“Ships and boats float,” Blaze said, “while mountains and hills stand tall. I can see no difference.”
“Would you prefer sailing across the ocean in a ship or a boat?”
“I would prefer not sailing across the ocean at all.”
Blaze peered out the coach window. The Highlands of Scotland was a land of lonely majesty with white-capped peaks, green glens, and blue lochs.
“What do you think, Puddles?” The mastiff barked.
“What did he say?” Ross asked her.
Blaze looked at him, her expression deadpan. “Puddles said arf-arf.”
“I should have seen that comin’,” Ross said, smiling. “In my great-grandfather’s time, a coach couldna take us to Loch Awe because there were no roads.”
“How did they get home?” Blaze asked him.
“They rode their horses.”
“How did they know where they were going?”
“The clan members knew every nook and cranny and stone on their lands,” Ross answered. “Most passed their entire lives on clan lands and never left home except to fight wars.”
“I lived my entire life in London and never traveled farther than Newmarket.”
“Ye’ll soon see Ben Cruachan risin’ behind Kilchurn Castle,” Ross said.
Blaze glanced over her shoulder at him. “Ben who?”
“Yer incorrigible.” Ross leaned close and kissed her. “There’s Ben Cruachan and Kilchurn.”
Backed by a mountain, a castle in ruins stood on a finger of land extending into the loch. A roaring stream raced down the mountain cove behind the castle.
“Kilchurn House is there.” Ross pointed to the manor a short distance away. “My father visits in autumn after the St. Leger and leaves before the first snow falls. We keep a full household of servants, though.”
Their coach halted in front of the manor. Ross climbed out first and turned to help Blaze. Puddles leaped out after her.
Several footmen hurried out of the manor to unload their bags. A tall man standing outside the front door appeared to be in charge.
“Welcome home, my lord,” the man said. “Ye’ve had a long ride.”
“We sailed to Oban and borrowed the coaches from a friend,” Ross said. “We’ll be returnin’ to Newmarket the same way.” He caught Blaze’s hand in his. “Darlin’, this is Donal. Donal, I present my wife, Inverary’s daughter.”
“I’m pleased to meet ye.” Donal smiled at Ross. “Congratulations on catchin’ such a bonny wife. Did ye resort to kidnappin’?”
Ross laughed and Blaze smiled. Then they followed Donal inside where a pudgy, middle-aged woman waited for them.
“Blaze, this is Donal’s wife Ina,” Ross introduced them. “Ina, I present my wife, Inverary’s daughter.”
“I’m pleased to meet ye, Lady MacArthur,” the woman greeted her. “Whatever ye need, ye’ve only to ask and it’s yers.”
“Thank you, Ina.” Blaze glanced around.
The foyer was smaller than those in London and Newmarket, but only the incredibly wealthy could afford Italian marble. On the right a winding staircase climbed to the upper floor, where a dark-haired child and two young women stood on the landing.
“Papa!” The little girl dashed down the stairs.
Ross laughed and scooped her into his arms. The girl wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.
Blaze stared in surprise at father and daughter. Nobody had mentioned a child.
Anger replaced surprise. Her husband should have warned her about his daughter.
Ross set his daughter on the floor. Holding her hand, he urged her forward. “Wife, I present my daughter Kyra,” he introduced them. “Kyra, Lady Blaze is yer new stepmother.”
The girl looked at her through her father’s dark eyes. “What’s a stepmother?”
Blaze crouched down eye-level with the girl and gave her a reassuring smile. “A stepmother is like a fairy godmother,” she said, “and fairy godmothers always take care of their little girls.”
The warm words encouraged the girl to inch closer. “What do I call ye?”
“Ye’ll call her Lady—”
“She asked me the question,” Blaze interrupted her husband, a definite lack of warmth in her blue eyes. She smiled at Kyra and drew her closer. “What do you want to call me?”
“Well…” The girl’s black eyes were so familiar and the look in them heartbreakingly hopeful.
“You can tell me,” Blaze encouraged her.
