Nicola Cornick - [Scottish Brides 01]

by The Ladyand the Laird

  “But to go so far from home?” Lucy stared. “After your brother died you were heir to the Methven estates! Surely—”

  “I was young and foolish,” Robert said, interrupting her, cutting her off. He picked up the wine bottle. “Would you care for more?”

  It was so clear a warning to drop the subject that Lucy almost flinched. He was not prepared to give her an insight into his emotions. She felt chilled by the rebuff.

  She ran her fingers over the engraved initials of the signet ring on her hand. It felt warm and heavy, but the comfort of it was illusory. It did not bind them closer because it seemed Robert did not want that intimacy.

  “Thank you,” she said, as coolly as he, and filled the silence between them by drinking half of it even though she was not sure she should take any more.

  “I have sent a letter to your sister Mairi to tell her that you are safe,” Robert said, after a long pause. “Also your father. I have asked for your hand in marriage.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Actually I have told him we are to wed tomorrow.”

  Lucy jumped, spilling some drops of her wine on the shiny wooden surface of the table.

  “Tomorrow!” she said.

  “Aye.” His blue gaze challenged her. He nodded toward her hand. “You wear my ring. I was under the impression that you had accepted my proposal.”

  Lucy touched the golden band lightly. “You offered it to me to protect my reputation here in public.”

  “I offered it to you because I want to marry you,” Robert said. His gaze was dark now, opaque. She could not tell what he was thinking. “You have seen for yourself now how Wilfred Cardross works,” he said harshly, lifting his gaze to hers. “Would you be prepared to let this land fall into his hands?”

  “That’s not fair,” Lucy said. She pushed her plate away, appetite gone. Even so, she was thinking of Isobel and Bessie and the horror and fear in their eyes. She thought of the bare plot of land at the croft where she had stopped to ask for directions. She thought of Wilfred’s guile and cruelty, of men’s livelihoods stolen and their homes gone, their families dispersed. She raised a hand to touch her cheek and felt the throb of the bruise.

  “He cannot be allowed to win,” Robert said.

  “No,” Lucy whispered.

  “Those who are strong have a responsibility to protect others.” He covered her hand with his. “You are strong, Lucy.”

  “You believe that?” Lucy’s fingers trembled on the stem of the wineglass. She had never thought herself strong. She had despised herself for her weakness in failing Alice and Alice’s child.

  “You can help my people.” Robert’s tone was steady and the look in his eyes deep and intent.

  “Yes,” Lucy whispered. She had known there was no going back. Robert would agree to nothing less than marriage now, and even if he let her go, there was no possible way to save her reputation. She could never step back into her old life as though nothing had happened. Already it felt distant, lost to her.

  “You need a wife to fulfill the terms of the treaty,” she said, moistening her lips. Her throat felt sore and rough. She took another mouthful of wine and could not taste it.

  “No,” Robert said. His fingers tightened over hers. “I need you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LUCY LOOKED INTO ROBERT’S eyes and saw the certainty and the determination there.

  “You would want a wife in your bed and an heir for Methven,” she said.

  She saw the leap of heat in his eyes. “I would,” he said. “I require an heir.”

  “Then I can’t marry you,” Lucy said in a rush. “I can’t sleep with you. I can’t give you an heir. It’s impossible.”

  She was not sure what she had expected him to say to that. She had not thought that far ahead. She had seen no further than blurting out the truth. Now, to her surprise, he said nothing at all. He demanded no explanations; he did not contradict her or ride roughshod over her words. Instead his gaze swept over her thoughtfully and she felt the trembling inside her ease and the tight knot of panic in her chest loosen a little.

  “I suspected as much,” he said. A faint smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Tell me more about that.”

  Startled, she stared at him. “You don’t mind?”

  He shrugged, the tiniest hint of tension in the line of his shoulders. “Lucy,” he said, “you went to a hell of a lot of trouble to run away from me. At every point you have refused my offer of marriage even at the cost of your reputation. What sort of fool would I be if I had not realized that there must be some...” He paused. “Some very important reason why you felt that you could not wed me?”

