Suspicion pricked Helen. How long had they been gone?
At the end of the dance, she murmured her excuses, then searched the downstairs rooms, peeking into a quiet library, an empty morning room, a vacant butler's pantry. Alex's house—her house—was sparsely furnished. Many of the rooms lacked wallpaper and draperies, yet she could see possibilities in the airy ceilings, the tall windows, the finely detailed woodwork. Drat Alex for letting her believe he lived in that old, drafty castle with its eerie, cobwebbed table. And now the rascal had gone off with another woman on his wedding day.
It was time he showed his wife respect.
Her displeasure multiplied when she couldn't find the missing couple. Nearing the end of the gloomy passage, she spied one last door at the back of the house. She was marching toward it when the white-painted panel swung open, and her husband stepped out, a candlestick in his hand.
Behind him sauntered Meg. She was looking down while adjusting her dark green bodice.
A chill crawled over Helen, followed by a flash of rage. It was one thing to suspect them of a liaison; quite another to catch them after the act.
Alex halted, the candle flame casting shadows over his craggy features. He shut the door behind them. His dark eyebrows were lowered, giving him the aspect of a wary wolf. "What are you doing awa' from the dancing?"
"I should ask you that question." She glanced pointedly at Meg, who wore a cat-in-the-cream smile. She either used carmine to darken those ruby lips. Or she had just been soundly kissed.
"It isna your place to question me," Alex said ominously.
"Oh? Then I'll issue a few orders instead. Starting with your partner." Helen swung to the widow. "Bother my husband again, and I'll unman him. Now leave this house before I turn my wrath on you, as well."
The smirk vanished. Her brown eyes rounded, Meg scuttled past Helen and vanished down the corridor.
A fierce satisfaction gripped Helen. Before she could revel in her victory, Alex spoke in a low, melodious brogue.
"Unman me, will you?" One eyebrow cocked, he lounged with his shoulder propped against the wall as he looked her up and down. "And just how would a wee lass like you propose to do that?"
His lazy perusal sparked a heat in her that had nothing to do with anger or triumph. He stood so tall and muscled in his linen shirt and fine kilt. How well she remembered the hardness of that masculine body. The memory made her feel weak inside, yearning for his big hands to touch her.
Hands that had just been caressing someone else.
Helen clenched her silk skirt. "Test me and find out," she said with icy bravado. "I will not abide my husband bedding another woman."
He snorted. "I didna bed Meg."
"Then what were you doing with her in there?"
The glower returned, making his cheekbones stark and his expression grim in the meager candlelight. " 'Tis a private matter."
"Obviously. Or you wouldn't have needed to sneak away." She marched past him. "Perhaps I’ll have a look for myself."
He slapped his palm against the door. "Dinna go in there."
"Why not? Have you something to hide? A rumpled bed, perhaps?"
"That room is forbidden to you." "This is my house now, too. I've a right to go wherever I please."
"The house is mine" he corrected. "And you'll keep out where you are no' invited. It shouldna matter when you'll be gone from here soon enough."
"I've no intention of leaving."
"Then think again," he said bluntly. "There's no point to us living together. Tomorrow, you'll go awa' back to London with your father."
Shock reverberated through Helen. She clasped her hands tightly to steady herself. "You can't toss me out. I won't go."
"Suit yourself, then. But you'd best get out before winter makes the roads too treacherous for travel." In the candleglow, his dark blue eyes showed no regret, only an embittered dislike.
Of course. He feared she would behave the same as his mother. The realization eased the sting of his rejection, and without thinking, she reached up and caressed his jaw, sliding her hand to his temple. His skin was taut to her fingertips, his hair like rough silk. Looking up into his stern features, she imagined the lonely little boy he had once been. And it reminded her of why, in the end, she had spoken her vows to him. Because she ached to reach the fiercely guarded softness she had glimpsed inside the virile man.
Her husband.
She pressed herself closer to him, flushed with the desire to bring light and affection into his bleak life. "I don't mind the winter, Alex," she said in a sultry tone.
"I'm sure we can find ways to keep each other warm."
