Sinjun breathed in deeply. She nodded at his offering, then turned back to lean her elbows on the railing. She was afraid of missing something. She also didn’t particularly wish to speak to her husband.
“If you turn about you can see the Castle. It is clear today and the view is rather spectacular.”
Sinjun obligingly turned and looked. “I thought it more mysterious, more ethereal perhaps, last evening, when it was shrouded halfway up in fog. Every once in a while you could hear the soldiers yelling and it seemed like ghost voices coming out of the gray mist. Wonderfully gothic.”
Colin grunted at that and turned back to look down at the swirling waters. “You will have to accustom yourself to the mists. Even in summer we can go weeks at a time without the sun. But it is warm and it stays light enough to read even at midnight.”
Sinjun brightened at that. “You have a well-stocked library, Colin, at Vere Castle?”
“The library is a mess, as is most everything else. My brother didn’t particularly care, and since his death I haven’t had time to see to things. You will have to go through it and see if there is anything that interests you. I also have a library of sorts in my tower room.”
“Perhaps you have some novels?” Her hopeful voice made him smile.
“Very few, I’m afraid,” he said. “Remember, you’re deep in Presbyterian country. Hellfire would surely await anyone so ill-advised as to read a novel. Try to imagine John Knox enjoying a Mrs. Radcliffe novel. It boggles the mind.”
“Well, hopefully Alex will send me all my books when she sends us our trunks.”
“If your brother didn’t order all our things burned first.”
“A possibility,” Sinjun said. “When Douglas is angry, he can do the most awesome things.”
Sinjun hoped the trunks would arrive soon. She was perilously close to having very little to wear. Even her blue riding habit, of which she was inordinately fond, was looking sadly distressed. She swiped the dust off her sleeve as she looked at her fellow passengers. Most were country people, dressed in rough homespun woolens of dull colors, and clogs and open leather vests. There was one aristocratic fellow with very high shirt points who looked a bit green from the swaying of the barge. There was another man who looked to be a prosperous merchant, who kept spitting over the side of the barge, his teeth as brown as his spittle. And the speech, it wasn’t English, even though Sinjun could understand most of it. It was filled with slurring and lilting sounds that were melodic and coarse all at the same time.
Sinjun didn’t say anything else to her husband. At least he was trying to be pleasant, as was she. But she didn’t want to be pleasant. She wanted to hit him. She looked at his profile, drawn to look at him really, because he was so beautiful. His black hair was blowing in the gentle breeze. His chin was up and his eyes were closed in that moment, as if he were reaffirming that he was a Scot and he was home. A sea gull flew perilously close, squawking in his face. He threw back his head and laughed deeply.
She wasn’t home. She stuck her chin up as high as his was. She breathed in the sea air, the nearly overpowering smell of fish and people and horses. She looked at the terns and the gulls and the oystercatchers. They were all putting on a grand show, hoping for scraps from the passengers.
“We will ride to Vere Castle today,” Colin said. “It will take us about three hours, no more. The sun is shining and thus it will be pleasant. Ah, do you think you will be able to do it?”
“Certainly. It’s strange you would ask. You know I’m an excellent rider.”
“Yes, but that was before. I mean, you’re not too sore, are you?”
She turned slowly to face him. “You sound very pleased with yourself. How odd.”
“I’m not at all pleased. I’m concerned. You’re obviously hearing what you want to hear, not what’s there.”
“There is a wealth of conceit in your tone. All right, Colin, what if I said I was too sore? What would you do? Hire a litter, perhaps? Put a sign around my neck reading that I was unable to ride because I’d been plowed too much—like an overused barley field?”
“An analogy that is perhaps amusing but nothing more. No, if you were too sore, I would carry you before me. You would rest on my thighs and ease the pain you perhaps might be feeling.”
“I would prefer to ride by myself, thank you, Colin.”
“As you wish, Joan.”
“I would also prefer that we had not yet left Edinburgh.”