  He looked up suddenly and her heart jumped at the expression in his eyes. “I flatter myself that you do not object to me personally, but if I am mistaken, perhaps this would be the moment to tell me.”

  Unbelievably she felt a flutter of laughter in her chest. “Robert,” she said. “No, I...I do like you—” It was only then she realized quite how much she did like him, and felt alongside the leap of excitement in her blood a sickening lurch of misery that she was so damaged that what they might have had together could never be.

  Robert got up and came across to her, sitting on the edge of the table, one booted leg swinging. “I am encouraged to hear it,” he said. “So tell me, Lucy, if we cannot wed, what reason could possibly be strong enough? After all—” His tone had hardened a little. “You were prepared to marry MacGillivray.” His voice was dry. “He was your perfect ideal.”

  “There is no such thing as a perfect ideal,” Lucy said. It felt good to be so honest after so many years of pretense. It felt as though something had opened inside her, spilling out the truth at last. “Lord MacGillivray was a good man,” she said, “but he was ideal only in the sense that he was safe.”

  “He did not want to bed you,” Robert said softly. A flame burned deep in the blue of his eyes. “You chose MacGillivray because he did not desire you.” His hand was beneath her chin forcing it up so that she was obliged to meet his eyes. “You are afraid of intimacy,” he said. His fingers were cool against her hot cheek. His eyes searched her face, all humor gone now.

  “No,” Lucy said. “I am afraid of the consequence of intimacy, not intimacy itself. I am afraid of pregnancy and childbirth...” Her voice cracked.

  “Why are you scared, Lucy?” Robert said. “What happened? Tell me.” His voice was very quiet, steady and soothing, and he took her hand in his, drawing her to her feet and over to the fireside, where there was a cushioned settle. He pulled her down to sit beside him. “You can tell me anything,” he said.

  “My sister Alice,” Lucy said. “She was my twin. She died in childbirth.” Suddenly the pain of memory caught her. It felt as though it was ripping her in half. She put an arm across her stomach to keep it in, but it was too huge, too violent. She gasped aloud with it.

  “Help me, Lucy! I am so afraid!” The words, like a cry in the dark, echoed through Lucy’s mind.

  She put her hands over her face, then let them fall. Her eyes were dry, the tears locked up inside. She had never once cried over Alice’s death because she was afraid that once she started, it would be impossible to stop.

  “It started the night you came to Forres,” Lucy said. “Alice was watching the gentlemen on the terrace that night. She saw Hamish Purnell and fell in love with him at first sight. Well,” she corrected herself, “she fell in love with the idea of being in love with him. It was a schoolgirl crush at first, but it became so much more. Only at the time I did not realize.”

  She screwed her eyes up tightly. She had never talked about this and now she could feel the panic growing in her, locking her muscles, making her heart pound. Her chest felt tight.

  Robert took her hand again. His was warm and comforting. He rubbed his thumb gently over the back of it, soothing, back and forth. It gave her the strength to go on.

  “Purnell was married,” Lucy said, “but still he started an affaire with Alice. She would slip
away to meet him in the woods. She thought it was all impossibly romantic. I warned her to be careful, but she would not listen to me. Alice had a great ability only to hear what she wanted to hear.”

  Suddenly she was angry with Alice, her anger as fresh and vivid as though her twin’s folly had happened only yesterday. “I knew what she was doing was wrong. I told her—” She stopped, caught out by a sob that tore at her lungs.

  “What happened?” Robert’s voice was very quiet.

  “It ended,” Lucy said. “Or so I thought.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. She had been very naive and she hated herself for it. She stared at Robert, not really seeing him, seeing instead Alice’s face. “After a while I realized that there was something wrong. Alice was always bright and impulsive, laughing where I was serious, frivolous where I was staid. But then she changed.” She looked down at her hands, at her fingers interlinked with Robert’s, hers pale, his tanned and strong. “She became thin and quiet and withdrawn. It was as though all the color had drained out of her.”

