The Heiress Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  Sinjun stared. “I hadn’t expected this,” she said slowly. “It’s massive and all its parts, well, they’re so different from each other.”

  “Of course there are different parts. The original Tudor hall dates back to the beginning of the sixteenth century. It has a fireplace large enough to roast a large cow. In the Tudor wing there’s a minstrel’s gallery that would rival the one at your Castle Braith in Yorkshire. Oh, I understand. You expected something of a hovel, something low and squalid and probably smelly, since Scots, of course, have their animals living with them. Something not nearly as impressive as your wondrous Northcliffe Hall. It isn’t stately, but it’s real and it’s large, and it’s mine.” He fidgeted a moment. “The crofters many times have their animals in their houses with them during the winter. That is true, but we don’t at Vere Castle.”

  “You know, Colin,” she said mildly, looking at him squarely, “if I indeed were expecting a ratty hovel, why, then, wouldn’t that prove how much I wanted to marry you?”

  He looked nonplussed at that. He opened his mouth, then closed it. She turned away from him but not before he saw, for the first time, the utter weariness and pain in her eyes that she’d kept hidden from him. At least this was something tangible, something he could get his teeth into. “Sweet Lord,” he bellowed, “why the devil didn’t you say anything to me?” He sounded utterly furious, which he was. “You’re in pain, aren’t you? Yes, you are, and you didn’t say a damned word to me. Your stubbornness passes all bounds, Joan, and I won’t have it, do you understand me?”

  “Oh, be quiet. I’m fine. I wish to—”

  “Just shut up, Joan. Not too sore, are you? You look ready to fall down and expire. Are you bleeding? Have you managed to rub yourself raw?”

  She knew she wasn’t going to stay on her horse’s back for another moment. She simply couldn’t. She pulled her leg free and slid off her horse’s back. She leaned against the horse until she could get control of herself. When she had control, she said, “I will walk to your castle, Colin. It’s a beautiful day. I wish to smell the daisies.”

  “There aren’t any damned daisies.”

  “I will smell the crocuses, then.”

  “You will just stop it, Joan.” He looked enraged. He cursed, then he dismounted.

  “Stay away from me!”

  He drew up three feet from her. “Is this the girl who wanted me to kiss her in the entrance hall of her brother’s home in London? Is this the girl who walked up to me at the theater, thrust out her hand, and informed me she was an heiress? Is this the girl who kept insisting that I bed her immediately? Even in the carriage? Where is she, I ask you?”

  Sinjun didn’t answer. She didn’t care. She turned away from him and took a step. She felt pain grind through her. She stumbled.

  “Oh damnation, just hold still and be quiet.”

  He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. He saw that damned pain again in her eyes and it struck him silent. Gently now, he drew her against him, supporting her with his arms around her waist. “Just rest a moment,” he said against her hair. “Just rest and then allow me to hold you. I’m sorry, Joan.” He pressed her face against his shoulder. She breathed in the scent of him.

  She didn’t say a word.

  She arrived at her new home in the arms of her husband atop his horse, just like a fairy princess being brought to her prince’s castle. However, unlike that fairy princess, Sinjun was wrinkled and dusty and painfully aware that she looked a wreck.

  “Shush, don’t stiffen up on me,” he said in a low voice, his breath warm on her cheek. “I don’t believe that you’re frightened, not you, a Sherbrooke of Northcliffe Hall. My family and my people will all welcome you. You will be their mistress.”

  She was quiet. They rode beneath the incredible canopy of green formed by the tree branches meeting across the drive. As they drew nearer, there were men and women and children and all sorts of animals appearing along the road to welcome Colin home. There was great cheering. Some of the men threw their caps into the air, women waved their aprons. Several mangy dogs yapped and jumped about Colin’s horse, who took it all in stride. There was a goat chewing on a length of rope, not appearing to care that the master was once again gracing them with his presence.