“You have already expressed yourself at some length on that subject. I’ve told you why we left so quickly. There is danger and I don’t want you exposed to it. I am taking you to Vere Castle. I will return to Edinburgh. There is much that both of us need to do.”
“I don’t really want to be left alone in a castle with people I don’t know, Colin.”
“Since you are the mistress, what should it matter? If something displeases you, you may discuss changing it with me when I return. You may even make lists, and I will certainly review them.”
“I sound like your child, not your wife. If a servant displeases me, do I dismiss the servant or just add it to the list so that the master—”
“I’m the laird.”
“ . . . so that the laird may review it like a judge and issue forth a decision?”
“You are the countess of Ashburnham.”
“Ah, and what does that entail, other than making lists and learning how to plead my cases before you?”
“You are being purposefully annoying, Joan. Look at that bird, it’s a dunlin. On your English coast you call them sandpipers.”
“How knowledgeable you are. Did you know they get a black stripe on their bellies when they wish to mate? No? Well, they certainly didn’t do all that well with your education at Oxford, did they? But perhaps some of it was your fault. You spent far too much time tupping all your ladies at the inn in Chipping Norton.”
“Your memory is lamentable. Tupping is crude. You won’t use it again. Your tongue also runs too smoothly, Joan, so smoothly that you are in danger of being tossed overboard.”
She continued, not hesitating, “Now, let me present my only item to you—the judging laird. I wish to remain with you. I’m your wife, despite everything.”
“What do you mean, despite everything? Are you referring to your less than wonderful experience in our marriage bed? All right, so you weren’t that pleased with the result of our union. You are small and I was too enthusiastic. I shouldn’t have forced it that third time. I have apologized to you several times. I have told you it will get better. Can you not trust me?”
“No. You will remain as you are, and that is too rough and too big.”
“A bit salty of tongue now, aren’t you?”
“Oh, go to the devil, Colin!”
“Have you looked at your face, Joan? ’Tis still red from the stone that slashed across it. That was a bullet. You could have been hurt, killed even. You will stay at Vere Castle until I have seen that it will stop and that you will be in no more danger.”
“But I didn’t even get to visit Edinburgh Castle!”
“Since you will live in Scotland for the rest of your life, I daresay that you will see the Castle as often as you wish.”
“The MacPhersons live in Edinburgh?”
“No, they are some fifteen miles from my lands, but the old laird is there, I was told. They’ve a comfortable house near the Parliament Building. I must see him. There are also, as I’ve already told you several times, many things for me to see to. Bankers and builders to speak to. New furnishings to consider. Sheep to buy and have transported to Vere and—”
He fell silent when she simply turned away from him. Damn him, as if she didn’t care about new furnishings, new stock for the land, new plans for building. But no, he was excluding her. She’d already given him all her arguments. None seemed to matter.
She sat down on a valise. It collapsed under her weight and she remained seated on the smashed-down valise, and tucked her legs un
der her. She said nothing more to her husband. At least he hadn’t attacked her again before they’d left Kinross House. She was sore, very sore, but she would never admit it to him. She would ride and she wouldn’t say a word, not if it killed her, which she hoped it wouldn’t.
An hour later they had debarked from the Forth Star and were on their way to Kinross land and Vere Castle, their valises strapped on the backs of their saddles.
“Perhaps later in the summer we can travel into the Highlands. The scenery is dramatic. It is like going from a calm lake into a stormy sea; everything is churned about, its civilized trappings stripped away. You will like it.”
“Yes,” Sinjun said, her voice abrupt. She hurt from the horse’s gait. She was an excellent rider but the pain was something out of her experience, and no matter how she shifted her position, the saddle seemed to grind into her.
Colin looked over at her. She was staring straight between her horse’s ears, her chin high, as it had been now for the past two days. She was wearing the same dark blue riding habit she’d worn since she’d begun riding beside him during their elopement, a beautiful, starkly fashioned outfit that suited her, for she was tall and elegant, this wife of his, and pale-skinned, her hair tucked neatly beneath the matching blue velvet riding hat, the ostrich feather curling gently around her right cheek. It was dusty and looked a bit worse for wear, but still, he liked it. Now that he had money, he would be able to buy her lovely things. He thought of her long white legs, the sleek muscles of her thighs, and his guts knotted.