“Well, I always wanted a Mama like other children,” Kyra said, her voice a shy whisper. A simple request, easily granted.
“Kyra,” Ross began.
“Be quiet,” Blaze ordered him, and then heard the muffled chuckles. She hugged the girl, saying, “You may call me Mama if I can tell people you’re my little girl.”
Kyra smiled and nodded and threw her arms around Blaze to give her a hug. “Who’s that?”
Blaze looked over her shoulder. Puddles sat at attention, his tail swishing back and forth. The mastiff stepped closer.
“Puddles is my magical dog,” Blaze told the girl, and watched her dark eyes widen at the word magical. “Kyra, I present Puddles. Puddles, this is my little girl, Kyra.”
When the mastiff raised its paw, Blaze said, “Puddles wants to shake your hand.”
Kyra giggled and shook the mastiff’s paw.
Blaze stared into her dog’s eyes. Guard Kyra.
Yes. Cookie?
Blaze stood and looked at Ina. “Do you have cookies?”
The woman smiled at the abrupt question. “We always keep cookies in the kitchen.”
“Do you have any cinnamon cookies?” Blaze heard her husband’s chuckle.
“Puddles loves cinnamon cookies,” Ross said, “but he’ll settle for anythin’.”
“I want to feed Puddles the cookies,” Kyra said.
Ina looked from Ross to Blaze. “Is it safe to bring the dog to the kitchen?”
“Puddles is the most gentle dog in the world,” Blaze answered, “and he adores kitchens. Don’t make any sudden moves toward Kyra because he’ll want to guard her.”
“Nanny Morag and Nanny Jean will supervise ye in the kitchen,” Ross told his daughter. “Dinna let Puddles slobber yer fingers when ye feed him.”
“Come, Puddles.” The mastiff trotted down the hallway beside Kyra and Ina.
“These are Kyra’s nannies, Morag and Jean,” Ross introduced the two young women.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Blaze said, and the two young women curtseyed. “I prefer no curtsies, please.”
“Travelin’ must have wearied ye,” Ross said, ushering her up the stairs. “Ye can rest a while before supper, and tomorrow I’ll show ye around. How does that sound?”
Blaze smiled and nodded and then turned to Donal. “If Puddles gets too bothersome, you can bring him to our chamber.”
Ross escorted Blaze up the stairs and down a hallway. He opened a door on the loch side of the mansion.
The bedchamber was large, its focal point an enormous, four-poster, curtained bed. A velvet bedspread, the blue of a Highland sky, matched the bed curtains. A Persian carpet in shades of blue with gold and cream covered the hardwood floors. Arched windows overlooked Loch Awe.
“Well, have ye nothin’ to say?”
Blaze rounded on him. “How dare you!”
Chapter Thirteen
“How dare you show me such disrespect,” Blaze said, trying without success to control her temper. “You should have told me about your daughter before we married.”
“I didna intend any disrespect,” Ross said, “but knowin’ aboot Kyra wasna goin’ to change anythin’.”
Her husband sounded so reasonable, which fueled her anger. Blaze recalled her stepmother’s teaching; hot anger should be served cold.
Turning her back, Blaze walked away and counted to twenty. Then she added another ten for good measure.
“You had no idea how I would react,” Blaze sai
d, looking at him. “You risked your daughter’s feelings by surprising me.”
“I knew ye’d rise to the occasion.”
Did her husband believe a compliment would appease her? If so, he did not know her very well.
“You should have mentioned her existence.”
Ross shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “I couldna find the right time.”
“People make time,” Blaze said. “They don’t find it. Besides, how could you leave your daughter here while you waltzed like a bachelor around Newmarket and London?”
“I was a bachelor.” Ross looked away, muttering, “Someone should have warned me I was marryin’ a nag.”
Blaze narrowed her gaze on him. “How do you think I feel discovering I married a blockhead?”
“Wait a minute, wife.”
“You wait a minute, husband,” Blaze said, poking her finger into his chest to emphasize every word. “Is Kyra a bastard?”
“No.”
That gave her pause. “Her mother is deceased?”
