Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine

by Gerri Russell

  He stared at his adversary with a crazy mixture of anger and regret as she disappeared from view. He should go after her. He should do the right thing and apologize. Except the “right” thing was what he had always done . . . and that had landed him in this situation in the first place. He had done the right thing by returning home from Jane’s father’s employ when his father had demanded. He had come home to meet his new mother full of hope and eager to do the right thing. But that hope had turned to despair when at the age of twenty-one he’d been charged with her murder. Nay, the right thing was not always the best thing to do.

  Jules looked around the terrace in the sudden silence and realized the only thing he could do in these circumstances was the dishes. The remains of the supper they’d enjoyed still sat upon the table, and with no servants except Fin—who was no doubt abed by now—the only option was to take care of the mess himself.

  As he gathered the plates, he tried not to think about Claire. God knew there were plenty of other things for him to worry about, but she wouldn’t leave his mind.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the image of her entrance into the salon earlier this evening. He should be thinking of Jane, the only woman he had ever loved. But Claire’s image was fixed firmly in his mind.

  He tried to think of something else, someone else, but nothing came to him. The problem was, had always been, that there was very little inside him. Deep inside, where he should have had a soul, he felt a desperate emptiness. Ever since he was a child, he had known something was missing in him, some defect that made him unlovable. He had always blamed his shortcomings on his lack of love as a child. His mother had died when he was only three, and his father had always been too busy warring or whoring to care about his sons.

  As an adult, Jules came to understand that his father’s shortcomings were not the reason for his emptiness. There were others among his friends who’d had similar childhoods, such as Nicholas Kincaid, who had overcome those deficiencies to find love and happiness. Nicholas was, by all means, a self-made man whose soul was filled with generosity and goodness. While Jules’s own soul was empty.

  Perhaps it was best that Claire was angry with him now. She might not like his refusal to accept her word about their marriage. But on the morrow, when his solicitor arrived, he would give her what little money he had left, then send her away from Kildare Manor and himself for good. And the emptiness that had been his constant friend for the whole of his life would be his fate and no one else’s.

  Exactly the way it should be.

  Upstairs in the tower room, Claire forced back a swell of emotion as she wearily unfastened her gown, then climbed into bed. This day had not gone at all as she had hoped. In fact, she was certain she had given Jules more cause to send her away than she had given him incentive to fall into her arms and declare his love for her.

  It was her duty to manipulate his emotions, and all would be well as long as she did not blithely open her heart to him in return. For one moment tonight, when he had looked appreciatively at her, she had allowed herself a moment’s pride. The warmth in Jules’s gaze, ever so briefly, had told her what his words did not—that he found her attractive. And for a heartbeat she pretended that his gaze was real, that their marriage had not been forced, and that her husband truly loved her.

  And then she had caught herself. As long as she kept her own emotions at bay, she could do what she had to do. If, however, she started to fall for the man she called husband, she might never be able to do what the cloaked figure demanded.

  She had to do exactly as she’d been told—make him fall in love with her then walk away. Break his heart. It had seemed a simple task before she had actually met the man himself. He was much nicer than she expected him to be.

  Claire drew a sharp breath at the direction of her thoughts. Such thoughts could get the girls killed. For the hundredth time in the past two weeks, Claire worried that those who abducted the girls wouldn’t keep their promise not to harm them if she cooperated. That they had sent slices of fabric from their clothes meant they were near, and watching. Believing they possessed even a small measure of honesty kept her hopes alive and her purpose in place.

  Despite her inner turmoil, Claire pulled the sheets up to her chin. She closed her eyes and tried to force her body into a stillness she did not feel. Thirteen days remained for her to make Jules fall in love with her. And during those same thirteen days, she would pray that the girls were safe.

  Her best hope for at least the chance of winning his heart and remaining beneath Kildare Manor’s roof lay with the man’s solicitor. When he arrived on the morrow, Jules would have his proof that their marriage had taken place just as she had said.

  Until then, she would show Jules what a good wife she could be. It was on that thought that Claire released a tired sigh and in no time at all fell into an exhausted slumber.

  In the bedchamber farther down the hallway, Jane lay in bed next to her sleeping husband, mulling over the evening’s events. Yesterday, upon their arrival, she had been suspicious of Claire and her motive for attaching herself to Jules. What could the woman possibly gain from marrying the impoverished laird?

  Today, seeing the two of them together, Jane had determined that it was not Claire who she was suspicious of, but Jules. Upon their arrival, her friend had seemed so eager to greet his wife. Today his behavior toward Claire had been almost adversarial. Why?

  Jane had no doubt that Jules was enchanted by his new wife. More than once during supper she had caught Jules leaning forward when Claire spoke, listening intently to her every word. Yet, he never touched his bride. There was no kiss upon her arrival, no lingering of his fingers as the dishes had passed from his fingers to hers. And not once did his fingers stray toward her as they sat next to each other at the table.

  But Jules’s lack of physicality with his wife wasn’t the only thing to give Jane pause. It was also the fact that Claire was a highly educated young woman. Throughout the night, Claire had conversed with authority about academia, astrology, and art. She spoke with the men as an equal and seemed to particularly enjoy debating her own opinions with them.