“We will stop for lunch at an inn near Lanark. You can have your first real taste of our local dishes. Agnes at Kinross House has always fancied herself above all our native dishes. Her mother was Yorkshire-bred, you know, and thus it is English beef and boiled potatoes for her, quite good but not Scottish. Perhaps you can try some broonies.”
He was trying, she’d give him that, but she didn’t care at the moment. She simply hurt too much. “How far is the inn?”
“Two miles or so.”
Two miles! She didn’t think she would make another two feet. The road was well worn, wide, surrounded by rolling hills and more larch and pine trees than she could begin to count. There were farms and carefully tilled lands, reminding her of England, and grazing cattle. They were riding northward through the Fife Peninsula that lay between the Firth of Forth and the Firth of Tay, Colin had told her earlier, a region protected from the Highlanders from the north and the English invaders from the south, which had thus been the historical cradle for religion and authority. Again, she recognized that the land was beautiful, and again, she simply didn’t care.
“Over there are some strange-looking hills—they’re basalt thrown up by old volcanoes. They become quite thick soon and they cover a lot of land and go quite high. There are even lochs scattered in amongst them. There is some good fishing to be had in many of them. We haven’t time today, but soon we’ll ride to the coast. It’s rugged, strewn with rocks, and the North Sea batters against the land with the fury of an enraged giant. There’s a string of tiny fishing villages, many of which are very picturesque. I’ll take you climbing up West Lomond, the highest point. It’s shaped like a bell, and the view from the top is spectacular.”
“Your lectures are very edifying, Colin. However, I should prefer hearing about Vere Castle—this dumping ground you’re taking me to.”
“West Lomond is just southwest of Auchtermuchty.”
Sinjun yawned.
His jaw tightened. “I am rather trying to entertain you, Joan, to teach you something of your new country. Your continued sarcasm doesn’t sit well with me. Don’t make me regret our alliance.”
She twisted about in her sidesaddle to stare at him. “Why not? You have certainly made me regret it.” She saw the anger build in his eyes, and she felt her own anger building apace. She urged her horse forward into a gallop, away from him. She regretted it instantly, for she slammed up and down on the saddle. The pain rocketed through her. She bit her lip. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she didn’t slow down.
The Plucked Goose—surely an odd name for an inn—lay in a small village at the base of some of those damned steep basalt hills. The large, freshly painted sign that swung from its chains was of a large goose with a small head and a long neck and utterly bare of feathers. The inn was quite new, which surprised Sinjun, who thought every inn in England and Scotland must go back at least to Elizabeth I, and the yard was clean. She heard Scottish coming from every window and door in the inn, but this was a different accent, and despite her misery she smiled.
She pulled her horse to a halt and just sat there for a moment, trying to calm her body from its assault. She looked over to see Colin standing beside her, his hands outstretched to lift her down. Normally she would have simply laughed and jumped from her horse. Not today. She allowed the courtesy. He eased her down the length of his body as he lowered her. And when she was finally on her feet, he said, “I’ve missed you,” and he leaned down to kiss her.
He felt her stiffen and released her. They were, after all, in the public yard of a very public inn. The innkeeper’s wife, Girtha by name, who welcomed Colin as if he were her long-lost nephew, exclaimed how thin he was and how pretty Sinjun was, how sleek their horses looked even though they were obviously rented hacks, commented on how the blue of Sinjun’s riding habit matched her eyes, all without taking a breath.
The taproom in the inn was dark and cool and smelled of ale and beer, very pleasant really. There were only a half dozen locals drinking there, and they were quietly talking, paying the earl and countess no heed.
Colin ordered broonies for himself and for Sinjun. When they came, he watched as she bit into the oatmeal gingerbread. They were wonderful, and she nodded her enthusiasm to the hovering innkeeper’s wife.
“Now,” he said, “let’s have some haggis.”
