by Anne Greene
“Alas, no.”
Avondale’s clothes felt damp against her silk dinner dress, and his lean cheek cool as he pressed it against hers. He smelled of fresh outdoors and warm horseflesh as he cuddled her. Then he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and lingered on her mouth.
The warm pressure of his full lips sent shivers along her spine, but he raised his mouth long before she had enough.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him until some of the loneliness in her heart drained away.
His eyes looked so kind. His arms were so tender. He seemed every inch the devoted husband.
Contentment filled all the places inside her that had lain empty. After being so rigidly tense all day, her muscles relaxed as if submerged in a warm, swirling pool.
“Cailin, you are a precious gift.” He tilted her chin up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. His eyes looked moist and his breath came in puffs. “God has been most gracious granting me such a lovely wife.”
Her own breath came in small pants as if she had run up a hill on the moor. “As a staunch member of the Church of England, you must believe marriages are made in heaven. Do you not?”
“This one is.”
Though his clothes felt damp and smelled slightly woolish, he looked impeccable. And his face had a ruddy outdoor appearance that she loved. The sparkle in his eyes set her heart aglow.
She kneaded her fingers through his thick brown hair and lifted her smiling face to his. Though he’d been away, she felt certain she pleased her new husband. Perhaps tonight they would talk. She would not press him, though. She could not risk his fleeing her arms.
He buried his straight nose in her hair and held her in the circle of his arms. “The storm soon halted our hunt. It’s good to see you, sweet wife.” Coming from his strong lips, the words promised he cherished her.
She leaned back in his embrace and gazed into his patrician face. “I love your square chin.” She wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t stayed home. Though every inch of her being cried out to know, she wouldn’t. With the tips of her fingers she traced the outline of his chin, cleft in the center and slightly bristly to her touch. “It keeps your face from looking too perfect.” She would not become a nagging wife only days after the wedding.
He was accustomed to his bachelorhood with no need to be accountable.
“That’s too bad, sweetling. Nothing keeps your face from being perfect.” He cupped her chin in his hand and smiled into her eyes.
She twined her hands around his neck. “I was concerned. Where have you been? The others returned hours ago.” Her body went rigid. Blast, she’d done it. Started nagging. If she had no better control of her emotions, he’d think her a shrew.
He dropped his hand from her cheek, jutted his jaw, and stepped in the direction of the door. “You’ll think me tiresome, but I fell asleep in the gatekeeper’s little house at the far end of the estate.”
“You went so far? Alone?”
“Blighter that I am, I got lost. Had a most difficult time finding my direction back to the castle. I followed your lights when I drew near enough to see them. You had candles in the window for me, as it were.”
His contrite smile took her breath away. She had no heart to questions him further. They had so little time together, she feared to spoil it. “I’m so sorry, Avondale. You’re chilled and wet. You must get out of those riding breeches. “I laid out your evening clothes on the bed. Mums will ring the dinner bell any moment now.”
He glanced down at the formal clothes, then pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers in another blissful kiss that seemed both hungry and contrite.
Dinner became a distant thought. She wanted only to stay with him in the sanctity of their room where she would have him to herself.
He pulled away.
“Unless you’re not hungry.” She helped him out of his damp jacket, and her fingers began unbuttoning his shirt. She puckered her lips to tempt him as she was tempted.
“Starving. There you have it. Now, run downstairs and placate your mums before she gives us both a wigging. Meanwhile, I will change.”
“We could stay here.”
“Best if we go down. We have guests.”
She sighed and kissed his warm, strong lips again. “I could watch you change.”
“Not this time, sweet.”
Why ever not? Yet he looked so stern, she nodded and did as he bid. At the doorway, she sent him a flirtatious smile over her nearly bare shoulder and blew him another kiss. “You have all my love.”
Once outside the closed door, she pressed her ear to hear his movements. But he must have returned to the dressing room because she heard nothing. The man possessed an uncanny ability to move with stealth.
Downstairs, she fluttered among the guests still lingering from the wedding, hummed a happy tune, and turned often to watch the stairs, scarcely able to wait until he showed his handsome face.
She glimpsed him at the top of the stairs and lost her breath. Dressed in black velvet with a stark white cravat and black waistcoat, his tall, distinguished figure could not be more regal…or handsome. And he was her very own husband.
Thank You, Lord.
When he descended, his courtly friends immediately clustered around him. Although he offered her his arm and escorted her into the dining room, his change of clothes seemed to have transformed him into a different man. A cool aristocrat who showed neither tenderness, nor love in his attitude towards her.
Was he ashamed of her in front of his peers?
Though she smiled her sweetest, knowing her dimples showed, and patted his waiting chair after he seated her, he remained distant.
He turned his complete attention to his fellow English nobles. Snobbish as only an English lord could be, a thin line denting the usually smooth place between his brows, he barely acknowledged her presence.
The turtle soup became paste in her mouth.
It was as if Avondale were two different men. She loved the private one. The one only she saw in their bedchamber. She covered her mouth with her napkin, dropped her head so no one would see, blinked back tears, and dabbed at a rivulet that escaped.