  “Everyone knows you’re my bride, my heiress bride, here to save my hide and my castle and keep my people from starvation or emigration. They are probably cheering God’s beneficence rather than us. Though you did find me. I should perhaps let that be known. Then you would be soundly cheered. MacDuff should still be here. I wanted you to have a warm welcome.”

  “Thank you, Colin. That’s kind of you.”

  “Will you be able to walk?”

  “Certainly.”

  He smiled over her head at the utter arrogance in her voice. She had guts. She would need them.

  Sinjun awoke with a start to pale evening light. For a moment she was confused, then memory righted and she closed her eyes against it. It seemed impossible, but it wasn’t. Colin hadn’t told her. He’d conveniently remained silent on what she considered to be a very important part of her life here at Vere Castle, as his wife. She shook her head, blanking out incredulity and anger at him for his damnable silence, and stared about the huge bedchamber, the laird’s bedchamber, with a gigantic bed set up upon a dais, a bed that would hold six men lying side by side. The room was wainscoted with dark oak, beautiful really, but the dull, very dusty burgundy draperies that were all pulled nearly closed made the room as somber as a monk’s cell. The furniture was old, and she recognized the Tudor style of the huge armoire that dominated one entire corner of the room.

  She still didn’t move, just looked about her. She thought of the list of things to be done that was already forming in her mind. So much to be done. Ah, but where to begin? She didn’t want to think about her reception as the countess of Ashburnham, but she had to.

  Colin had kept his arm about her waist as he led her through the gigantic oak front door into the large square first floor. He kept his arm around her even when all the servants appeared, all of them staring at her, all of them doubtless seeing it as a very romantic gesture. The minstrel’s gallery rose on three sides on the second floor, the railing old and ornate. A quite large chandelier hung down from the third story. There were high-backed Tudor chairs against the walls, and little else. She saw all of this in a haze, listening to Colin as he introduced one person after another. She hurt, but she wasn’t a coward or a weak-kneed miss. She smiled and repeated names. But she couldn’t remember a one after the repetition came out of her mouth.

  “This is my aunt Arleth, my mother’s younger sister. Arleth, my wife, Joan.”

  An older, sharp-chinned face came into view and Sinjun smiled and took the woman’s hand, bidding her hello.

  “And this is—was—my sister-in-law, Serena.”

  Ah, a very pretty young woman, not many years older than Sinjun, and she smiled nicely.

  “And these are my children. Philip, Dahling, come here and say hello to your new mama.”

  It was at that point that Sinjun simply stopped cold in her tracks. She stared at her husband, but he said nothing more. She thought she couldn’t have understood him properly. But there, walking slowly toward her, their faces sullen, their eyes narrowed with suspicion, were two children. A boy, about six years old, and a little girl, four, perhaps five.

  “Say hello to Joan. She’s my new wife and your new stepmother.” Colin’s voice was deep and commanding. She would have answered if he’d spoken to her in that tone. He’d made no move toward his own children.

  “Hello, Joan,” the boy said, then added, “My name’s Philip.”

  “I’m Dahling,” said the little girl.

  Sinjun tried to smile, tried to be pleasant. She loved children, she truly did, but to be a stepmother without any warning? She looked again at Colin, but he was smiling down at the little girl. Then he picked her up and she wound her arms around his neck and said, “Welc
ome home, Papa.”

  Papa! It couldn’t be true, but it was. Sinjun managed to get out, “Are you really darling? All the time?”

  “Of course, what else could I be?”

  Colin said, “Her name’s actually Fiona, like her mother. There was confusion, so everyone started calling her Dahling, her second name.” He then spelled it for her.

  “Hello, Dahling, Philip. I’m pleased to meet both of you.”

  “You’re very tall,” Philip said, the image of his father, except for cool gray eyes that were staring at her hard.

  “You’re all rumpled,” Dahling said. “There’s an ugly scar on your face.”

  Sinjun laughed. You could always count on children for unadorned candor. “That’s true. Your father and I rode all the way from Edinburgh—indeed, nearly all the way from York. We’re both in need of a good bath.”

  “Cousin MacDuff said you were nice and we were to be polite to you.”

