This arrogant stranger who was her husband, held her future in his hands, and the thought worried her. What if he cast her aside once their child was born? Had her committed to a lunatic asylum as some men did when they wanted to get rid of a wife who displeased them.
“I might retire to bed.”
“Do that. I’ll join you after another cigar.” He must have seen the fear and uncertainty spring to her eyes because he gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Frightened of me, are you, wife?”
“No.” Staring him straight in the face, she hoped he would not notice her fear. “You can’t intimidate me.” She got up from the table and headed over to the door. His taunting laughter echoed around the room and she wanted to throw something at him, but didn’t quite dare.
Donning a lace trimmed white nightgown, she brushed her hair before slipping between icy cold sheets. Would he come to her? Of course. Martin was not the kind of man to forgo his marital rights, not if his reputation with women was true. Fear and cold caused goosebumps on her flesh. She jammed a fist into her mouth to stop the screams when the door clicked open.
He fumbled with the recently snuffed out lamp, and Beth’s eyes blinked open as it flared into life again. He wore a dark silk dressing gown, and when he disrobed, she squeezed her eyes shut because he was naked. She could not resist a quick peek at him, though, just before he slid into bed. What a fine specimen of manhood with a well-muscled torso.
A wedge of dark body hair fanned out across his chest, narrowing as it arrowed downward over his flat stomach. Above his virile maleness grew a mat of tight black curls.
He reached for her straight away. His breath warmly fanned her cheek. Her muscles locked, paralysis overtook her. He deftly unbuttoned her nightgown, slipped it from her shoulders and down over her hips, then tossed the garment on the floor.
“I prefer you naked. Sinful covering an exquisite body like yours.” His hands slid over her breasts, travelling downward until they nestled in the soft curls between her thighs.
She grabbed at his wrist. “No. Please. Don’t. Give me more time to get used to being married to you.”
“You’re my wife. I won’t ask you for anything I’m not entitled to.”
His mouth covered her nipple and he suckled it hard. She lay still, letting him explore and touch every inch of her body, gritting her teeth so as not to cry out. She was his wife, and duty bound to let him claim his marital rights. Even when he guided her hand over his hard swollen manhood, she remained motionless. She had slept in his bed for weeks, had conceived his child, yet remembered nothing.
“Don’t lie there like a dutiful wife.”
“I can’t move.”
“You used to nearly rip my back to shreds with your nails, you got so excited.”
His statement shocked her. She wanted to respond, but somehow couldn’t. All she could do was lay stiff as a board and let him have his way.
He cursed her lack of response and finally rolled away. He swung his legs out of the bed and stalked off into his dressing room.
Beth lay awake long after his departure. He had ravished her but not in a brutal way, Martin was too skilled in the art of lovemaking for that. If only he had waited. She could barely admit it to herself, too shocking, but had he curbed his impatience, been gentle and not so insistent on claiming his marital rights straight away, her response might have been different once the initial fright wore off. Did she claw his back? What had it been like before? She beat the pillow in frustration because the dark cloud would not lift from her brain.
Chapter Five
Beth woke up to a dull overcast morning. No sign of Martin. After breakfast, she ventured outside to explore. A bitter, ice-cold wind gusted in off the mountains.
Trees and shrubs grew up close to the walls of the castle. She could hear them scraping against the stone. Ivy had spread up into the roof covering many of the slate tiles.
The gardens had once been magnificent. What a shame to let them turn into a jungle through lack of care.
Oak trees and poplars, intermingled with native gum trees, turned the surrounds into a small forest.
Not far from the castle, she saw a stable complex, foaling sheds, stallion boxes, tack room and carriage house. A few hundred yards away stood a small white wooden cottage with a slate roof. Did Martin’s overseer live there? The area bounded by the castle and these outbuildings was fenced with a low wall made from honey-textured stone. From the side of the castle to the back of the cottage she wandered through an archway overgrown with vines and creepers.
Curiosity drew her to the quaint little cottage with roses entwined around the porch. Much nicer living here than in the dark gloomy castle.
“Good morning.” An elderly stooped man appeared from the side of the cottage.
“Oh, good morning. Sorry, I didn’t mean to trespass.”
“No need to apologize. Do you remember me? Sam Bainbridge, Martin’s cousin a few times removed.” He smiled. “Left you to your own devices, eh?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. Martin’s coming back at ten to show me around.”
“Maybe it’s just as well you’ve forgotten what happened to you before. Would you care to join me for a cup of tea, my dear?”
“Thank you, I’d better not in case Martin comes and wonders where I am. I’d like one another time, though.”
She glanced up to find the man in question striding over to them, looking dark and ruthless in white moleskins and a cotton work shirt under a thigh length coat. He walked with the arrogant, confident gait of a man used to having his orders obeyed.
“There you are. Good morning, Sam.”
Martin swept his wide-brimmed hat off, and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “Ready, Elizabeth?” His gaze swept over her, probing, speculative, as if trying to see inside her head.
“Goodbye.” She waved to Sam before following Martin. “Don’t walk so fast, I have to run to keep up.”