  Neither of those things would have given Jane pause by themselves, but together, they gave her much to contemplate because Claire was not the kind of woman Jules usually sought out. Jane approved of the change. As much as Jules needed a wife, he also needed a challenge—something to live for. Being imprisoned for a crime he did not commit had robbed him of so many things. His strength, his family, and his soul.

  Jane had determined, during the last hour of staring at the ceiling, that Claire was the woman to give it all back to him. She was exactly what Jules needed in his life. Her spirit and intelligence would challenge him in ways he had never been challenged by any woman before.

  And with those challenges, the two newlyweds would forge a bond—a bond that would see them through the hardships that were no doubt ahead, given the state of Kildare Manor. All that was necessary to start them on that path was time alone. Jane smiled into the darkness of her chamber. She knew exactly how to see that Claire and Jules had the entire day to themselves.

  Tomorrow she, Nicholas, Hollister, Margaret, David, and even Fin would head to the village. She and Margaret would interview and select more staff for the manor while the men purchased the necessary amenities that Kildare Manor lacked. Jane knew Jules would protest their spending funds on his behalf, but once she claimed it was their wedding gift to the happy couple, he would not dare argue with her.

  His beautiful wife, a day alone, a few challenges, and temptation were all the elements necessary for Jane’s plan to succeed. Finally feeling as though she had come to a viable resolution to the discord between Claire and Jules, Jane drew a deep breath. By the time she exhaled fully, she was happily and deeply asleep.

  The next morning, Arthur Cabot watched as the group rode away from Kildare Manor, heading for the village. Should he follow Lord Kildare’s friends into the village to see what
they were up to, or should he wait at the Manor and watch the laird as he had been doing for the past several days? Keep your eye on the prize, his own father used to say. But everyone knew Jules MacIntyre was no prize. The man had a title, but nothing else.

  Arthur pressed his lips together in thought. His gut told him to stay behind. The others were not his target. His decision made, Arthur headed for the old boathouse, where he had built himself a hideout right under their noses.

  Hearing the clatter of hoofbeats on the drive, Claire woke and dressed carefully in a light yellow gown that had a band of gold leaves embroidered at the hem and along the edge of the rounded neckline. The gown was simple, yet elegant, and perfect for creating a new sense of harmony between her husband and herself.

  In order to succeed today, she had to take charge of her own emotions and not let them ruffle her as she had last night. Pride was one of the few comforts left to her, and she would not let Jules take that away. From this moment forward, Claire vowed she would be poised, polite, and completely unflappable, no matter how unreasonable he might become. He was testing her. And in those tests she would not fail.

  Feeling quite capable of any challenge he might throw her way, she headed downstairs. “Good morning,” she greeted Jules.

  He stood in the hallway as though he had been waiting for her, his back to her, his posture rigid.

  Claire forced a gracious smile. She would maintain her composure. “Did you sleep well?”

  “No,” he said bluntly. He turned around and gazed at her with those pale blue eyes. Despite the bite of his tone, it was not anger but confusion that reflected in his gaze. “Did you tell Jane and the others to leave us alone today?”

  “No.” Claire’s smile slipped. “I heard horses. Are they gone?”

  “Jane left a note, explaining they had all gone to the village to hire more servants.”

  “You cannot blame them for that. Kildare Manor could use—”

  “I do not blame them for anything. It is you whom I blame for all this.”

  “Jules—”

  “Drop the pretense, Claire. We are entirely alone, and so I ask, one more time, why are you here? What could you hope to gain from attaching yourself to me? It is quite obvious the estate is in ruin, and I am no prize among men.” He studied her, his eyes dark with suspicion.

  “Is that truly how you see yourself?” she said without thinking. “You are a peer of the realm. You have your youth, your freedom, education, and despite the state of your home, you have so much more than most people could ever hope for.”

  To her amazement, something close to admiration brightened his gaze for a moment and he took a step back. “You are right. With all that has happened in the past few weeks, I admit, I have lost sight of many things.” His frown returned. “But that still does not explain how you came to be part of my life, Claire. I had not planned on you.”

  “That makes two of us, then,” she agreed. She tried not to explore with her eyes the man who stood before her this morning. He was different than the man last night who had been so elegantly dressed in a dark blue velvet jacket with gold embroidery. This Jules was dressed in a simple muslin shirt hanging open at the neck, with black breeches and boots. The simplicity only accented just how incredibly powerful his body was. Unexpected warmth coiled through her and became a pulsing heat the moment she lifted her gaze to his.

  He focused hungrily on her lips, and she saw raw longing in the depth of his blue eyes. His jaw flexed rigidly, as though he were fighting himself.

  She pressed her lips together, realizing that despite her vow to stay utterly in control today, she wanted to lose herself and step forward to taste those well-shaped lips. The thought both scared and excited her.

