The Heiress Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  “Aunt Arleth,” Sinjun said as she opened her eyes. “Why do you want me dead?”

  Aunt Arleth continued speaking, her voice softer now, running on and on, the words melting together. “I must move quickly, quickly. He’ll be back, doubt it not, the young fool. He doesn’t want you, how could he? You’re a Sassenach, not one of us. Aye, perhaps I must needs place this lovely soft pillow over your face. Yes, that will do it. That will send you away from here. No, you don’t belong here, you’re an outsider, a no-account. Yes, the pillow. No, that’s too obvious. I must be more cunning. But I must act, else you might live to spite me. Aye, you’d make my life even more a misery, wouldn’t you? I know your sort—vicious and mean and not to be trusted. Aye, and pushy, treating us all like worthless savages and taking over. I must do something or we’re all lost. Even now you’re planning to send me away.”

  “Aunt Arleth, why are you in here?”

  She whirled about to see Philip standing in the open doorway, his hands fisted on his hips. “Papa told you to stay away from here. Get away from her, Aunt.”

  “Ah, you wretched little giblet. You ruined everything. You’re a disgrace to me, Philip. I’m taking care of her. Why else would I be here? Go away, boy, just go away. You can go fetch your papa. Yes, go get the bloody laird.”

  “No, I will stay here. ’Tis you who will leave, Aunt. My papa isn’t a bloody laird, he’s the laird and he’s the very best.”

  “Ha! Little you know what he is! Little you know how his mother—aye, my own sister and your grandmother—played her husband false and fell in with a kelpie, aye, a kelpie she called up from the devil himself to dwell in Loch Leven. He became a man in the form of her husband, but he wasn’t her husband because it was me he loved, and he didn’t look at her anymore. No, the man she fornicated with wasn’t her husband, for the real laird was mine in all ways. Hers was this kelpie and he was one of Satan’s minions, a false image, evil through and through, and the son she bore this false husband was Colin and he is as evil and bone-deep blighted as was his kelpie father.”

  Philip didn’t begin to understand her. He prayed his father would come, and quickly, or Mrs. Seton or Crocker, anyone, anyone. Please God, bring someone. Aunt Arleth was agay wi’ her wits, as Old Alger the barrel maker was wont to say.

  Philip was afraid; he didn’t see any of his fervent prayers being answered. Aunt Arleth was moving toward Sinjun. He dashed forward, hurling himself up onto the bed next to his stepmother, covering her body with his, trying to shield her from Aunt Arleth.

  “Sinjun!” he shouted, grabbing her arms and shaking her. He shouted her name again, and this time she opened her eyes and stared up at him.

  “Philip? Is that you? Is she gone yet?”

  “No, she isn’t, Sinjun. You must stay awake now. You must.”

  “Get out of here, boy!”

  “Oh God,” Sinjun whispered.

  “And did you know, you silly boy, that her real husband—your grandfather—put a rowan cross over the door to keep her from entering? He knew she was fornicating with a kelpie. Ah, but Satan had sent a charm that protected her even from the rowan cross.”

  “Please go away, Aunt.”

  Aunt Arleth drew herself up and slowly stared from the boy to the woman who lay on the bed, those damned covers to her chin. Her eyes were open and filled with fear. It pleased Arleth to see that fear.

  “You fetched your pa. You filled his ears with lies, aye, you brought him back with lies, you made him feel guilt. He didn’t want to come back, you know. He wants her to leave. He has her money, so why bother with the likes of her?”

  “Please go away, Aunt.”

  “I heard you speaking of a rowan cross and kelpies. Hello, Aunt, Philip. How is Joan?”

  Philip jumped at the sound of Serena’s voice. She’d glided up silent as a ghost to stand beside him at the edge of the bed. “Her name is Sinjun. Take Aunt Arleth away from here, Serena.”

  “Why ever for, my dear boy? Now, about the rowan cross. They are nasty things, you know, Aunt. I detest them. Why would you speak of them? I’m a witch, true, but the rowan cross has no effect on me.”

  Philip wondered if he wasn’t losing his wits. He wasn’t afraid now. No matter what else Serena was, she wouldn’t allow Aunt Arleth to hurt Sinjun.