His nostrils flared. His chest expanded against her breasts. His moody eyes glittered down at her, and she knew with reckless delight that he still wanted her. He too wanted to make the best of this marriage
Suddenly he thrust her away. "Nay. I willna risk having a child by you, Lady Helen. So heed me well. I will never, ever touch you again."
Chapter Seven
"Everything will be fine, Papa."
Helen stood with her father on the front porch the next morning. His black traveling coach waited on the drive, beneath the autumn splendor of a huge oak tree. Except for the mountaintops, the snow had melted and the roads were clear. He was taking Abbott back to England so the coachman could recuperate there. Cox and Miss Gilbert would stay on with Helen.
Lord Hathaway gripped her hands. "I mislike leaving you here," he said for the tenth time. "Perhaps I acted too hastily in forcing this marriage."
I will never, ever touch you again.
"Of course you didn't," she said, giving her father a sunny, reassuring smile. "You wanted to protect my honor. And I love you for that."
Worry deepened the lines on his dignified features. "I know the MacBrut can provide for you," Hathaway said, as if trying to convince himself. "I'd stayed the night at this house before setting out for his castle. His people led me to believe he is a fine, worthy man."
He searched her face, and Helen maintained her determined smile. The woeful state of this marriage was her problem, not his. "Yes, Papa, you've told me. And I know Alex is well regarded in the village."
He's also affluent from lucrative shipping investments. And you'll have income of your own. The MacBrut insisted the marriage settlement remain in your name. That proves he's a generous man."
It proved he wanted nothing to do with English money. "Then I shan't want for anything." She swallowed hard. "Although I shall miss you, Papa."
"And I, you."
He pulled her into a tight hug that Helen wished would last forever. For as long as she could remember, Papa had always been there for her. He had been her companion on journeys to far-flung places. Now she would be lucky to see him once a year. The magnitude of that realization threatened to shatter her, but she held herself together for his sake. He mustn't guess that she had spent her wedding night alone, that she had lain awake for hours in the four-poster bed, listening to the creakings of the strange house and wishing for the warm comfort of her husband.
When her father drew away, his eyes glistened with moisture. She fought back her own tears as he gave her one last gruff kiss. Then he strode down the steps and entered the coach.
Helen stood waving, smiling bravely as the vehicle started off into the majestic hills. Only when the coach vanished around a bend in the road did she let the tears fall. Warm, wet drops rolled down her cold cheeks. As if sensing her unhappiness, M'lord bounded up the steps and whined. She picked up the dog, hugging his small form as he nudged her with his cold nose.
Leaning against the stone pillar, she blotted her face with the corner of her apricot cashmere shawl. It was senseless to weep over matters of her own making. Better she should carve a place for herself here in Scotland. Of all the lands she'd visited, she loved these wild, windswept mountains the best.
The door opened behind her. She stiffened, bracing herself for Alex's ridicule. She hadn't seen him since the pr
evious night when he had issued his ugly ultimatum.
I will never, ever touch you again.
A hand gently patted her back. But it was only Miss Gilbert, her plump face soft with concern. "You mustn't be distraught. His lordship will be back to visit. And surely you and the laird will go to England sometime."
Alex would sooner journey to the fiery pits of Hades.
And Helen refused to leave the Highlands without him. To do so would only prove his cynical prediction. Instead, she would wear him down with her persistence. Time would show him that she intended to stay.
Holding her beloved dog, Helen took a deep breath of crisp autumn air. Yes. Time alone might unlock the bars around her husband's heart.
Helen spent the rest of the day in brisk activity. Guided by Flora, she toured the house, room by room, assessing the antique linens in the cabinets and making lists of items to be purchased in Edinburgh. She would need drapery patterns and paint samples, furniture catalogs and upholstery swatches. It wasn't until mid-afternoon, when the housekeeper went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, that Helen came upon the closed door.
The one room Alex had forbidden her to enter.
She meant to walk away, to allow him his juvenile secrets, at least for the moment. But a muffled, whining voice issued from inside the chamber.