“Sorry, I keep forgetting what a little thing you are.” He slowed his pace. “Don’t act so tragic. You’re my wife. I took what I’m entitled to. The wedding band I put on your left hand, and the papers we signed in the church, give me the right.”
“You could have waited,” she shot back.
“I’ll show you the inside for now. I don’t have time for an outside inspection, and Elizabeth…” He took her chin in a tanned, well cared for hand and tilted her face. His long, slim fingers were slightly callused, warm against her skin. “You’ve shared my bed for weeks, so you’re not a stranger to my body. There’s not one inch of it you haven’t touched and tasted.” A pulse twitched at the side of his jaw. “Things were good between us.”
“I don’t remember,” she whispered. The longing to remember was almost a physical pain.
She followed him to the back of the castle where they entered the kitchen.
“We’d like morning tea in about fifteen minutes, Mrs. Irvine,” he said.
They went upstairs, passing several doors on either side of the hallway. They stopped at the room next to theirs. He pushed open the door. “This is the nursery.”
She noticed an intricately carved cradle lined with dusty, yellowing lace, but before she could see anything else, he ushered her away.
“It needs refurbishment. I’ll arrange to have it done before the child is born.”
Two other bedrooms appeared similar to their own - shabby, dull and lifeless, shrouded with a pall of damp mustiness.
“What about this room?” Beth tried to turn the handle, but the door remained shut.
“Nothing in there for you to see. It’s a junk room.”
His gaze slid away evasively. Why would he lie about such a thing? Unless he’d had some favored mistress staying here. The thought sliced into her like a razor. Why should she care about the other women in his life?
“There are about thirty rooms in the castle altogether.” He interrupted her train of jealous thought. “Also a large cellar.”
They made
their way downstairs. “This is the main dining room.” He pushed open a door and she glanced into a beautiful room. The walls had marble and gilt appliqués that acted as a perfect foil for the elaborate painted ceilings. It could have belonged in a palace.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, I use it when I have company.”
What visitors would a man like him have? People from the racing fraternity? Women?
He showed her the sitting room she remembered from last night. “The rooms in the other wing are empty.”
“What are the towers used for?”
“Show more than anything else. I suppose you could use them for storage if you wanted to. They’re empty at present.”
“Why doesn’t Sam live here?”
“Doesn’t want to. He’s got lung problems, so he just potters around.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “The excursion is finished now so we can have morning tea. I have it in the kitchen so I don’t need to change, if you’d prefer the drawing room…”
“I don’t mind eating in the kitchen.” She held her head at a proud angle, having never been ashamed of her lowly background. “I’m used to it.”
The moment they arrived in the kitchen, Mrs. Irvine set a plate of fruitcake and some sandwiches before them.
“Elizabeth has white tea.” Martin sat down, stretching his long legs out under the table. Beth took a chair opposite so she could scrutinize him. When relaxed, the harsh planes of his face softened. His eyes were unfathomable, a deep mysterious blue, his long thick eyelashes the envy of any woman. Deep lines grooved either side of his mouth, not laughter lines she would stake her life on it. He had the appearance of man whose life had been marred by grief and tragedy.
The housekeeper poured Beth’s tea, handed it over with a smile before pouring Martin’s, black and unsweetened. Rather like the man himself, she thought. A black, unsweetened character, on the surface at least.
“Eat up.” He pointed to the sandwiches. “No wonder you’re so tiny, you don’t eat enough. You have the child’s welfare to consider now.”
He ate hungrily, his white teeth flashed every now and again, the muscles in his jaw moving as he chewed with his mouth closed.
“When will you show me around the farm?” she queried, playing with an escaped strand of hair.
“Soon. I’m too busy now. The men are drafting sheep.”
“Could I come and watch?”
“No, you’d get in the way.” He took another bite of his sandwich and washed it down with a mouthful of tea.
“I’d like to see what’s happening. I’ve never had much to do with sheep.”
“Yeah, cattle was your game,” he sneered. “Your grandfather should be worth a fortune with the amount of stock he rustled over the years.”
“My grandfather is a Scottish Highlander, related to one of the Campbell chieftains.”
“Your grandfather is a dirt poor, vindictive old man.”
Martin sprung from his chair and stalked out, leaving her shaken and upset at his venom.
* * *
Beth wandered down to the river, which was about half a mile from the castle. Leaning against a willow tree, she watched the water flow between sandy tree-lined banks. Intermittently, the raucous calls of birds in a nearby tree shattered the tranquility. Would she ever get used to being Martin Mulvaney’s wife? I have to. I’m going to be the mother of his child and he’ll never let it go. If I ever leave him, I’ll have to go alone. The law was on his side. I can’t do it to you. She patted her stomach. You’re my baby, too, and I’ll never desert you.
Sam called out as she dawdled past his cottage. “Come and see my garden.”
“Thank you.” They strolled around the back to a well-tended garden containing fruit trees, herbs and vegetables. Beth picked a twig of lavender, crushed the leaves in her hand and inhaled the perfume.
“How about a cup of tea, my dear? You look like you could do with one.”
“That would be nice.” She followed him into a pine-lined kitchen.