She didn’t even like the public man.
And it appeared that the public Lord Geoffrey Mountebank, Fifth Duke of Avondale, didn’t fancy her any more than she cared for him.
Despite her best resolve, was she doomed to have a marriage that mirrored her parents’?
****
Megan stood at the dining room door.
Had there not been so many guests at the table, Cailin would have jumped up and hugged her. “Megan. Welcome.”
When Brody strode in behind her, Cailin breathed a deep sigh. She beamed at them both. How gloriously good to see them.
And what a surprise! She’d never have believed Brody could transform from a Highland warrior into looking so dashing and distinguished. Where had the poor Scot gotten those clothes?
An image of the Earl of Mabry’s cruel expression flashed into her mind. Truly Megan made an excellent choice to flee. Now she was married, and Papa could do nothing.
Cailin grasped her stemmed glass with both hands. She wanted so to clap her hands in glee. Then she began to shake. She blinked rapidly. She who had tried so to honor Mums and Papa…felt so terribly confused. She let her hands flutter to her lap.
Why was her marriage so different from what she’d expected while Megan looked so happy?
Megan led Brody to the head of the table. “Papa, this is Brody Alexander MacCauley-MacMurry, my husband.”
Silence descended over the room.
Face scarlet, veins popping in his forehead, Papa jerked from his chair and ordered Megan and Brody to the library.
As soon as the three hurried from the room, conversation rose to a roar.
All the while Papa kept Megan and Brody in the library, she barely tasted her food, fiddling instead with her silverware.
Questions and conversation continued a
round her, but she barely joined in.
Of course, Papa was livid with Megan. That was to be expected, after she ran off to escape marrying the nasty Earl Mabry and wed Brody instead.
But Cailin couldn’t concentrate on what might be occurring in Papa’s library with Megan and Brody. One thought spiraled around and around in her mind.
Her duke publicly snubbed her.
Avondale seemed in high spirits, cordial and jovial with everyone. He even greeted Brody, after he and Megan returned to the table. Even Mums received one of Avondale’s you-are-the-most-important-person-in-my-life smiles. Every guest at the entire table garnered his personal attention.
Except her.
When her leg accidentally brushed Avondale’s under cover of the tablecloth, he moved his muscular thigh away. She leaned next to him and laid her hand on the soft velvet of his right sleeve.
But he turned his face to the Earl of Argyle and began a lengthy discussion concerning some silly intrigue at court.
Why had he changed so completely? She dropped her napkin over her uneaten food. Inside their chamber he’d been so loving. He’d been a different man, attentive and charming. He’d made her feel like a queen. He’d seemed genuinely happy to see her and had again expressed his joy in her. And their few nights together had been unbelievable.
Why had he changed? She traced the gold rim of her goblet with her finger and glanced across the table.
Brody’s encouraging smile went straight to her torn heart. Such a gallant gentleman. Mayhap she could ask his opinion of the bizarre quandary in which she’d found herself.
No. Brody knew less of the ways of courtly men than she. She’d have to risk Avondale’s displeasure and question him herself. She would not be hesitant. She would pour all her love into her marriage and overcome Avondale’s absences and his snobbishness. She lifted her chin and smiled at her husband.
He didn’t notice.
She pulled in a deep, calming breath. Nothing would stand in the way of her creating a marriage filled with love. Surely, since she’d been obedient God would bless her marriage. Bad things didn’t happen to His obedient children.
She was strong and filled with love. Regardless of her hostile feelings against the public duke, she would smooth away this bump in the carriage path.
7
Avondale sauntered from the smoking room after deliberately losing a game of whist to his father-in-law, and, as was now his habit, headed for Loch Drummond.
His nightly trek to the loch gave him time to reflect. Two weeks had passed since he made his vows, and surely God had abandoned him.
He opened the back castle door. A burst of cool night air washed over him. He lifted his chin and pulled in a deep breath filled with the taste of bracing, country air. How could he face his beautiful bride? Each night brought more torture.
But tonight he would return to Cailin, otherwise the woman wouldn’t sleep. And he would again permit the sweet innocent to read the Bible to him, but he would sit across the room in the shadows.
At first he’d been angry when he discovered the strength of Cailin’s faith, and then he’d felt indulgent. Why not allow her this pleasure when he must deny her so many others? He lengthened his stride until his boots thundered over the marshy moor.
Her faith had yet to be tried, so, of course, she held to her naive belief.
He fisted his hands. But reading the Bible couldn’t help him. Nothing and no one could. His frown softened.
Yet her turquoise eyes sparkled and her creamy complexion glowed when she defended the faith he questioned. And he’d grown to appreciate the intelligence behind the beauty of her angelic face. He beat one fist against the other. Why could he not be like other men?
She knew exactly who she was. She was bright and shining, inside and out. Sure of herself. Secure in her world, whether inside the castle or out with the common folk.
