by Monica Burns
“On second thought, I should have said it was your perfume that distracted me. Lilacs smell delightful on your skin, my lady.”
The tremor that rippled through her vibrated into his fingers. He smiled as satisfaction surged through him. Over the past three weeks, Patience had ensured that everything between them was as circumspect as possible. It was obvious she was determined to have the courtship they hadn’t had before they were married. This was the first time she’d allowed him to touch her since the day he’d made love to her.
Other than to accept the offer of his arm or when their fingers touched when she handed something, she’d avoided physical contact with him as much as possible. Somehow he didn’t think she was worried about him coercing her back into his bed—something he was beginning to crave like a man without drink. More than likely her distant manner was rooted in her fear he would bring up the past.
“You are an unrepentant rogue, Julian MacTavish,” his wife said with a breathless laugh.
“I shall no’ deny that.” He chuckled in an unapologetic manner. “But I find it easy to do so where you’re concerned.”
“Stop teasing her, Julian,” his sister said with a laugh. “Her cheeks are bright red now.”
“Are they?” Julian grinned and then he frowned. He wanted to see his wife’s face when he complimented her. Patience had always blushed so sweetly. No longer amused, Julian released Patience’s hand. The grandfather clock in the main hall announced the half hour in a sonorous chime.
“It’s time you were in bed, Muireall.”
“I am no longer a child, Julian,” his sister said crisply. “I will be seventeen next week.”
“Aye, that you will,” he said with a nod as Muireall reminded him how quickly she was growing up. “But it’s still late. Patience and I should retire as well since we are riding in the morning.”
“Why not come with us, Muireall?” Patience’s invitation made Julian’s mouth tighten as he fought to appear amenable to the idea of his sister accompanying them on their morning ride.
“I can no’. I promised Mrs. Lester that I would review the dinner menu for my birthday party next week,” Muireall said with obvious regret before her tone lightened. “But the day after tomorrow I would like to go. Will you ride then, Julian?”
“Of course,” he said with a smile.
Julian reveled in the satisfaction and relief he would have Patience completely to himself in the morning. It would be their first ride since the day he’d suffered his migraine. Ever since Patience had agreed to their outing he’d been looking forward to having her alone without the prospect of someone interrupting them. Suddenly, he realized his wife had gone unusually still.
“I didn’t realize we were having guests next week,” Patience said softly.
“We do no’ have to invite anyone,” Muireall said hastily, and although she did an excellent job hiding her disappointment, Julian still heard the echoes of it in his sister’s voice.
“Of course not, dearest,” Patience said quickly. “I was simply surprised.”
“You do no’ mind,” Muireall asked hesitantly.
“Not at all.” Charged emotions vibrated off of her that he could feel as easily as if she were touching him. Her silk gown rustled softly as he saw her shadow lean toward Muireall. “We must make your birthday a wonderful one.”
His wife was far more skillful than his sister in hiding her misgivings beneath a well-modulated tone of voice. But Julian could feel the raw tension humming through the air between them. She’d had a shock, and she would need time to adjust to the idea of visitors. He frowned.
It was the first time since the accident that he didn’t find himself objecting to the prospect of guests at Crianlarich. The thought surprised him. Patience had given enough of his self-esteem and independence back that the idea of visitors to Crianlarich no longer troubled him. He smiled.
“I think you’ve procrastinated enough for one evening, Muireall MacTavish. Bed, young lady.” Laughter filled the air as Muireall’s chair scraped against the stone floor in a loud screech. A second later, his sister was standing at his side and bent to kiss his cheek.
“Good night, Julian,” she said.
Muireall’s hand squeezed his shoulder, before she moved around him to say good night to Patience. He turned his head and saw the shadows of the two women merge. A few seconds later, Muireall left the room. The silence that remained was dense with unspoken emotion. Patience’s apprehension was a palpable sensation throbbing off of her.
Julian pushed his chair back from the table and turned his head to where Patience was sitting. He frowned in puzzlement as he saw the sharp outline of Patience’s soft curves against the fuzzy, pale gray background that was his vision. The clarity of her shadow seemed crisper than usual. He dismissed the thought as he knew Mrs. Drummond had taken to increasing the lighting in the room to help him see the objects around him better in the evening. Julian grimaced as he tried to think of a way to broach the subject of Muireall’s party. Almost as if she could read his thoughts, a small sound escaped her.
“I don’t know if Muireall has mentioned it, but I’ve been visiting the nursery every day since you explained who Aiden was.”
Stunned, Julian’s jaw sagged at her comment leaving him unable to speak. The sound of her laughter made him recover from his amazement.
“What amuses you, woman,” he said with a grunt of annoyance, knowing full well she was laughing at his reaction.
“I never thought I’d see the day when my husband would find himself without words.” The fact she’d referred to him as her husband sent hope barreling through him.
“I am no’ speechless, Mistress Crianlarich.”
“No?” The word vibrated with amused disbelief.
“No,” he said emphatically as he glared in the direction of her voice. “But I will no’ deny being surprised at your interest in the child.”