  “She was pregnant,” Robert said.

  Lucy nodded. “I was terribly hurt that she had not told me. I felt as though I had failed her in some way, that she did not want to confide in me.” It still hurt now, the thought that Alice had not trusted her. They had always told each other everything. Except this time was different.

  “Did you tell anyone else?” Robert asked.

  Lucy shook her head. “Alice made me swear to tell no one, made me promise on our mother’s grave.”

  Of course she had agreed. They had kept each other’s secrets always. And even though Alice had kept this from her for so long, even though it was the biggest and most frightening secret in the world, too big to hold alone, Lucy had tried. She had tried so hard.

  “Such a huge secret to carry on your own,” Robert said, his words echoing her thoughts. “I am sorry you had to do that.”

  “Alice planned to have the baby in secret and give it away and that way no one would know,” Lucy said. “She was so afraid of getting into trouble.” She stared into the red heart of the fire. “I had never realized, because Alice always seemed so brave, but beneath it all she was just a frightened child herself. And I was no better.”

  “You were very young,” Robert said, “and no doubt you were terrified too.”

  “I was sixteen,” Lucy said. It felt like a lifetime ago, as though it had happened to a different girl. Yet it was as fresh and painful as a new wound.

  “Alice went into labor prematurely at seven months,” she said. “I was with her when it happened. Neither of us knew what to do. It was terrifying.”

  The cold, the bitter chill she always felt when she remembered, was lapping at her now. She wanted to push the memories away, to run and hide as she had always done, yet something stronger, something at last more powerful, was helping her on. She felt it in the strength and reassurance of Robert’s touch and saw it in his eyes.

  “I knew that something was going wrong,” Lucy said, “but Alice begged me not to leave her. Even at the end she was so scared of getting into trouble, so I left too late and when I finally ran for help...” She stopped. “I could have saved her,” she whispered. “I could have saved the child. If only I had gone sooner. But I did not.”

  She stopped. Her teeth were chattering. She felt exhausted, cold to her bones.

  “Lucy,” Robert said, and there was so much gentleness in his tone that she shook to hear it. She wanted to put her hands over her ears, to block out his tenderness, because she was so close to the edge of control now that she could not bear it and she knew another word from him would bring her down.

  “It was not your fault Alice and the baby died,” Robert said. “Don’t punish yourself. You did what you thought was best. You were sixteen, Lucy. You have to forgive yourself.”

  “I can’t,” Lucy said. The tears were very close now and it terrified her because she had never cried for Alice and the baby, she had never dared to cry, afraid that if she started she would never stop. But now she felt the huge rush of desolation like an unstoppable tide and it was too late, it was on her and over her and she cried and cried and Robert held her shaking body against his until she had soaked him with her tears, as well.

  “Sweetheart...” Robert’s grip on her tightened and he held her closer still. She was shocked by how good it felt to be held like this. A part of her, the old fear, wanted to draw back, but Robert’s arms were unyielding about her and after a moment she accepted him and the comfort she craved.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So very sorry.”

  He raised her face to his at that and brushed the hair away from her hot wet cheeks and kissed her. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He sounded fierce. “You did nothing wrong, Lucy. It was not your fault that they died. You do not know that your sister would have lived, nor a seventh-month child.” His voice had dropped. “You were very brave. Unbelievably brave and honorable.”

  His words only seemed to make her cry all the harder. She felt helplessly unable to stop, sobbing, gulping and wondering as finally the tears started to fade whether she looked as dreadful as she thought she must.

  “How much you have suffered,” Robert said softly, stroking the hair back from her damp cheeks. “Unbearable to have to carry it all alone.” He held her a little way away from him. There was a smile in his eyes as he looked at her.

  “I know,” Lucy said defensively. “I look awful.”