He heaved a sigh. Would that he had that ability. He growled deep in his throat. Since he’d wed, the darkness had grown worse. How much longer could he hide his past from Cailin?
He’d silenced her questions with anger he barely controlled. And turned a stony face from her hurt.
He’d hoped being away from court and living inside the MacMurry castle would help. Of course it hadn’t. He walked a tightrope. One wrong step and he’d tumble to his death. And he’d take sweet Cailin with him. He should never have married.
Yet he must produce a legal male heir.
Living with her family was proving even more difficult then he’d expected. Only during his nights alone with his sweet wife did he feel truly free. She was his rock. Yet the more time he spent with her, the less he wanted to confess. He hated to dim the love shining in her face.
She claimed his life lay in the hand of God. Hah! What man could understand God’s will? He stumbled to his knees and buried his face in his hands. When he searched to decipher God, God’s lack of concern stared him boldly in the face. He divined no heavenly design in his life. Not unless God planned for him to experience hell on earth.
God had forgotten him. What did the dark future hold? He pressed his forehead against his fists. With his tiny mustard seed of faith, he prayed he would not ruin Cailin’s life. How much longer could he hide the truth from her?
He’d keep his dark side away from Castle Drummond and Cailin. Perhaps she need never know. His knowledge of horseflesh, his fluency in French and their subtle deceits, and his ability to play a fair game of chess stood him in good stead with the rest of the family. With Cailin he could only skulk in the shadows. He rose and rubbed the back of his aching neck.
Her father was responding to Brody’s almost constant company with grudging respect. The older man yearned for a son.
Avondale groaned. He had wished to gain his father-in-law’s respect, as well. But how? He’d never known his own father. Yet he must remain distant with Lord MacMurry. He wished to bring no trouble to the family and his lovely Cailin.
He walked to the edge of the loch, pulled off his jacket, tossed it to the ground, and listened to the whisper of soft waves lapping the shore.
Nothing he did during the long days tired him enough to let him sleep at night. Only Cailin with her soft, even breath lulled him into sleep just before dawn broke. Then when the first ray of sunlight filtered through the window hangings, he woke, fully alert, with the need to be away from the sweet innocence of her eyes.
Fully clothed, he plunged beneath the still black surface. The icy water closed over his head. He’d do what he could to protect Cailin. His heavy boots pulled him down, down into the black depths.
He watched Cailin from afar when she was unaware. Her wonderful eyes and her generous service to the common people revealed how much she cared, especially about the little people, the ones he barely noticed, the servants, the working people from the village, and the hordes of people who begged at her kitchen door. She deserved every bit of love he had for her…and ever so much more.
Many men died—because of him. His boots dragged him down, down. The water rushed beside his ears. Eyes wide open, he could see nothing. How easy to let himself sink to the bottom. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the black burden. No. He had responsibilities—to Cailin, to his royal mother, to his estates, and all the people who looked to him for livelihood and protection. There was no easy way for him.
He kicked his feet and turned his face upward to the surface where moonlight flickered a path through the dark, still water. He would not shirk his responsibility again. Not ever again.
His head broke surface and he filled his lungs with sweet, fresh air.
He loved the warmth in her eyes when she didn’t think he saw her. Sometimes he let himself hope. Sometimes he dreamed of a normal life with her. When her tinkling laugh rang out, he believed the impossible.
He loved her laugh—though he heard from a distance, when she sat with Megan and Brody’s sister, Fiona, who’d come with her brother to live inside the castle.
&
nbsp; Or when Cailin played with one of the kittens that scurried around the castle. He loved the creamy curve of her cheek as it rounded when she smiled. And the graceful line of her neck. And the way her long lashes framed her beautiful eyes.
His stomach churned.
He even liked the way she wrinkled her nose when she didn’t like something. And he loved the full blown beauty of her lips. Could scarce tear his gaze from them when they talked together. He loved her spirit, flashing through at unexpected times.
Last night, when she’d revealed her plan, his heart thumped fast.
“I have a mission for you.” Her sweet voice made his blood surge.
“You have plans for me?” His words emerged in staccatos like drum beats.
“Yes.” Those lake blue eyes sparkled like sun on the flashing waters of the sea. “I need you to help me start a home for the Highland widows and orphans left by the battle.”
He hid the disappointment crinkling his soul. True, an orphanage would be a good thing, but he’d be no help. He’d never be able to face the children whose fathers he’d put into the grave.
He shook his head and water sprayed all around him.
He wanted to forget he was a murderer.
8
“Cailin, I’ve something important to tell you.” Megan whispered and tugged at Cailin’s sleeve. “Take a walk with me, please.”
Cailin stopped pacing the library floor and laid the book she had attempted, but totally failed to read on a corner table. “You have a secret?”
“Shush. Just come with me.” Megan rushed through the castle rooms as if they were on fire. At the back door, she pulled several capes from hooks on the wall and threw one.
After catching the cape with one hand, Cailin snugged the warm wool around her shoulders, and followed Megan out the door and down the flagstone path. Cool air blew through her hair.