Beth entered the sitting room to find Dolly lolling in a chair. “Well, Martin got himself married after all these years, and to a mere child.”
Pebble-hard brown eyes surveyed Beth from head to foot. One did not need to be a mind reader to know the woman was not impressed.
“I always fancied myself as Mrs. Martin Mulvaney. We did have an understanding I suppose you could say. After all, we’ve had a long and very close,” she paused a fraction for effect, “friendship.” Even a child would be aware of what she meant to say. They were lovers.
Beth had to acknowledge Dolly did have a flashy kind of beauty, with red hair curled on top of her head with the right amount of frizz to make it the latest fashion.
“I’m a famous actress,” the woman announced in carrying tones.
“Oh? I’ve never heard of you before today.” Beth grinned at Dolly’s pained expression. This woman considered herself a prima donna. Mrs. Irvine arrived with the silver tea service.
“I’d prefer a brandy.” A languid smile touched Dolly’s painted lips. “But tea will have to do.” After Mrs. Irvine left the room, she inquired. “Shall I pour?”
“No, I will.” Beth handed Dolly the cup and felt tempted to tip the contents into her elegant lap. This rude, ill-mannered woman set her teeth on edge, combined with jealousy of her relationship with Martin, the dislike was instantaneous.
The afternoon dragged on. Never had Beth met such a vain person. Martin came in and gave her the briefest of nods without noticing Dolly, who reclined on the couch.
“Why, Martin.”
Shock drained the color from his face. “Dolly!”
“Darling.” She glided into his arms and kissed him rapturously. After what seemed like an eternity, he extricated himself.
“What brings you here?” he drawled, giving the redhead a white-toothed smile.
“How could you marry someone else? I’m quite hurt after all the time we’ve spent together.” Dolly’s suggestive smirk caused Beth to grind her teeth in a most unladylike fashion.
He sat down next to Dolly on the couch and ignored Beth. “How’s the acting?”
“Oh, wonderful.” She went into raptures, obviously a woman who loved talking about herself.
They sat together engrossed in their reminiscing. If I left the room neither of them would even notice. Beth felt sick at heart. What a relief when Mrs. Irvine came in to ask when Martin wanted dinner served.
“Dinner time already?” He arched his eyebrows in surprise. “I’ll go upstairs and have a wash. Give me about ten minutes.”
He smiled at Dolly, leaving Beth to stifle her jealousy.
“I might freshen up, too, such a tedious journey in the coach.” Dolly followed Martin out of the room in a deliberate ploy to get him alone.
After what seemed like hours, but was in fact, less than fifteen minutes, they entered the room together. Dolly had changed into a green dress, so tightly pulled in at the back she could scarcely walk.
Beth could not drag her eyes away from Martin’s handsome freshly shaven face. He wore a black frock coat, and the bitterness of betrayal soured her mouth when she noticed his octagon tie was the same shade of green as Dolly’s gown.
“Well, ladies.” He smiled at Dolly as he offered them an arm each, and Beth almost refused. He intended to humiliate her. She was his wife, this other woman obviously one of his mistresses, yet he treated them as equals. How dare he!
They entered the dining room. He pulled out Beth’s chair, did the same for Dolly then took his normal place at the head of the table. While they waited for their meal to arrive, he gave all his attention to Dolly who lapped it up like a greedy cat.
The meal tasted superb. Mrs. Irvine cooked plain meals but as Beth remembered the dinner party, she began to realize what an excellent versatile cook they had. She had to force the chicken and vegetable soup down past the lump in her throat. Martin concentrated most of his attention on Dolly, and Beth knew he did it on purpose.
Their main course soon followed. Steak, with creamed potatoes, green peas and baby carrots. For someone so slim, Dolly had an enormous appetite. She must have starved herself beforehand.
“Darling, do you remember?” The voice droned on about the various activities they had shared together. Beth blocked out what they said, in case she got up and punched the creature on her revoltingly vivid mouth.