Frowning, she pressed her ear to the door, but could not make out the words beyond that the speaker was a man. Every now and then, she heard her husband's deep voice in reply. His tone had a patient, gentle quality, almost like a parent soothing a hurt child.
Was this Alex's office? Was he placating a disgruntled tenant?
Her fingers touched the brass door handle, but she resisted the impulse to enter. Men didn't care for women to interfere in matters of business. She intended to win her husband over, not irritate him. There would be time enough later to satisfy her curiosity.
Turning, she started down the passageway. An agonized howl came from the closed room. The sound sent prickles down Helen's spine.
Instinctively she responded to the cry of pain. She raced to the door and wrenched it open, lifting her skirts as she hastened inside.
She found herself in a long, spacious chamber lined by shelves full of apothecary jars and life-sized drawings of skeletons and anatomical forms. The tall windows let in the sunshine. In contrast to the starkness elsewhere in the house, this room contained a comfortable clutter of medicine cabinets, an examining table, and several cots. And Helen could not have been more surprised to discover a sorcerer's cave.
In the center of the room, Alex bent over a man who was stretched out in a leather chair with his white-knuckled hands gripping the arms. A wooden table held a host of metal instruments along with linen bandages and various bottles and jars. Alex straightened, holding a wooden drill-like implement with a wicked-looking hook on the end.
Alarmed, she hurried forward. "Dear God, what is going on?"
Alex pivoted on his heel and glared. "I told you not to come in here."
'T heard a scream." She peered past him and recognized Dougal, the village blacksmith, a sheepish look on his puffy, bristled cheeks. "What are you doing to that poor man?"
"That puir man had two rotten teeth. I removed them." Alex laid the implement on the table and snatched up a wad of cloth. Over his shoulder, he snapped, "Now go awa', you're intruding here."
Helen folded her arms and stayed put.-She watched as Alex finished with the blacksmith, packing the afflicted area with gauze, instructing him to eat only soft foods until the morrow, and admonishing him to use a cleansing powder daily lest he lose more teeth.
After the man departed, she stared at Alex, recalling his skill in caring for Abbott's broken ankle. Abruptly it all made sense. "You're a physician."
He strode to a washstand and soaped his hands. "I trained in Edinburgh. So that my people wouldna suffer from lack of proper care."
"You might have told me." Frustration simmered inside her, but it was overshadowed by sudden comprehension. "You brought Meg in here last night. Did she have a medical complaint?"
"A burn on her abdomen. I thought it wise to have a look."
"In the midst of your wedding celebration?"
A ruddy flush entered his cheeks as he dried his hands on a linen towel. In the late afternoon sunlight, his face had a rough beauty like the craggy mountains beyond the windows. "Our wedding wasna cause for celebration," he said bluntly. "You ken that as well as I."
A tart retort soured her tongue. But she reminded herself that taming him would take patience and persistence. She would not let him draw her into an endless war where they did nothing but fire shots at each other.
"If ever you need an assistant," she said, "I'd be happy to help."
"You'd swoon at the first drop of blood."
She gazed steadily at him. "You're mistaken. After Papa and I survived an earthquake in Turkey last year, I helped care for the wounded."
Alex cocked a skeptical brow. "Did you pat the injured on the hand?"
"Believe what you will. But your clansmen are my people now, too. And they were kind enough to welcome me yesterday—unlike you."
Before he could do more than grimace, a knock sounded.
"Go awa' with you now," Alex snapped to Helen as he crossed the room and opened a door that led directly outside.
In rushed a wild-eyed woman carrying a wailing child. It was Jessie, the little girl who had stared in awe at Helen outside the kirk. Helen's heart lurched. Blood matted the girl's fair hair and trickled down her delicate face.
Alex carried the girl to the examining table. "Here now, lassie. Let me have a look. I willna hurt you."
Using a cloth, he blotted the blood to expose a deep, jagged cut along her hairline. Her mother hovered close, sobbing, "She was playin' in the glen an' slipped on the rocks. Will she die?"