“He’s not responsible for the circumstances of his birth.”
Something poignant threaded its way through Patience’s soft reply, and he winced. When Caitriona had left Aiden in his care, he’d hoped Patience would want to raise the boy as her own. But then things had gone from bad to worse where their marriage was concerned. That Patience was at Crianlarich at all was a small miracle in and of itself.
“Did you know Aiden has a mark on his leg, just like you?”
“No,” he said with an indifferent shrug. “It does no’ surprise me though. My father once told me that a great many of the MacTavish men in our family bear the mark including himself.”
“I see.” There was a note of puzzlement in her voice that made him frown.
“What do you see, Patience?” he asked coldly. Julian’s muscles tightened as he remembered how Patience had accused him of taking Una as his mistress.
“I was just thinking…” She sniffed with annoyed disgust. “Never mind, it’s a preposterous idea.”
“Are you looking for confirmation that I did no’ lie to you?” Julian did not bother to hide his bitter indignation.
“No,” she exclaimed in dismay. Patience leaned forward to touch his arm in a display of reassurance. “I was simply thinking that your father…”
“That my father what? Took Una to his bed? Bloody hell,” he muttered as he realized it was quite possible the old Crianlarich might have ruined not just Caitriona, but her sister as well.
“If it’s true, I doubt your father was completely at fault where either woman was concerned.”
“Do no’ make excuses for him,” Julian growled.
“I’m not, but we both know your father led Una to believe she would live here one day,” she said with a sigh. “Una just thought it would be as your wife.”
“Aye,” he said quietly. “But I did no’ want her, I chose an Englishwoman with all the fire and stubbornness of a true Stewart.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said with a dry note of amusement.
“It was meant as
one,” he chuckled. “I’ve often thought you more a Stewart than a Rockwood.”
“Why do I think that’s more a commentary on my worst traits than on my family bloodline?”
“I think I shall retire for the evening before I find myself in hot water.” With a laugh, he rose to his feet. Following his lead, Patience rose from the chair as well.
“Would you like me to walk with you?” she asked quietly. As she had since she’d first arrived at Crianlarich, Patience gave him the option to ask for help. She never forced it on him.
“I would no’ object if you would lend me your arm,” he said with a smile.
In silence, she slipped her arm through his, and together they left the library. As they climbed the stairs, Julian enjoyed the quiet contentment that filled him just from being close to her. In the past three weeks, she’d captured even more of his soul than ever before. When they reached the top of the stairs and turned toward their bedrooms, Patience’s hand rubbed gently over his sleeve in a manner he could only describe as tender.
“I was thinking we might take Aiden out into the garden with us when we go on our afternoon walks.”
Her quiet suggestion stunned him almost as much as her earlier declaration that she’d been visiting the child for weeks. Abruptly coming to a halt, Julian turned his head toward her. Not for the first time, he longed to see her expression. What the devil had made her suggest such a thing?
“Take him with us?”
“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “He’s a happy little fellow, and I think he would enjoy the time outdoors.”
The lighthearted note of her reply made his lips twist in a slight smile. Her laughter would be one of the things he’d miss the most if she were to leave Crianlarich. Julian’s heart sank. If she left, life would become the same bleak hell it had been before she’d arrived. But what would it do to Aiden? Where would the lad be when she left? He cleared his throat then resumed the path toward his room with Patience’s arm still linked in his.
“Do you think it’s wise to continue visiting the child? The lad could become quite attached to you. If you left—”
“And if I chose to stay at Crianlarich? Do you think that would be a wise choice for the two of us?” she asked quietly. His heart slammed into his chest at her question.
“Are ye asking tae stay, Patience?” He heard the way his brogue thickened as his mouth went dry.
“I…I would like for us to consider the possibility of a reconciliation.”
Unable to reply to her proposition, he paced himself as he silently counted the feet to where his bedroom door was. She’d asked to stay. She’d offered them the chance to move out of the past and into the present. He suppressed the shout of happiness threatening to roll out of his throat.
She’d not said anything about the feelings they might have for each other. If she were asking to remain merely out of a belief it was her duty to do so, he wanted no part of that. Before he would agree to her staying, she would need to face her demons. His mind returned to the memory of her reaction to the prospect of guests next week for Muireall’s party.
“Are you asking to stay because you want to, Patience, or are you staying because you want to hide?”
“Hide? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice had gone from the warmth of a summer sun to the frigid chill of a gray winter’s day in the space of seconds. Julian frowned as they stopped in front of his bedroom.
“Then you should think about my question,” he said gently as he crossed the threshold. His back to her, he began to close his bedroom door. “Good night, Patience. I will tell Muireall tomorrow that we will have a quiet family celebration instead of a party next week.”
Julian heard her draw in a quick breath as he shut the door. The moment the latch clicked into place he walked toward his bed, counting each step in his head. He’d barely reached the number three when the door was flung open behind him. As he’d expected, it hadn’t taken Patience long to confront him. He’d known she would not take kindly to his speaking with Muireall about the party. The bedroom door slammed shut behind her as she brushed past him to stand in his way.