“Do I look like a bigamist?” Ross gestured to the chaise in front of the hearth. “Sit and we’ll discuss this. Please.”
Blaze crossed the chamber and sat on the chaise. Ross followed and dropped down beside her.
“Kyra lives here from April through September because I’m busy followin’ the thoroughbreds,” Ross told her. “Durin’ the season, my stepmother is in residence in Newmarket.”
Blaze looked him in the eye. “What has Celeste to do with this?”
“Celeste has been unkind to Kyra,” Ross answered. “Janet, Kyra’s mother, was a maid in my father’s employ. When she fell pregnant, I married her, and Celeste considers my daughter flawed by common blood.”
If she disliked the woman before, Blaze hated the witch at this moment. No one should be unkind to defenseless children and animals.
“No aristocratic blood runs through that woman’s veins,” Blaze remarked. “How did your wife die?”
“Janet sickened and died a few weeks after deliverin’ Kyra,” he answered.
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“My daughter lost more than I did.”
“Where and when did Janet die?” Blaze asked.
“Why do ye want to know?” Ross returned the question.
“Idle curiosity, I suppose.”
“Janet died at Kilchurn House,” Ross told her. “Kyra’s birthday is September so Janet would have passed in October.”
Blaze was silent for a long moment. She could not understand the reason her parents had failed to mention his previous marriage and the child. Unless—
“Do my parents know you’re a widower with a child?” she asked him.
“I doubt it,” Ross answered, shrugging. “Few people knew I had married.”
Blaze arched a copper brow at him. “Why is that?” She could not keep the suspicion out of her voice.
“Janet did not want to step into Society,” Ross told her. “She felt out of place and preferred to remain in the Highlands. My stepmother didna help matters by demeanin’ her.”
“I will nap for an hour or two.” Blaze felt tired and wanted to sit alone to ponder what she’d learned.
“Give a shout if ye need anythin’.” Ross stood and left the bedchamber.
Blaze dragged a chair across the chamber to the window. She sat and, gazing at loch’s blue water, considered her circumstances.
She had never wanted to marry, and now she was married to a man who did not love her. Ross had married her for the same reason he’d married Janet, pregnancy.
There was nothing to be done for that. Moaning and sulking would not change the facts.
Ross should have warned her about his daughter, but he hadn’t bothered. There was nothing to be done for that, either.
Counting her blessings seemed a good idea. She enjoyed a loving, supportive family. She could forge a family with her baby and Kyra. The girl was heartbreakingly hungry for a mother’s love. She could understand that, having been heartbreakingly hungry for a father’s love during her childhood.
Though he had supported them in style, she and her sisters had yearned for their father’s attention. Too bad he’d waited until they had grown before publicly acknowledging them and moving them into his household.
Blaze suspected her stepmother had something to do with that. Her stepmother could be a pain in the arse, but the duchess had a big heart and no children of her own to lavish with love.
Pegasus had died, but Juno was breeding. The mare would deliver a champion. Not as special as Peg, perhaps, but a champion nevertheless.
The purses from Pegasus’s three wins combined with her profits from the Seven Doves Company would give her enough wealth to build her animal sanctuary. Dogs and cats could live anywhere, but horses required land. Loch Awe appeared to be a good place to house retired thoroughbreds.
She had more blessings than most. Her husband could keep his love. She did not need it.
Her only problem was Celeste MacArthur, a malicious witch with no heart. The woman and her circumstances niggled at her brain. Celeste had married three times, each union increasing her wealth, and buried two husbands. Ross’s mother had suffered a fatal accident, and his wife had sickened and died during October when the Duchess of Kilchurn was in residence.
Something smelled rotten in the MacArthur family. Was she the only one with a nose for evil? Blaze wished she could consult Raven.
Hours later, Blaze left the bedchamber and walked downstairs to the foyer. She found the dining room off the main corridor without any problem.
The dining room whispered wealth. Persian carpets covered the oak floors. Portraits and artwork decorated the red walls. The oak dining table seated twenty, a crystal and gold chandelier hanging over it.
