” Wynne read as he sat by Jo’s father.
He wrote more and passed it on again.
“I was to retire from the service. Return to Scotland,” Wynne read again.
Jo knew this already. Her father’s plan was to leave the navy. They wanted to settle as soon as her mother was old enough to control her own inheritance.
“War,” Charles said, his eyes pooling.
He’d also told her that they were planning to leave Tilmory Castle and live on the farm her parents had left to her. They wanted to raise a family in peace.
“You were off fighting the rebels in America when your mother found out that Josephine was with child,” Graham said. “Of course, the lass proudly told her the two of you were married, that it was your bairn she was carrying. But you knew all along that Leana had other plans for who you’d be marrying.”
“Her . . . plans,” Charles hissed. “Not mine.”
He wrote ferociously on the paper and handed it to Wynne.
“Your job was to protect my Josephine.”
Hot and bitter tears welled up in Jo’s eyes as she imagined the abuse her mother must have endured at the hands of Mrs. Barton.
Graham’s body began to rock forward and backward in his chair, his anguished gaze was fixed on a vacant space on a far wall. He was remembering it all, she thought angrily.
“Why did she run away?” she asked, forcing Graham’s attention.
“Leana lied to her. I didn’t know what she’d done until after the lass was gone.” He stared at Charles. “She told Josephine you were dead. That your ship went down, and you were lost with the rest.”
His rocking increased, and his face was about to crumble.
“She told the lass she would take her bairn away from her, fix it so no one would ever know of the marriage. Then she’d turn her out into the fields for a whore. So she ran away. It was just what Leana wanted.”
And where would Josephine go, but her own home.
“And I swear to you, I had no part of that. I had no idea your mother would stoop to a deceit so low. A terrible storm had been battering us for days. The third in as many weeks. When I came back to the castle, the poor thing was gone. And when I heard what happened from servants who were there, I knew what they said was true.”
“You went to Garloch after her,” Wynne said.
“I couldn’t let her go. I had to bring her back. Not to Leana. But to protect her until you returned. I knew perfectly well we’d received no word of Charles being dead. It was all a lie. I had to find her.” Graham ran a trembling hand down his face, and his eyes showed the ghosts were still haunting him. “I came into Garloch right after the flood. I looked everywhere for her. The place was a near ruin. Houses in the village wrecked and scattered everywhere. The bridge washed out. Water still lay deep in the fields. I found out she’d never made it to her old house. So many people were killed by the storm. So many bodies laid out on the hill by the kirk . . .” His words were choked out under the pressure of his grief.
“Why identify and bury someone else?” Jo asked.
“It wasn’t about taking over what was hers. Not at all.” He shook his head. “I waited for days. I searched myself. She wasn’t anywhere to be found. And then more bodies were discovered downriver as the water dropped. There was no telling one from the other. I had only one thing I could use to identify her.”
Graham’s black eyes glistened with tears.
“The woman that I buried in that grave was in a family way. That was enough for me. I told myself it was Josephine. I made myself believe it. God forgive me, I . . . I wanted to believe it was her.”
Chapter 24
The following night Wynne returned late from Aberdeen and knocked on her door a few minutes after midnight.
Jo opened the door and threw herself into his arms. Lifting her off her feet, he stepped inside and closed the door behind them.
“Dash me if I haven’t missed you.” he growled, his arms gathering her close.
The message had arrived last night from the constable in Aberdeen that Abram had been taken into custody. Wynne left early in the morning, and there was so much he wanted to share with Jo about what he’d learned. But seeing her soft, sleepy face, the thin shift exposing a bare shoulder, he was distracted from the real reason he’d come this late to her door.
His lips glided over hers, tasting, sampling, delving into her yielding mouth as her hands eagerly pushed the coat off his shoulders.
“Make love to me,” she whispered, pressing her body against his.
They’d stayed out of each other’s bedrooms since the night in Garloch. Time had been precious with all that was happening at Tilmory Castle and at the Abbey. While Cuffe was shadowing Dermot more and more, Jo was spending a great many hours looking after her father and getting him settled. But Wynne had spoken to the vicar. Banns or no banns, he was willing to marry them Saturday if they wished it, and no bribing with golf equipment was required. Revealing their news to Dermot had gone easier than he’d expected. As his friend said, he’d known it was to be from the start, and they owed their happiness to him for playing the rival. Wynne had been in too good a mood to argue.
“As desirable as you look at this moment, Jo,” he said, “We’re to be married on Saturday. Perhaps we should wait until then.”