“Why are you going to ask Muireall to cancel her party, Julian MacTavish?” The fiery note in her voice made him wish his father could hear her now. There was no doubt as to her Stewart blood at the moment. “Is it because of me?”
“I do no’ recall saying I would speak on your behalf, Patience,” he said quietly.
“Don’t you dare pretend you have any other reason for doing so.”
“As you wish.” He shrugged. “I shall no’ lie that you are my reason for speaking with Muireall.”
“Well, don’t,” she snapped. “You’re not to say one word to your sister about her party.”
“So you’re not alarmed by the prospect of guests here in the castle.”
“Why on earth would I be?” Patience’s exclamation was filled with more than a touch of panic that confirmed his belief she was lying.
“Because every part of you vibrated with fear the minute Muireall mentioned the party.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The sharp note in her voice emphasized her valiant efforts to deny his allegations.
“Then I’ll send for Mrs. Campbell in the morning,” he said determined to force her into facing her fear and not letting it rule her. If she was to stay, it would only be if she loved him and could face the past and its effects on her. In the back of his head, he ignored a voice scoffing at his own hypocrisy.
“Mrs. Campbell?” she asked warily.
“Aye, the village seamstress. You and Muireall will need new gowns. Although, I’m sure it will cost me a pretty sixpence as it’s on such a short notice.”
“I do not need a new gown.”
“Since when have you ever passed up the opportunity to buy a new dress? I have paid plenty of seamstress bills where you are concerned,” he said tightly.
“That was different.”
Julian’s jaw clenched with tension. Patience was right. That was in the past. While the two of them had enjoyed getting to know each other better these past few weeks, there was a great deal they didn’t know about each other. But at the moment he was all too familiar with this particular trait of Patience’s.
The Rockwoods hadn’t earned their reputation simply for being reckless. They were known to be headstrong as well. Patience had inherited more than her fair share of her family’s stubbornness. Just as he had the night of the fire, he would have to challenge her and make her angry enough to face whatever truth she feared. The question was whether her confession would make her come back to him, changed, but unafraid to accept herself for whom she was.
“How is it different now than it was in the past, Patience?” he asked quietly.
“Because I…because I needed clothes then.”
“I do no’ understand, Patience. Are you suggesting you do no’ need a new gown for the party?”
“You are deliberately being difficult, aren’t you?” she snapped, and he could imagine the fiery glare she’d be directing at him. “Most husbands would be grateful for a wife who doesn’t drive them into bankruptcy with dressmaker bills.”
“But you are no’ most wives, are you, Patience?” he said fiercely as he stepped toward her.
The moment he sensed her within arm’s reach, he caught hold of her and pulled her into his embrace. With one arm, he held her tight against him then touched her scarred face. A wounded cry welled up out of her throat. She jerked her head away from his touch before twisting in his arms in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. When she failed, she shuddered against him.
Gently, but with tender determination, Julian explored her face with his fingers. Patience trembled violently against him, and he murmured a calming noise as he touched her. Against the pads of his fingers, soft, smooth skin became scar tissue about an inch in front of her ear. The once soft lobe was now rough and scaly from the inferno she’d survived. His fingers skimmed across the burnt
skin of her left cheek and downward to the edge of her jaw line before following the trail of damaged flesh across her neck and the curve of her shoulder.
Something wet hit the back of his hand as he stroked her cheek. The teardrop wrenched at his gut, and his heart ached as though it were being crushed beneath granite. Wanting to take some of her heartache away, he bent his head and brushed his mouth over her scarred cheek. The instant he did so, a cry of dismay broke past her lips. With a strength that surprised him, Patience twisted her way out of his arms. As she escaped his embrace, he experienced a bolt of fear that he’d pushed her too hard.
§ § §
Patience put several feet between them and stared at Julian. The expression on his face made bile rise in her throat. Pity. He pitied her. Desperately she fought not to make a sound as tears streamed down her face. Not since the day she’d made Percy send Julian away from Melton House had she felt this alone and vulnerable. One hand covering her mouth, she tried to stop her trembling, but failed.
What had made him touch her like that? Had he thought it would make her feel better for allowing him to know the extent of her injuries? Her fingers trailed across the place where he’d kissed her cheek. She’d done everything possible to keep him from touching her scorched skin since she’d arrived at Crianlarich.
Even when they’d made love, she’d managed to keep him from touching the hard, rough scars that covered almost half her face. There had been something deliberate in his actions a few moments ago. He’d said she wasn’t like other wives. Had he been referring to her scarred flesh? Although she had never been a vain beauty, Julian had always made her feel beautiful.
But she knew how ugly her scars were and how marred her face was. She knew because of the way people recoiled from her or whispered loudly about what a piteous creature she’d become. To think he was suggesting she was different because of her scars was the same as if he’d pierced her breast with a sharp blade.
“What did you mean I’m not like most wives?” she bit out in a stilted voice.