Sitting at the head of the table, Ross stood when she walked into the room. He crossed the chamber and escorted her to the chair on his right.
Accompanied by Ina, two footmen carried covered serving platters into the room and set them on the sidetable. Donal served them glasses of wine.
“My wife doesna drink spirits,” Ross told his man.
Blaze noted the portrait in a position of honor over the hearth. The woman had ebony hair, dark eyes, full lips, and rose-kissed cheeks on an ivory complexion. The artist had captured the gleam of mischief in the dark eyes, and the woman’s inscrutable smile hinted that she was privy to an amusing secret.
“Is that your mother?” Blaze asked her husband.
Ross nodded. “Kyra MacArthur, my mother.”
“She was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Where is her namesake?”
“Kyra is suppin’ in her chamber,” Ross answered. “I didna think ye’d want her suppin’ with us. Celeste never—”
“Did I say I didn’t want her?” Blaze asked him.
“No, but—”
“Do I look like Celeste?”
Ross grinned. “No.”
Blaze stood and looked down at him. “Do not move from that chair.”
Turning to leave, Blaze caught Donal and Ina exchanging smiling glances. She marched out of the dining room and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Then she began opening doors looking for the girl. Finally, she found the chamber at the end of the hallway.
Kyra sat at a small table eating a lonely supper of chicken slices and vegetable medley. Her nannies were sitting with her.
“Little girls eat supper with their mamas,” Blaze said, crouching beside Kyra. She stood and pointed at Nanny Morag. “You carry the plate.” She looked at Nanny Jean. “You carry everything else.”
Blaze held her hand out to her stepdaughter. “You come with me.”
Holding hands, Blaze and Kyra walked downstairs to the dining room. The nannies walked behind them. Lying outside the dining room door, the mastiff was whining for entrance.
When the footman opened the door, Blaze said, “Come, Puddles.”
“Come, Puddles,” Kyra echoed.
The smal
l parade marched into the dining room. Ross smiled when they entered, but his wife ignored him.
Blaze escorted Kyra to the table and seated her on her father’s left. The nannies set the plate and cup on the table.
“Eat your supper now,” Blaze instructed them. “I’ll bring Kyra upstairs later.”
“Do ye want the dog in here?” Ina asked.
“Puddles goes where I go.”
“Puddles didna eat in Inverary’s dinin’ room,” Ross said.
“He ate in the dining room when no guests were present,” Blaze told him. “Besides, that room belonged to Her Grace, and this room belongs to me.”
Ross cocked a brow. “Celeste may argue that point.”
“Celeste can argue all she wants,” Blaze said, “but I will win the battle.”
Blaze looked at Kyra and frowned. The girl was chin level with the table top. “She needs something to sit on.”
Glancing at Donal and Ina, Blaze asked, “Do you have a Bible with both testaments?”
Ross burst into laughter which made Kyra giggle. He gestured to the footman who left the dining room.
“It’s not sacrilegious,” Blaze said. “God’s bounty will be wasted if she can’t reach the table.”
Ross grinned. “If ye say so, wife.”
“I do say so.” Blaze smiled, adding, “I wouldn’t invite the local vicar to supper while Kyra was sitting on the Bible.”
The footman returned to the dining room. “Shakespeare was thicker than the Bible.”
“Shakespeare will do.” Ross lifted his daughter while the footman set the Shakespeare volume on the chair. The he set his daughter down again and pushed the chair closer to the table.
“Does that feel better?” Blaze asked her.
Kyra nodded.
Donal set a platter on the table. “Ina made yer favorite.”
“Ah, jeez. I forgot to tell ye,” Ross said. “My wife doesna eat meat, fish, or poultry.”
“She’s got the gift, then?”
Blaze looked at the woman. Ina sounded as if she believed in communing with animals.
“D’ye believe in such thin’s?” Ross asked the older woman.
“Ye’ve lived too long in England,” Ina answered, and shifted her gaze to Blaze. “What can I serve ye?”
“I’ll take porridge tonight.”
Marrying the Marquis Page 21