They partook of tea in the sitting room. Martin sat in an armchair this time; Dolly got up, sat on the arm of the chair next to him, and brazenly caressed his cheek with her long fingernails. Beth sat on the couch, too upset to speak, while Dolly babbled on about all the plays in which she had starred.
“Make us some cocoa,” Martin said a couple of hours later, as he stretched his legs out so Dolly’s hand could rest on his thigh.
“I beg your pardon?” Beth could not believe Martin would speak to her in this peremptory tone.
“I said see about the cocoa, Mrs. Irvine would have retired for the night by now. Dolly always likes a hot drink before going to bed.”
Beth opened her mouth, and then clamped it shut, much like a stranded fish.
“You haven’t forgotten.” Dolly offered Martin a smile of sickening smugness.
Beth shook her head. “Sorry, I’m too tired, you get the cocoa. Did you say you acted in London, Dolly?” She tried to sound chatty. No mean feat when she wanted to scratch Dolly’s eyes out, Martin’s too, for that matter.
His face darkened. “Do as I say and make the cocoa.”
“Get it yourself. I hope it chokes you.”
She ran from the room and raced upstairs to the bedroom. She undressed, prepared for bed and lay there fuming. How dare he humiliate her by aligning himself with a horrible, vain creature like Dolly?
Sometime later, he came in, so she buried her face deeper in the pillow as he lit the bedside lamp. He sat down on the bed to pull off his boots. She did not look at him as he undressed.
“Elizabeth.” He climbed into bed and reached for her. She tried to hunch away, but he dragged her into his arms anyway. His hard kisses demanded a response. She tried to push him away, pummeled at his back, all to no avail, because her treacherous body betrayed her by starting to respond.
She heard his triumphant laugh when he felt her heated response. He knew she was his utterly and completely, putty in his hands, and as always used the knowledge to his own advantage.
Beth woke up. Had she heard a scream?
“Martin,” she whispered his name and put her hand out to touch him. The other side of the bed was empty, although still warm from his body. The gilded wall clock showed the time to be four o’clock.
She lay in the darkness waiting for him to return. Perhaps he would apologize for the way he had humiliated her last night. A couple of minutes more ticked by. A terrible suspicion came to her, a thought so shocking she broke out in a cold sweat. He wouldn’t go to Dolly. No decent man would leave his marital bed to go to his mistress. A scream rose up into her throat at such vileness. She bit down hard on her lip, lest any sounds escaped.
Not even bothering with slippers or a dressing gown, she crept down the darkened hallway to the pink room. The door stood ajar. By the light thrown out from a lamp on the side table, she watched horrified. Martin held Dolly in his arms. She wore nothing except a transparent silky nightgown. One of the straps had slipped down over her shoulder, to expose a creamy expanse of bare breast.
Beth gave a strangled cry. Her eyes widened with horror and a shudder shook all the way through her. The pain of betrayal stabbed into her like a war lance, pared open her heart, lacerated her soul. She turned and fled.
She reached their bedroom and tried to slam the door as Martin charged up. He shoved his foot in the door, cursing with pain when she slammed it on his bare foot. He pushed against the wooden panels and the door swung open, almost sending her flying. She stood trembling, anguished tears poured down her cheek at his despicable betrayal.
He wore his silk dressing
gown. All the buttons were undone, the loose ends held together by the hastily tied belt. His feet were bare. He reached out and pulled her up against him, but she stiffened away from his touch.
“Please, let me explain. I know it looks bad.”
She lashed out at his chest. “I hate you, you depraved animal.”
“Listen to me.” He took hold of her shoulders and shook her slightly. “I can explain if you’d give me a chance.”
“Explain!” She felt calm now. Dead calm. Her heart had frozen over with grief. “You left our bed in the middle of the night. I saw you holding a half-naked woman in her bedroom, and you want to explain. There’s nothing to explain, is there? You vowed to grind the Campbell pride into the dust. Did you deliberately plan this? Make me fall in love with you, then bed another woman in front of my very eyes.”