  “Go away, Serena, else I’ll crown you with a rowan cross!”

  “Oh no you won’t, Aunt. You can’t hurt me and well you know it. I’ll always be too strong for you, and too good.”

  Aunt Arleth looked pale and furious, colder than the loch in January.

  Then, to Philip’s utter relief, his father strode into the room. He stopped short and frowned at his son, who was hovering on the bed next to Joan as if he were protecting her, for God’s sake. Serena was looking vague and beautiful, like a fairy princess who had mistakenly stepped into Bedlam and didn’t know what to do.

  As for Aunt Arleth, there was no expression at all on her thin face. She was looking down at her pale hands, at the age spots that dotted the backs.

  “Colin?”

  He smiled now and walked to the bed. Sinjun was awake and had her wits about her, finally. “Hello, Joan. You’re back again. I’m pleased with you.”

  “What’s a kelpie?”

  “An evil being that lives in lochs and inland lakes. He can assume different forms. He gets his power from the devil. It’s an interesting question. Why do you wish to know?”

  “I don’t know. The word just kept coming into my mind. Thank you. May I have some water?”

  It was Philip who helped her to drink. “Hello to you,” she said to him. “What’s wrong, Philip? Do I look that horrid?”

  The boy lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Oh no, Sinjun, you look fine. You’re better, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. You know something? I’m hungry.” She looked at Aunt Arleth and said, “You dislike me and you wish me ill. I don’t understand you. I’ve done nothing to harm you.”

  “This is my house, missy! I will—”

  Colin said mildly, “No, Aunt Arleth. You will stay away. No more from you.” He watched her leave the room, slowly, unwillingly, and he was afraid that her mind, tenuous at best, was losing its meager hold. He turned back to hear his wife say to Philip, “Get me the pocket pistol, Philip. It’s in the pocket of my riding habit. Put it under my pillow.”

  Colin said nothing. He wanted to tell her not to be such a fool, but in truth he couldn’t be at all certain that Arleth, from some misguided notion of loyalty, hadn’t tried to hurt her.

  He said now, seeing that his son was fairly itching to get the pistol for her, “I will speak to Mrs. Seton about some invalidish dishes for you, Joan.”

  “I remember you called me Sinjun.”

  “You wouldn’t respond to your real name. I had no choice.”

  Sinjun closed her eyes. She felt beyond tired, her bones so weak she knew she couldn’t lift the small pistol even to save herself. The fever was rising and she was shivering. She wanted some more water badly.

  “Papa, you stay with Sinjun. I’ll talk to Mrs. Seton. Here’s the pistol, Sinjun. See, it’s right under your pillow.”

  Colin gave her water to drink, then sat down beside her and watched her. She felt the flat of his hand on her forehead, then heard him curse quietly.

  The heat became cold from one instant to the next and she knew that if she moved, her body would crack, just as ice would crack. She felt brittle; she knew that if she blew her breath out, she would see it, for the air was frigid in her lungs.

  “I know,” Colin said. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her. He drew her against the length of him, pressing her even closer, trying to give her all his warmth. He felt the tremors, the convulsive shaking, and it hurt him, this pain of hers. He wanted to know many things, but now wasn’t the time.

  He held her close even when he began to sweat. When she finally slept, he still held her, his hands stroking up and down her back.
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  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m so sorry.” He was very aware of her breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs against his, and her belly . . . no, he wouldn’t think of that. Oddly enough, even though he was hard, he felt more protectiveness toward her than lust. It was odd, but it was so. He wanted her well again. He wanted her yelling at him when he again took her to bed, only this time she wouldn’t mind at all when he came into her. He would see to it that she welcomed him. He wouldn’t be a clod.

  The fever broke the following day.

  Colin, more exhausted than he’d been in his life, smiled at the doctor. “I told you she’d survive. She’s tough.”

  “Most odd,” said Childress. “She’s English.”

  “What she is, sir, is my wife. She’s now a Scot.”

  That night one of the crofters came to the castle. MacPherson had stolen two cows and killed MacBain and his two sons. Colin felt such rage he shook with it.

  “MacBain’s wife said the brutes told her to tell ye that it was t’ pay fer Dingle’s life ye took.”