“Do you have milk?”
She nodded.
“I do too. Sorry I can’t offer you anything to eat, I don’t have visitors.”
“How big is this place, Sam?”
“Well. If you mean all the land around here, there are fifty thousand acres. Martin runs about five thousand sheep, although his main interest is in breeding racehorses.”
“It’s a lot of land.”
“Yes, and he also owns a large property near Bendigo. He’s a bit of a rolling stone, but always ends up back here, I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because he was born in the castle, yet sometimes I think he hates the place.”
“Why doesn’t he do something to improve the castle?”
Sam sighed. “I’ve tried telling him that. He has no interest in it, is letting it rot away. Half the rooms are empty, and time has decayed the furniture and hangings. It was a luxurious place once, full of antiques and valuable paintings brought from overseas.”
Beth leaned forward in her chair, her gaze concentrated on him so he would keep on talking.
“Martin’s father sold most of them, gambled away a small fortune. He turned out to be one of the most despised men in the colony, little more than a sadist. No one worked for Black Jack Mulvaney unless they had to. Most of his workers were newly arrived, destitute immigrants.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be telling a young lady such things.”
“I want to know about Martin so I can understand him better,” she persisted. “Did you know him as a child?”
“Yes. I worked here for a time. Kathleen, his mother, was never strong, and the beatings Jack gave her made things worse. Except for Martin, she never carried a full term child. Jack married her to beget legal heirs because no decent men would allow him to wed their daughters. Kathleen met and married Jack on the ship coming out from Ireland.”
“Grandfather said the Mulvaneys owned some of those immigrant ships.” Beth trembled with indignation on recalling the comments made by her grandfather. “They let passengers starve because they took money from the government to buy food, but kept it instead.”
“Yes, I did hear something of the kind. Jack captained some of those hell ships.”
“That’s why grandfather hates them. Our whole family left Scotland after one of the Highland clearances. All my uncles, aunts and cousins died on the voyage out, only my father and grandparents survived. My parents met each other on the immigrant ship and they got married after arriving in Melbourne. They died when Alistair and I were about three, so we came up here to live with our grandparents.” She covered her heart with her hands as the pain of such a loss seared through her. What would have happened to them if grandfather had not taken them in? He and granny had loved them, nurtured them, given them a good Christian upbringing. They might not have had much money, but there was always enough food and they had been happy. Even after granny died.
“Did Martin’s father beat him as a child?”
“Not at first. When the boy got old enough to realize how his mother was treated, he spoke up, and that brought about his father’s wrath. I couldn’t do much for Kathleen, but many times I saved young Martin from a thrashing.”
Beth shuddered. Black Jack Mulvaney’s evil aura still permeated the castle, casting a dark shadow on all who ventured there.
Sam sighed. “I spent a lot of time away in those days. When Martin turned nine he sometimes went on cattle round-ups with me. Jack didn’t care, saved him another lot of wages.”
“What a brute of a man.”
“Yes. Much worse after he got out of jail, though.”
“What! He spent time in jail?”
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head.
“I thought your grandfather would have told you. His evidence convicted Jack. All the other immigrants were too scared to speak out until your grandfather did.”
“Is that why Martin hates the Campbells?”
“Y
es, one of the reasons. He blames his father’s experience in jail for the brutality, but Jack always acted vicious even as a child. Martin’s mother blamed your grandfather, too. In her poor, mixed up mind, she convinced herself jail turned Jack into a sadist.” He patted her hand. “I’m sorry, my dear, I shouldn’t speak to you like this. The past is dead and buried. Better left that way. I’ve tried to tell Martin, but he won’t listen.”
“I’d better get back.” Beth stood up and ran a hand down the side of her gown, straightening out a non-existent crease. “Thank you for tea and telling me about Martin.”
When Beth returned to the castle, Mrs. Irvine met her in the hallway.
“I’m still cleaning the upstairs rooms, Mrs. Mulvaney. I’ve finished your room if you want to go up, though.”
“Thank you.” Beth headed upstairs to wash her face and hands before lunch. Pointless changing clothes when her wardrobe was small and Martin appeared not to notice what she wore.
About to enter their room, she saw the door of the so-called junk room ajar. Curiosity got the better of her. Peering inside, she exhaled an angry breath and bunched her fists. Had Martin been nearby she would have pummeled his chest.
No storage room, this. The décor looked feminine, several shades of pink. A large, four-poster bed had lace ruffles. An exquisitely carved bedside table in rosewood matched the pretty armchair. A pink and white tapestry carpet covered the floor. This room was obviously reserved for some special mistress. Shock turned to anger. How many mistresses had he entertained here? She could not decide which scenario was worse, him having a string of mistresses or a favorite one.
In comparison, her bedroom seemed even worse. The threadbare blue carpet, together with faded drapes and the dark wall panels, added to the depressive dinginess. Pushing open the connecting door, she stared into Martin’s dressing room, so plain as to be austere, devoid of any personal items whatsoever.
After tidying her hair, she wandered downstairs for lunch. Martin met her in the small dining room.
His vivid blue eyes scrutinized her face. “What’s wrong?”
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