  “It sounds like a good idea to me,” Sinjun said.

  “Enough, children,” Aunt Arleth said, coming up to them. “Excuse them, er—”

  “Oh, please call me Sinjun.”

  “No, call her Joan.”

  Serena looked from one to the other. It was at that moment that Sinjun wished with all her heart that she were standing on the cliffs next to Northcliffe Hall, looking out over the English channel, the sea wind ruffling her hair. She hurt between her legs, hurt very badly. She looked at Colin and said calmly, “I’m afraid I don’t feel very well.”

  He was quick, she’d give him that. He picked her up and, without another word to anyone, carried her up a wide staircase, down a wide, very long corridor that was dark and smelled musty. It seemed to Sinjun that he’d marched a mile with her in his arms before he entered a huge bedchamber and put her down on the bed. He then started to pull up her riding skirts.

  She batted at his hands, yelling, “No!”

  “Joan, let me see the damage. For heaven’s sake, I’m your husband. I’ve already seen everything you have to offer.”

  “Go away. I’m not very fond of you at the moment, Colin. Please, just go away.”

  “As you will. Shall I have some hot water sent up?”

  “Yes, thank you. Go away.”

  He did. Not ten minutes later a young girl peeked in the room. “My name’s Emma,” she announced. “I’ve brung yer water, m’lady.”

  “Thank you, Emma.” She excused the maid as quickly as she could.

  She was indeed a mess, her flesh raw and very sore from all the riding she’d done today. She cleaned herself up, then crawled into the bed, staying close to the edge. She felt out of place, she felt fury at Colin for his excruciatingly important omission. She was a stepmother to two children who, it appeared, couldn’t bear the sight of her. To her relief, she’d fallen asleep quickly and deeply.

  But now she was awake. She would have to get up. She would have to face Colin, his aunt, his sister-in-law who wasn’t anymore, and the two children, his children. She didn’t want to. She wondered what Colin had said to everyone. Certainly not the truth. Now they would believe her a weakling, an English weakling. She was on the point of getting out of the bed when the door opened and a small face appeared.

  It was Dahling.

  CHAPTER

  9

  “YOU’RE AWAKE.”

  “Yes, I am,” Sinjun said, turning to see Dahling peering into the room. “I was about to get up and get dressed.”

  “Why did you get undressed? Papa wouldn’t tell us what was wrong with you.”

  “I was just tired. It was a long trip from London. Your papa wanted to get home quickly to you and Philip. Is there something you wanted?”

  Dahling sidled into the room. Sinjun saw that she was wearing a heavy woolen gown that was too short for her, and stout boots that looked too small and very scuffed. Surely the child must be uncomfortable in such clothing.

  “I wanted to see if you were as ugly as I thought.”

  Precocious little devil, Sinjun thought, reminded of Amy, one of Ryder’s children, a little girl who was an imp and brazen as a brass gong, hiding, Ryder knew, a fear that was deep, very deep. “Well then, come closer. You must be fair, you know. Yes, climb up here on the bed and sit really close to me. Fairness is very important in life.”

  When the little girl reached the dais, Sinjun reached down and lifted her beneath her arms and up onto the bed. “There, now make a study of me.”

  “You talk all funny, like Aunt Arleth. She’s always yelling at Philip and me not to speak like everyone else does, except Papa.”

  “You speak very well,” Sinjun said, holding very still, for the little girl was now running her hands over her face. Her fingers lightly touched the red mark on her cheek. “What is this?”

  “I was hurt when your father and I were in Edinburgh. A flying rock. It’s nothing, and the mark should go away soon.”

  “You’re not too ugly, but just a little bit ugly.”

  “Thank you for relieving me of such a major curse and leaving me with just a minor one. You’re not ugly, either.”

  “Me? Ugly? I’m a Great Beauty, just like my mama. Everyone says so.”

  “Oh? Let me see.” Sinjun then did exactly what Dahling had done to her. She ran her fingers over the little girl’s face, pausing here and there, saying nothing.