  “The question is whether you feel any better now that you have spoken of it,” Robert said. “You never told anyone, did you?”

  Lucy shook her head. “I couldn’t talk about it. I felt so guilty and sick to even think of it. I have nightmares. Waking ones too. I see it all again in my mind’s eye, over and over. It’s as though I cannot escape.”

  Robert kissed her very gently. There was no demand in the kiss, only comfort and sweetness.

  “You do not turn away from me,” he said, as their lips parted. “I am glad of that. It is no wonder you do not believe you could ever lie with a man and bear his child.” His lips brushed her hair, pressing soft kisses. “After all you have been through, it would be no wonder if you believed all men were self-serving bastards like Hamish Purnell.”

  “I trust you,” Lucy said. “I know you are not like that.” She dropped her gaze, fixing it on one of the mother-of-pearl buttons on his jacket, rubbing her fingers over their smoothness. “And yes,” she added, “I do feel a little better. I feel...” She stopped. It was as though a crack had opened in the darkness, shedding a sliver of light into the emptiness of her heart. It was hard to believe after eight barren years, but it was true.

  Yet it was not enough.

  She looked up and saw that Robert was watching her. From the look in his eyes he already knew what she was going to say. Her heart lurched.

  “It makes no difference,” she whispered. “It can make no difference to us. Don’t you see that, Robert?” Her gaze implored him. “I’m still too damaged, too afraid—” She saw the instinctive repudiation in his face and pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. It felt impossible to make sense of the warring demands of her mind and her body, of the sweet seduction of Robert’s kisses and at the same time the cold fear that numbed her mind and her heart when she thought of the marriage bed and of bearing a child. She thought of the tiny frail burden that had been Alice’s son and she shuddered. She had failed a child who had depended on her. She could not trust herself. Not even now, when the truth was revealed at last.

  “I can’t offer you anything,” she said, with painful honesty. “It is not fair to you.”

  Robert took her hand in his and kissed the fingers gently. He head was bent and the firelight burnished his hair to rich chestnut.

  “If you marry me I will settle for whatever you can give,” he said roughly. “If you marry me I swear not to force you into an intimacy you do not want.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened with shock. “But you cannot make a
match on those grounds,” she stammered. “You need an heir.”

  Robert’s smile was wicked all of a sudden. “In time I will have my heir,” he said. He kissed her again, long, slow and languorous so that when he released her she was flushed and panting.

  “I do not believe it impossible,” he murmured, “with time and trust.”

  “The difficulty is not in kissing you,” Lucy said.

  “So I had observed,” Robert said.

  Lucy smiled a little, but beneath it she felt an edge of sadness. She trusted him not to ask more of her than she was prepared to give. Still, she was not sure she would ever be brave enough to give him the heir he desired. The thought was enormous and terrifying and it made her shrink inside. It took her back to the shuttered room and the scent of death and the fear in Alice’s eyes.

  Yet Robert’s gaze was steady on her and his touch felt warm and solid and comforting.

  “Marry me,” he said softly. “Have faith that together we can make all well.”

  Lucy thought about Wilfred Cardross laying claim to Methven land and his men burning and pillaging the villages and Isobel’s tired face and the terror in Bessie’s eyes. She thought about the clansmen who had given their loyalty and their lives to the laird for hundreds of years, losing their lands and their livelihood. She thought of the poverty and the misery and the starvation that were the price of her freedom. She remembered the barren village she had ridden through and the dirt and squalor of the crofts. She felt the burn of old hatreds and the echo of that enmity in the blood.

  She thought about never seeing Robert Methven again.

  She thought about the faith he had shown in her, his belief that together they could overcome her fear.

  She thought about being his only hope.

  He was watching her. There was tension in the line of his jaw and a coolness in his eyes as though he had taken the biggest gamble of his life and was convinced he was about to lose his stake.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she said slowly, and felt the fear grip her by the throat so fast she almost contradicted herself immediately.