“I know what’s in it. I asked Agnes. It doesn’t sound very appetizing, Colin.”
“You will accustom yourself. Everyone around you will eat it and enjoy it. Our children will be weaned on it. Thus, I suggest you try it now.”
Their children! She stared at him, her mouth open. Children! Good God, they’d been married less than a week.
He grinned at her, understanding her reaction. “I worked you too hard, very true, but I did spill my seed in you three times, Joan. It’s possible you are already carrying my child.”
“No,” she said very firmly. “No, I am too young. Besides, I’m not at all certain I want to do it yet. When poor Alex was pregnant she vomited all the time, at least at first. She would suddenly turn white and simply be sick. Hollis, our butler, had a sick pan placed discreetly in every room at Northcliffe Hall.” She looked pained at the memories and shook her head again. “No, I won’t do it, Colin. No, not yet.”
“I fear you have no choice in the matter. It is many times the result of lovemaking and—”
That got her attention. She dropped her fork and stared at him. “Lovemaking. What an odd way to refer to what you did to me. Surely there is something else more appropriate to call it. Like your infamous tupping.”
“There are many words that are used to refer to the sex act,” he said in a pedantic voice, ignoring her sarcasm. “However, in my experience, ladies prefer poetry and euphemisms, so lovemaking is the more accepted form of reference. Now, you will lower your voice, madam. If you haven’t noticed, there are people around us and they may be savages in your aristocratic English eyes, but they are my people and not at all deaf.”
“I didn’t ever say that. You’re being—”
“I’m being realistic. You could be pregnant and you’d best face up to it.”
Sinjun swallowed. “No,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”
“Here, have some haggis.”
It was a bagged mess of livers and heart and beef suet and oatmeal all served up with potatoes and rutabagas. Sinjun took one look at the bloated sheep stomach it was served in and wanted to run.
&
nbsp; “You didn’t order it from the innkeeper’s wife,” she said slowly, just staring at that foreign-looking stretched hot bag filled with things she’d just as soon never see in her life. “There hasn’t been time.”
“I didn’t have to. It’s the main dish served here and has been since the inn opened five years ago. Eat.” So saying, he cut into the skin and forked down a goodly bite.
“No, I can’t. Give me time, Colin.”
He smiled at her. “Very well. Would you like to try some clapshot? It’s a dish from the Orkneys, supposedly coming to us from the Vikings. All vegetables. It’s usually served with haggis, but eat it by itself and see if it settles nicely in your belly.”
She was grateful. The rutabagas were nasty things, but she could shove them to the sides of the plate. The potatoes were good, and the hint of nutmeg and cream made it quite tasty. There was no more conversation between her and Colin.
Sinjun spent the next hour and a half in a daze of pain. She didn’t notice the damned countryside, even though Colin kept up a stream of travel commentary. She was nearly to the point of telling him she couldn’t ride another yard, another foot even, when he said, “Pull up, Joan. Yon is Vere Castle.”
There was a wealth of pride and affection in his voice. She craned up in her saddle. Before her, sprawled out over an entire low hillock, was an edifice that was the size of Northcliffe Hall. There all similarities ended. The west end was a true fairy-tale castle, with crenellated walls, round towers, and cone-topped roofs that rose three stories. It was a castle from a children’s storybook. It needed but flags flying from all the towers, a drawbridge, a moat, and a knight in silver armor. It wasn’t massive, like Northcliffe Hall, but it was magical. It was connected to a Tudor home by a two-story stone building that resembled a long arm with a fist at each end. A fairy castle at one end and a Tudor manor at the other—in this modern day two such disparate styles should have been a jest, but in reality the whole was magnificent. It was now her home.
“The family lives primarily in the Tudor section, although the castle part is the newest, built back at the turn of the seventeenth century. That earl, though, didn’t have quite enough money to do it right, thus it is rotting at a faster pace than the Tudor section, which is nearly one hundred and fifty years older. Still, I love it. I spend much of my time there, in the north tower. When we entertain, it’s always in the castle.”
The Heiress Bride Page 13