A single tie bound the neckline of the shift just above her breasts, and she pulled the knot and slipping the garment down her arms.
“Are you certain you’d like to wait?” she asked, coyness mixed with challenge.
Wynne’s lips were ravenous as they settled on hers. Her breast filled his hand, and his loins caught fire. She ignited a passion inside him that was inextinguishable.
She tore her mouth away as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and went to work on his cravat.
“Saturday is such a long way off, Captain.” She pulled his shirt out of his pants and reached her hands under it, running her palms over his burning skin. “But if you insist, we can wait.”
“Perhaps we should assess our situation.” He took one of her hands from beneath his shirt and guided it to his groin. “What do you think? Can I wait?”
Her fingers scrape
d his manhood through the fall of his breeches, and he heard a low moan sound deep in his own throat.
“No, I don’t believe you can.” She smiled saucily, looking down at the bulge. “But perhaps I can wait.”
The playfulness in her tone drove him mad with desire to make love to her right now. Wrapping her legs around him and burying himself inside her against the door had a certain appeal. But that would be only the beginning. There was no question in his mind that she’d want to make love again on the dresser and the chair and on the table by the window . . . and eventually in her bed. This was what their first night together had been like. They were both insatiable in their desire for one another.
“Then perhaps you’ll let me try to change your mind.”
He slipped his hands over her perfect bottom, picked her up, and set her down on the edge of the bed.
Without waiting, he peeled away her shift and threw it aside. Then he stepped back and took his time undressing as she lay back on an elbow and watched.
As he disrobed, his eyes feasted on the fullness of her breasts, rising and falling with the uneven pace of her breathing. On the pale skin of her stomach and the curves of her belly that he planned to run his tongue over en route to the dark triangle of hair. She was truly breathtaking. And she was his.
“You’re taking unfair advantage of me,” she whispered, lying back on the sheets. “It’s exciting to watch you undress.”
Wynne took hold of her knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed. Her eyes were smoky with passion and a low moan escaped her lips as his thumb played lightly over the rosy hardness of her nipples. Pushing open her legs, he stepped between them. His hand moved slowly downward over her stomach and he heard the sharp intake of breath.
“Watching me undress is the only thing that excites you?” he asked, feeling her shiver beneath his touch.
“We’ll need to assess that, as well.”
He leaned over her and kissed her, his tongue sliding into her soft mouth. He moved to her neck, and then to the tops of her breasts. As he took one nipple into his mouth, her fingers threaded into his hair.
“You’re getting closer to an answer,” she whispered, breathlessly guiding his mouth to her other nipple.
He slid a finger into her wet folds and watched her eyes open wide. She raised her hips to his touch, rocking gently against it.
The urgent desire to drive his throbbing shaft into her was beginning to madden him. She was perfection. Softness as in a dream. And more willing than he’d ever conceived in his most carnal imaginings.
He was about to put his mouth where his fingers were, but she stopped him, wrapping her hand around his cock and sliding her fingers along the length of him.
“Have you assessed the situation?” he said, trying to stay sane.
“I believe I have.” She shifted on the bed, positioning herself. “And I’m proposing a contest.”
“A contest?” he asked, looking at the temptress on the bed.
“Who will make the other fall apart first,” she said, inching closer to tempt him. “In Garloch, you were certainly the winner. Tonight . . . I’m challenging you.”
He had no doubt he’d be a winner in this game, regardless of her enthusiasm or the outcome.
“And no putting your lovely mouth on me or using your magical fingers to drive me over the edge. At least not the first time.”
“The same goes with you,” he told her, reluctantly removing her fingers from his manhood. “I accept your challenge.”
She lay back on the bed, inviting him. This was a vision of his private life with Jo, he thought, his heart soaring. He was the luckiest man alive.
Wynne took hold of her hand and brushed it against her own sex.
“Does this count?” he asked.
She arched her back involuntarily and then pulled her hand away. “You’re bending the rules.”
“Well, we can’t be bending rules now, can we?”
He moved closer until the blunt head of his cock pressed at the slick juncture of her legs. She was ready for him.
“En garde,” he growled.
“Allez,” she murmured.
He pushed slowly into her opening, pausing, waiting, allowing the anticipation to amplify the pleasure. For his part, Wynne was going insane, but he held back even as Jo lifted her hips. Every inch of her body seemed aware, craving his next move.
Madness. Lunacy. He wanted to drive deep into her. But instead, Wynne’s hands held onto her hips, his skin beading in perspiration as he summoned his control.