  Dahling began to fidget. “I am a Great Beauty. If I’m not now, I will be when I’m grown up.”

  “You also have the look of your father. He’s very handsome, so that’s all right. You have his eyes. Beautiful dark blue eyes he has, and so do you. Mine are also beautiful, don’t you think so? They’re called Sherbrooke blue. That’s my family name.”

  Dahling chewed on her bottom lip. “I suppose so,” she said at last. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not still a little bit ugly.”

  “You have your father’s dark hair. That’s also nice. Don’t you like my hair? It’s called Sherbrooke chestnut.”

  “Maybe it’s all right. It’s very curly. Mine isn’t. Aunt Arleth just shakes her head and says I must bear with it.”

  “But you’re still a Great Beauty?”

  “Oh yes, Papa told me so,” Dahling said with complete conviction.

  “You believe everything your papa tells you?”

  The little girl cocked her head to one side. “He’s my pa. He loves me, but sometimes he doesn’t see me or Philip, now that he’s the laird of the Kinross clan. It’s a very important job. He’s very important and everybody needs him. He doesn’t have much time for bairns—children.”

  “You don’t have your father’s nose. Yours is turned up on the end. Is that like your mother’s?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask Aunt Serena. She’s Mama’s younger sister. She takes care of me when the governesses all leave, but she doesn’t like to. She’d rather be out picking flowers and wearing flowing gowns like a girl waiting for a prince to come.”

  • Sinjun felt a sinking at that artless news. “Governesses? You and Philip have had more than one?”

  “Oh yes, we never like them, you see. They’re all English—like you—and ugly, and we make them leave. That, or they didn’t like Mama, and she’d make them leave. Mama didn’t like other ladies around.”

  “I see,” Sinjun said, but didn’t. “How many governesses have you had since your mama went to heaven?”

  The little girl said very proudly, “Two. But mind you, it’s only been seven months. We can make you leave, too, if we want.”

  “You think so, do you? No, don’t answer that. Now, my dear, I must attire myself for dinner. Should you like to help me, or would you like me to help you?”

  Dahling frowned. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Do you dine in the nursery or with the family?”

  “Papa decides. He decides everything now that he’s laird. Aunt Arleth doesn’t like it. I’ve seen her eyes turn red sometimes she’s so angry at him. Papa says that sometimes we’re the very devil and h
e doesn’t want us around when he’s eating his soup.”

  “Well, why don’t you dine with us this evening, to celebrate my being here. Do you have another gown?”

  “I don’t like you and I don’t want to celebrate. You’re not my mama. I’ll tell Philip that we’ll make you leave.”

  “Do you have another gown?”

  “Aye, but not new. It’s short, just like this one. Papa says we don’t have any groats for fripteries—”

  “Fripperies.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Aunt Arleth says I grow too fast and Papa mustn’t waste his groats on me. She says she’s not surprised that we’re poor, since he should never have been the laird in the first place.”

  “Hmmm. Your papa now has sufficient groats for new dresses. We’ll ask him.”

  “They’re your groats. I heard Cousin MacDuff talking to Aunt Arleth about how you were a great heiress and that’s why Papa married you. She sniffed and said it was proper that he had sacrificed himself. She said it was the first decent thing he’d done in his life.”

  Good grief, Sinjun thought, momentarily stunned. Aunt Arleth sounded like a thoroughly nasty old bird. She said, calmly enough, even with a smile hovering, “That’s right. The poor boy is very noble and pragmatic. So you shouldn’t want to send me away, because I’m here for a higher purpose than your governesses.”

  “Aunt Serena said that Papa had your money now and that maybe you’d go to heaven, like my mama.”

  “Dahling! Shut your mouth!”

  Colin strode into the bedchamber, his eyes on the little girl, who was gazing at him with adoration and now some perturbation, because he hadn’t sounded pleased with her. Sinjun stared at him. He looked stern and forbidding, striding into the room, the laird, the master, the earl, and he looked harassed.