  “Dingle! Why, I haven’t seen that miserable lout in longer than . . .” Colin cursed soundly. “I don’t know when I last saw him. What is it, Philip? What’s wrong? Is it Joan?”

  “No, Papa, but I know all about Dingle.”

  When Colin heard the story he felt his guts knot at how close his son had come to disaster on his journey to Edinburgh. However, he managed to pat his son’s shoulder, and retreat to his tower chamber.

  He could see no hope for it. He wanted the feuding to stop. He would have to speak to MacPherson. But tell him what? That he truly couldn’t remember a thing about Fiona’s death or how he came to be unconscious by the cliff edge?

  Sinjun was sleeping fitfully. There was a strange light at the edge of her mind, a soft, very white light that was soothing and clear, yet somehow shadowy and deep, filled with meanings buried in mysteries that she wanted very much to understand. She tried to speak but knew it wouldn’t help her. She lay still, her mind and body calm, waiting. A flicker of darkness appeared in the white light, then faded only to glitter again, like candlelight flickering in a breeze. Then it seemed to grow stronger and shimmer in its own pale way. And then there was a female figure, a very ordinary young female figure, her expression good-natured, and she was all gowned in pearl-covered white material. So many pearls—never had Sinjun seen so many pearls. Surely the gown must be very heavy with all those pearls.

  Pearlin’ Jane, Sinjun thought, and smiled. She’d left the Virgin Bride to come to another ghost and now this one must needs make her acquaintance. She felt no fear at all. She’d not harmed this ghost nor had Colin. She waited.

  The pearls glittered in a light that strengthened, growing stronger and brighter until Sinjun’s eyes hurt from the intensity of the light. The pearls flashed and sparkled. The ghost did nothing at all, merely looked at her, her expression studious now, as if she didn’t know what kind of person Sinjun was and wanted to.

  “He tried to buy me off,” she said at last, and it seemed to Sinjun that her lips moved. “He did indeed, the betraying fool, with naught but a single cheap pearl, but I knew what he was about. He’d kilt me, hadn’t he? Not a brow he raised when he ran me down in his carriage, his lady love beside him, her nose in the air, like I was nothing more than a bit of trash beside the road. So I demanded enough pearls to cover my gown and then I would leave him alone.”

  That answered that question, Sinjun thought, and she thought again, But you were already dead, weren’t you?

  “Aye, dead as a mousie rotting in the wainscoting, but I took care of that demned blighter, aye, I did. Made his life a misery, I did, and his little wifey, aye, I tormented that bitch until she couldn’t bear the sight of him. I see my portrait’s gone again. Fetch it back; it goes between the two of theirs, always in the middle, between them, separating them in death as it did in life, that’s where my portrait must hang. See that you do it. I don’t know why it was taken down. Put it back up. I will trust you to see that it stays in its rightful place.”

  “All right. Please come again whenever you wish.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t be afraid of me. ’Tis good you’re here.”

  Sinjun slept deeply now, a healing sleep, and when she awoke late the following morning, she sat up in bed and stretched. She felt wonderful.

  CHAPTER

  15

  PHILPOT OPENED THE doors and gaped. Two stylish ladies stood on the front steps, a traveling carriage with a high-nob crest on the side on the graveled drive behind them. The two magnificent bays in harness were blowing and stamping.

  There were two outriders, who had pulled their horses to stand protectively on either side of each lady. The man driving the carriage was whistling, his whip upright on his leg, looking at Philpot with ill-concealed suspicion. Damned Sassenachs, Philpot thought, insular buggers, all of them.

  The ladies themselves were in traveling gowns of the highest quality—Philpot might be the son of a Dundee baker but he knew excellence when he saw it. They were also dusty, a bit on the wrinkled side, and one lady, in a gray gown with military gold braiding on the shoulders, had red hair, not really absolutely red hair but dark red hair that wasn’t all that dark . . . . He shook his head. She also had a spot of dirt on her nose. The other one was just as pretty and just as travel-worn. She was gowned in a deep forest-green traveling gown and her chestnut hair was thick and braided atop her head with a nonsensical little bonnet perched on top. Part of the thick braid had come loose and was hanging over her shoulder. They had traveled quickly. Philpot wondered how far they’d come in how short a time.