With their bodies connected, their eyes met. They were both burning. Ever so slowly, Jo lifted her hips farther, drawing him halfway into her. He moved slowly, in and out, still not embedding himself fully.
She was drawing shallow breaths, and he knew she was feeling the same rising pressure that he was. She reached out for him. He met her halfway, and their open-mouthed kiss was hot enough to set the sheets on fire.
“Take me now,” she whispered.
“New rules?” he growled.
Wynne’s hands tightened on her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh as he impaled himself fully inside her. Withdrawing his shaft to the very tip, he paused and then plunged into her again. Instinctively, Jo hooked her legs around his waist, urging him on. He kissed her mouth hungrily as their rhythms overwhelmed all conscious thought. Again and again he slid out and rocked into her, accelerating with each succeeding stroke.
Colors of orange and gold and red flashed in his brain and a roaring filled his ears. Still he held on, wanting her to come. Her panting breaths were moans and then pleasured cries. Her fingers were digging into his arms and then clutching at the sheets. Over and over he drove into her, filling her with all he had.
And then it came, a blast of glittering passions. Simultaneous, brilliant, mind-shattering, an explosion that consumed them both in a dazzling moment of oblivion. And in that instant, as their bodies melded into one, as they spiraled upward together, a heaven was created . . . a golden place for them alone where a throne was reserved for the winners of such inspired sport.
An eon later, as Wynne held her in his arms, Jo kissed his lips.
“You realize,” she whispered happily, “we have two days left until our wedding, which gives us plenty of time for more competitions.”
“Well, I hope you’re not planning to forfeit the additional contests we have scheduled for tonight.”
“I can’t wait to hear the rules, Captain.”
* * *
“Abram worked at Tilmory Castle before hiring on in the kitchens at the Abbey,” Wynne told Jo sometime later, after another round of love-making. They lay face-to-face in the bed, her hands under her cheek, their legs entwined. “Of course, we knew nothing of that.”
Jo had almost been convinced that Abram’s schemes had no connection to the Bartons, but were the result of an old grudge. She’d been wrong.
“He now says that he was paid by Mrs. Barton to work here and to keep an eye on her son.”
“Was it only her, or was Graham involved too?”
“He claims it was Mrs. Barton who called him in and gave him his orders. If Graham knew about it or not, Abram had no idea.”
If one ignored all that happened after, Jo could understand the benefit of placing Abram in the Abbey. What better way to keep an eye on the care being given to someone you love? In this case, it was a twisted love, at best.
“Her motivation wasn’t concern about her son, was it?” she asked.
“When Abram first came to work in the ward? It’s difficult to say. But later?” Wynne’s face hardened as he curled a lock of her hair around a finger and looked into her eyes. “The day she first saw you at the Abbey, Abram said she spoke to him as they left. He claims her exact words were that her son was already dead to her because of the state of his mind. Then she told him Charles wouldn’t want to live like that and Abram was to end it. Kill him.”
She couldn’t fathom how a mother could order th
e end of her own child’s life. No matter how old, or what the condition of his mind, it made no sense to Jo.
But she knew the truth. It had nothing to do with Charles’s mind. The trigger was Jo’s arrival at the Abbey.
“Why get Cuffe involved? Why the deception?”
“Abram claims he didn’t trust Mrs. Barton. She was madder than the patients at the Abbey. He insists Cuffe misunderstood him. Says he intended no harm to come to Charles Barton. He never planned to follow through with her order. Of course, he’s only admitting to any of this now because blame needs to be assigned somewhere—and he’s pointing the finger at her.”
“You don’t believe him, do you?” she asked.
“He’s a liar,” Wynne told her. “Abram was smart enough to realize the likeliness and consequences of getting caught. If Charles’s death appeared to be accidental, he’d still get compensated by the mother. If he didn’t succeed, he’d play it as he is now.”
“What will happen to him?” she asked.
“He’ll be locked up for a while. Perhaps transported. But he won’t hang for it.”
A much better future than Mrs. Barton was facing, Jo thought.
Chapter 25
Three Weeks Later
Since passing through Melrose Village, Wynne and Cuffe had been riding along a road through heavy forests. Only a few cottages had broken the shade cast by the tall trees.
“What’s Baronsford like?”
Wynne wasn’t at all surprised by his son’s curiosity. So far, their visit to the Borders had been a positive experience for him. He’d been made to feel very much at home at Highfield Hall. Meeting and spending time with his cousins had gone exceptionally well. And Wynne’s brother and his wife had showered their nephew with affection. Today, however, he was taking Cuffe to the Pennington stronghold for the first time.
It Happened in the Highlands Page 21