  He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his tawny hair. “It is just the two of us today to await Grayson’s arrival.” He turned toward the door. “I am going to cut some wood so we will have a fire tonight. Afterward I am going fishing so we can eat. I suggest you find something to amuse yourself.”

  He grasped the latch and yanked the door open. “And don’t bother cleaning the house. The others will be back with women to do that by this evening.”

  Startled by his brusqueness, Claire watched as he shut the door behind him, once again placing a barrier between them as well as signaling her not to follow him outside. They were alone, and he would ignore her. Perfect. How many times would she fail to engage him?

  Frustration sent her wandering through the nearly empty house, looking for something to do that would divert her mind from her predicament and help use her pent-up energy. She wandered from room to room until she found herself once more upstairs in front of the boarded-up chamber.

  Jules had not replaced the wood slats she had removed the day before, so she once again slipped inside. She had no candle to light the chamber this time, but she remembered from her past visit that there were four small windows on the far wall. She made her way through the hazy darkness to the shutters. She unlatched the first set of shutters that opened into the room and then pushed a second set out, letting golden sunshine fill the room.

  When all four windows were open, a light breeze drifted through the chamber, cleansing the once-stagnant air. Within moments, the sinister aspect of the room had vanished, leaving only a severely neglected chamber in its place.

  Claire moved through the chamber until she came to the abandoned table and chairs. She righted the chair that lay against the ground and sat in it while she studied the room’s crown molding, high ceiling, and empty space. The room had exquisite light and fine bones. It would make a perfect ballroom with a little renewal and care.

  Jules had asked her not to clean. He had asked her to leave this room alone. Something horrible happened in this room, something that needed cleansing from Kildare Manor and from Jules’s life. She knew she should leave the chamber now, stop the ideas that were brewing in her mind, but she could do neither thing as a new plan formed. She needed something to occupy her time here for the next twelve days. And she could think of no better way to amuse herself than transforming this chamber from a place of bad memories into a thing of beauty. It would be her gift to Jules when she ultimately left him.

  The thought brought her out of her chair and toward the window at the farthest side of the chamber. She would have no choice but to abandon her husband twelve days from now. And she would hurt him just as she suspected everyone in his life had done.

  At the window she paused, hearing the rhythmic sound of an ax splitting wood in the distance. She peered outside to see Jules bared to the waist, his bronzed back tapering to narrow hips, his arms and shoulders rippling with thick, bunched muscle as he swung the ax in a graceful arc.

  Heat came to Claire’s cheeks. As a painter, she had seen a man’s bare arms and torso before. But somehow on Jules, they seemed so much more intimate. She was appalled with herself for looking, yet so fascinated she could not look away. Jules seemed so at ease as he swung his ax toward each waiting piece of wood and split each log with expert dexterity. His actions puzzled her because she had simply assumed he was a highly polished Scottish laird who spent his time gaming, carousing, and moving in the highest levels of society. Were his affluent friends not proof of that?

  Yet today, the unpretentious and powerful Jules appeared every bit as comfortable in the wild and rugged terrain. A self-made man who needed no company but his own, and might even prefer it.

  Evidently, the man had the ability to belong in whatever setting he happened to be in. He could maneuver in the highest circles of society as well as survive in his dilapidated manor house in the wilds of Scotland. For some reason, the revelation unsettled her. Who was this man—Jules MacIntyre, Lord Kildare—who she had been forced to marry? It was easier to think of him as a rogue she would hurt in the end than as an honest man who was merely making his way through this life, just as she was.

  Or, she recalled yet another aspect of the man, the one who had been imprisoned for the mu
rder of his stepmother. He had been proven innocent and released. But the woman had still died, and someone had killed her. There had been no other suspects except Jules.

  His stepmother had been poisoned. Claire picked up the overturned teacup on the table. Had this truly been the murder weapon? If so, why was it still here? If Jules were guilty of the crime, would he not want all the evidence to be cleaned away, destroyed, so that no one could make any further claims?

  Instead, he had left the chamber exactly as it had been. Every detail had been preserved. That fact, more than anything else, spoke to her of his true innocence. But why continue this torture? Now that he was the master of this house, why allow the memory to remain?

  He had told her not to come here, that she was to leave the place alone. Claire returned the teacup to the table, exactly where it had been. Then she replaced the overturned chair she had righted earlier.

  Yes, changing this room would be a gift—no, she corrected herself, an apology, for what she would eventually put him through when she succeeded in her mission. But perhaps transforming a place of horror into something beautiful would make it easier for Jules to forgive her. Or, she paused, would she leave him with yet another memory to take its place, even harder to erase?

  Until she began the project, there was still time to change her mind. Meanwhile, she would record what evidence remained here in a different way. On that thought, Claire left the chamber and went downstairs to retrieve her drawing and painting satchel.

  When she returned, she sat beneath one of the open windows and started to draw the scene before her in great detail. The table, the chairs, the teacup. They would all be recorded for future reference, because, with each stroke of her lead, she was more determined than ever to act upon her earlier intention. She would record the scene in case it was ever needed again, then clean this room, sweep away the old memories, and renew its purpose by giving it a fresh look.