His ashen face looked positively haggard. “For God’s sake, Elizabeth, please.”
“No. I’m sick of listening to your lies and living with your hate. I’m going back to grandfather. If you want to throw us off our farm and into the street you can, because I don’t care anymore.” She took a deep breath and screamed, “I don’t care about anything.”
He picked her up and put her into bed, and she struggled with him as he tried to cover her with the blankets, bucking and kicking. “You’re so cold, you’ll catch a chill.”
“Why should you care? I’ve served my purpose. You’ve got your revenge. I hope you enjoy it.” She went still, collapsed on the bed in a crumpled heap, like a doll discarded by a careless child.
“My God, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Tomorrow when you’re not so upset we’ll talk.” He stroked the hair away from her face with trembling fingers.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever defile me with your touch again.”
“I’ll sleep in my dressing room tonight.”
“Why don’t you go to Dolly?” she yelled. Turning away, he strode out of the room.
Beth lay in bed and flooded the pillow with tears. What a fool, falling in love with him had played right into his evil hands. He hated her grandfather with a fiery obsession and vowed revenge, but what he had done this night was viciously cruel, kinder for him to shoot her dead.
Sleep proved impossible. The next two hours were the longest, the worst of her life. Once it became light enough to see without the lamp, she changed into a skirt and blouse. After pulling on a coat, she shoved a few items into a bag and crept downstairs to find Sam, the one person who could help her escape this purgatory.
With tear-filled eyes, she repeatedly hammered on his door until he opened it.
“For heaven’s sake, child. What’s happened?” He helped her inside.
“Take me home to grandfather. You’ve got to take me away from here before Martin wakes up.” Idly she noticed he wore trousers over his nightshirt.
“Why do you want to leave at this hour?” He turned away. “Let me get a coat.”
He returned within a few minutes with his coat and boots on. “Here, drink this brandy.”
He thrust a small glass of amber liquid into her hand. She drank a mouthful; the fiery liquid burned her throat, but composed her enough to blurt out. “I caught Martin in that Dolly woman’s bedroom.”
“You what?” His face turned ghostly white.
“Take me home, Sam, I can’t endure anymore.”
“There’s no mistake, you caught him in her bedroom?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing.”
“The damn fool. How could Martin do such a vile thing?” He put his hand under her arm. “I’ll take you home, my dear. Wait here while I hitch up a buggy.”
Sam returned after a few minutes and helped her into the buggy. He threw her bag into the back then climbed up into the driver’s seat and picked up the reins.
“I can’t understand what got into him. I thought he’d given up on all this revenge business,” Sam said.
As they drove along, Beth huddled on the seat beside Sam with her face buried in her hands. No words passed between them until they pulled up outside her grandfather’s door.
“You’re home now, my dear.” Sam helped her down, and with an arm around her shoulders, they slowly walked to the porch.
Alistair, with a milking bucket in his hand, opened the door to them. “What’s wrong?”
“Get her inside, son. Your sister has been through a terrible ordeal, no good for one in her condition.”
“What’s the matter, Beth?”
“Oh, Alistair.” She collapsed in his arms and between the two men they managed to get her into the cabin and over to the fire.
“You feel so cold,” Alistair said.
“Where’s Fergus, boy?”
“Still in bed, he felt sick last night.”
“Your grandfather is in for a hell of a shock. I can scarcely believe what’s happened myself.”
Beth stood sobbing. Martin had taken her heart, smashed it to smithereens, and she would never be quite the same person again.
“What’s the matter?” Alistair’s voice sharpened with anxiety.
“Hard to get a coherent story out of her, but she caught Martin kissing another woman.”
“No wonder she’s upset.”
“Get her a warm drink then put her to bed. I’m sorry about this. Martin is a fool.”
Alistair saw Sam to the buggy.
“Don’t come any further with me, see to your sister. I’ll miss her cheerful company.”