"She'll be fine. But the wound needs stitching." Alex hunkered down to Jessie's level. "You must lie very still, lassie. 'Twill only be a few pricks and we'll be done."
Jessie battered him with her fists. "Go awa'! Dinna hurt me!"
"Jessie!" Her mother helplessly wrung her hands. "Ye must listen to the laird an' do as he says."
Jessie only cried louder and thrashed harder.
Helen took firm hold of the girl's dainty shoulders. "Sshh. Let me tell you a story, Jessie. It's about a beautiful, brave princess who found herself the prisoner of a wicked beast. But you must be quiet now if you wish to hear all the adventures she had."
Jessie took a few hiccupping breaths. Her stiff muscles relaxed slightly under Helen's soothing massage. She gazed up wide-eyed, her face streaked with tears. "W-what was her name?"
"Her name was Helen, just like me. She traveled all over the world with her father, the king, and they visited many strange and wonderful places. Like the ancient pyramids of Egypt and the bazaars of Baghdad. Once, she even fed the monkeys on the Rock of Gibraltar."
"How did the princess get caught by the beast?" Jessie asked. She didn't seem to notice that Alex was carefully cleansing her oozing wound.
"Well, one day while they were visiting the strangest and most wonderful land of all, her father was called back to his kingdom. But Princess Helen was so eager to explore the lovely countryside that she decided to go on without him, though people warned her the mountains were enchanted, and that a fearsome beast lived there. Princesses, you see, are not easily frightened away by fearsome beasts. No matter how loudly they roar." v Helen saw Alex's lips compress, though his attention was focused on the curved needle which he plucked from the tray of implements. Seeing that he was about to suture the wound, she hastily continued. "One sunny morning, Princess Helen set out to explore the mountains. But by the afternoon, when she ventured deep into the forest, an icy wind began to blow and snow fell so thickly she feared she might freeze to death. Just then, she came -upon a beautiful castle with lights twinkling in every window. When she knocked, the door opened by magic. She called out, but no one came. So she hastened tow
ard a warm fire crackling on the hearth and a table laden with a fine feast of hot soup and cake and sugar plums.
"After the princess had enjoyed the most delicious meal of her life, a noise came from the shadows. She saw him then—the beast. He was big and fierce-looking, as shaggy as a bear. He said that eating his food had cast an enchantment over her and now she belonged to him forever."
Jessie had her thumb in her mouth, sucking hard while Alex finished the few stitches and knotted the end. From the black look he sent Helen, she knew he understood that the feast was their two idyllic nights together.
"The princess was afraid at first, but though the beast growled and snarled, he never, ever hurt her. As the days passed she saw kindness in him. And she learned he had once been a handsome prince until an evil witch had hexed him. Only a love pure and true could break the spell." Helen lowered her voice to a husky murmur. "The princess was determined to love the beast. She was the one woman who could heal his heart."
Alex uttered a low, derisive sound. But his hands were gentle as he applied a clean linen bandage with sticking plaster.
Jessie pulled her thumb out of her mouth. "Did the princess ever turn the beast back into a prince?"
Smiling, Helen rubbed the child's small back and ignored a fierce glance from Alex. "Of course, she did, darling. No matter how difficult the task, princesses always accomplish what they set out to do."
Over the next fortnight, his wife was a constant presence and a source of endless irritation. Alex did his best to drive her away, though when it came to bodily tossing her out of his office, he found he couldn't do it. So he raged and snapped, willing her to take the hint and leave him alone.
But nothing he said seemed to discourage her, and after a time, he noticed all the little ways in which she changed his life. She assumed the role of an adept assistant, brisk and cheerful with the natural ability to calm his patients. She rolled bandages, handed him instruments, and gave sympathy to the fearful. On busy days, she brought him a hot lunch on a tray. Somehow she found out all his likes and dislikes—no doubt by gossiping with Flora—and made certain he had bannocks and blackberry jam for his breakfast, cock-a-leekie soup or smoked haddock with his dinner, along with a glass of his favorite ale. On cold, dark days, when the mist came down from the mountains, she brought him piping hot tea with shortbread.
Beauty and the Brute Page 6