  The lady with the red hair that wasn’t really all that red, just sort of red, stepped up, a wide smile on her face. ‘This is Vere Castle, home of the earl of Ashburnham?”

  “Aye, my lady. Might I inquire as to who you—”

  There was a shriek from behind him and Philpot paled hearing the countess. Oh Gawd, had she fainted? He whirled about as quickly as his age and dignity permitted. She was leaning against a decorative suit of Elizabethan armor just behind him, pale as could be, staring at the two ladies.

  “Alex? Sophie? Is that really you?”

  The lady in green rushed forward. “Are you all right, Sinjun? Oh, please, my dear, tell me you’re all right? We were so dreadfully worried about you.”

  “I think I am now, Sophie. But why are you here? Are Douglas and Ryder outside? Why—”

  “You have been ill! I knew it. No matter now, Sinjun, Sophie and I are here to see that everything will be all right. You’re not to worry about anything anymore.”

  The two ladies had swept past Philpot as they spoke, and quickly converged on the sickly countess and took turns hugging her and patting her pale cheeks and telling her how much they’d missed her.

  Finally, after all the affections had been duly dispensed, Sinjun introduced them to Philpot, then said, “Do you know where the laird is?”

  “Ye shouldn’t be out of yer bed, m’lady,” he said, sounding as disapproving as a bishop.

  “Don’t scold me, Philpot. I was sinking like a dead stone into the feather tick. Had I remained abed any longer I would have smothered myself. But you’re right, I’m feeling a bit shaky. I’ll sit down in just a moment. Please send for the laird. Tell him we have guests, my sisters-in-law, to be exact. We’ll all be in the drawing room. Alex, Sophie, come with me.”

  Her ladyship tried to lead the way, but she faltered. Philpot jumped forward, but the two ladies were quicker. They all but carried her into the drawing room.

  Sinjun was settled on the sofa, her feet put up, a cushion beneath them, another pillow behind her head.

  “Are you warm enough, love?”

  “Oh yes, Alex, I’m just fine, though I am much enjoying seeing the both of you hovering. Ah, you’re really here, it’s wonderful. I can’t believe it. How?”

  Alex looked at Sophie, then said simply, “The Virgin
Bride sent us. She said you were ill.”

  “Douglas and Ryder?”

  Sophie gave an elaborate shrug and didn’t look one whit guilty. “Douglas was easy. He’s in London, so Alex just left Northcliffe Hall to come visit me, bringing the twins with her. Ryder, however, presented more of a strategic difficulty. We had to wait until he went to the Ascot races with Tony, a three-day outing, thank heaven. I pleaded an indisposition, as did Alex. Then we left, simple as that.” She paused a moment, then said, “I believe Ryder thinks I’m pregnant. He was giving me all these male possessive looks and tender pats on my stomach. It was difficult not to laugh. I wanted to ask him if he thought being with child was catching—since Alex is pregnant, you see.”

  Sinjun groaned. ‘They’ll come,” she said. “They’ll come and try to kill Colin again.”

  “Again?” This from both Alex and Sophie together.

  Sinjun groaned again, leaned her head back against the cushion, and said, “Yes, again. Alex knows about the first time. She herself coshed Douglas with a walking stick to help me break up their scuffle. There were two other times as well, both here in Scotland. Did you bring the boys?”

  “No,” Alex said. “Directress Jane of Brandon House is free to enjoy all three of them whilst we’re gone. That is the title she selected, you know. She insists upon it whenever I introduce her to someone. The twins feel like they’ve arrived in heaven when they get there, what with Grayson and all the Beloved Ones. That’s a total of fourteen children right now. But who knows—Ryder just might bring home another child from Ascot.”

  “Lucky Jane!”

  “Oh yes,” Sophie said serenely. “She is indeed. Grayson would kill any number of dragons for Jane. As for Alex’s twins, Melissande will doubtless visit them nearly every day, since they look like her. She calls them her little mirrors. It very nearly renders Douglas incoherent with nausea. He will look at the boys, shake his head, gaze heavenward, and wonder aloud what he did to deserve the two most handsome male children in the world, which will undoubtedly ruin their characters and make them insufferable.”