Alistair dashed back to the kitchen to set the kettle back on to boil.
“Drink this tea and you’ll feel better. Well, at least it’ll warm you up a bit.”
After she drank the tea, he helped her into his bedroom. “You’d better have my bed, yours isn’t made up. Try to rest. I’ll get grandfather before I start milking.”
Alistair went to their grandfather’s room and woke the old man up. “Ye look pale laddie, anything wrong? Don’t worry about the wee turn I took last night.”
“Beth caught Mulvaney with another woman.”
“What!” Fergus nearly jumped out of bed as Alistair repeated himself.
“Get my gun. I’ll put a bullet in that black devil’s heart, even if I hang for it.”
“Listen, Sam brought her home. You should go to her; she’s in my bed in a terrible state. I’ll do the milking then come back. Sam said we shouldn’t leave her alone.”
Within seconds, Fergus dressed and hurried into his granddaughter. “Bethie, my wee, Bethie.” Shocked at her appearance, he put his arms around her as he always did in times of stress.
Sobs racked her body until finally, there were no tears left to shed. “I never want to see or hear from him again,” she blubbered. “I hate him.”
“If Mulvaney ever sets foot on this place, I’ll shoot him dead.”
“Don’t hurt him. I hate him, but I love him, too. He could be kind sometimes.”
“Have a wee rest now.” He patted her hand and left the room. In the kitchen, he joined Alistair who had returned from milking.
“Do you think, I mean, it couldn’t be right, grandfather, Mulvaney with another woman. How could a man do such a terrible thing to his wife?”
“Of course he’d do it, I’d put nothing past him. He wanted revenge on the Campbells and used Bethie. If I ever see him, so help me God, I’ll put a bullet in that black heart of his. Get me a wee dram of whisky, laddie.”
* * *
Beth slept until lunchtime, and had just joined her grandfather when Alistair strode in.
“You all right, sis?” he asked anxiously
She nodded. “I’ll be all right in a while. If I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed such a terrible thing. I thought he loved me, but no man who cared for his wife would do anything so cruel.”
“He’s an animal,” Fergus snarled.
“I’ll clear away here if you want to do some work outside.” Desperation forced her to make the offer. She had
to do something or go mad.
“Alistair can go. Scout around and see if ye can pick up the tracks of those feral pigs.”
“Martin had trouble too, they put up a fence.” All that belonged to a different life and should be wiped from her mind if she wanted to retain her sanity.
“I’ll stay here with my wee Bethie.”
She helped grandfather with the dishes, then heated up the irons and started ironing. The men had kept their washing up to date, but had not worried about wearing crumpled shirts.
“There’s no need for ye to do any work.”
“I feel better doing something,” she said, waving aside his protest.
Later, she got some sheets and re-made her bed. Even though they were poor, their bedding had always been good. Remembering the feel of silken sheets at the castle made her want to weep.
The two men had done a fair job of housekeeping, if dust under the beds and dirty windows didn’t count. Keep busy, don’t dwell on Martin’s despicable betrayal.
Chapter Fifteen
Beth slumped in a chair on the front porch rocking from side to side, sunk into the deepest, blackest pit of misery. Two days had passed since she fled Martin, yet she still could not eat or sleep. You have to think of the baby. At least you have something from the ruins of your marriage. Some women are left with nothing. Her eyes burned from having cried so much. She could not have felt sicker or sorrier if she had survived a flogging.
A lone rider came into view. She raised herself, ready to flee inside and barricade the door, if it turned out to be Martin. As the horseman drew near, she recognized Oliver Driscoll.
Oliver dismounted, tethered his horse and walked over to her, hesitating once he reached the porch. Removing his hat, he twirled it between his hands.
“How are you, Elizabeth?”
“Not very good.”
“I’m sorry.” He moved a little closer, and his eyes were sad, full of compassion. “I was on my way over to the castle with your cloak and bonnet when I ran into Sam who told me what happened. I can’t believe Martin would indulge in such a filthy act.”
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