Amanda Scott (27 page)

“Won’t you come back into the parlor until I have eaten my breakfast?”

“I want to speak to Mary before I go to the stable. Perhaps afterward she will return to bear you company for a short while, until we depart for Ballachulish.”

Serena sighed. “You are being cruel again, Duncan.”

Seeing his jaw tighten, Mary said quickly, “Perhaps you will be kind enough when we return from kirk to show me how to do that stitch you used to embroider those roses, Serena. That is some of the most exquisite work I have seen.”

“They are lovely, aren’t they?” She glanced speculatively at Duncan, then said with apparent graciousness, “I will be happy to show you if you like.”

“Come along, Mary,” Duncan said. “You two can talk stitches later, but if Serena wants more to eat than her Christmas sowens, she had better hurry.”

As he ushered her downstairs toward the library, Mary said, “I hope you do not mean to scold me, sir, although I know I deserve it. Your mother has been exceedingly generous, and I should not have treated her so shabbily. I don’t know how I came to let my mind wander so.”

“Don’t refine upon it,” he said. “I promise you, she does not. She spoke the truth when she said that none of us listens to her as we should. Once, Argyll nearly surprised us with a visit despite her attempts to warn us that he was coming. My father thought she was talking about a cousin of hers whom he particularly dislikes, and he kept cutting her off. We all nearly landed in the suds that time.”

She chuckled. “Did the duke have any notion of his part in that tangle, sir?”

“No, thank heaven. My father kept telling her she was not to order more food and supplies, because her idiot guests would eat everything she ordered and more, and she never quite understood his error, because he always complains about how much things cost. To hear him go on, one would think him a pauper.”

“I suppose he is not as purse pinched as he makes himself sound.”

“He is not. His steward keeps me well apprised of the state of his finances, but my father has everyone so bamboozled that I found young Chuff trying to pick oats up off the floor of one of the stallions’ stalls to feed my colt. He’d heard my father ranting at another lad for wasting feed, and Chuff worried that he would be the next to be scolded. I tried to reassure him, but I am not certain I succeeded.”

“I should think perhaps you did,” Mary said, smiling. “Do you know that Chuff and Pinkie both still refer to you as Himself, as if you were a clan chief? They were surprised to learn that you have a father, let alone one who bears a title.”

Duncan laughed, and she realized that she liked the sound. She had not heard it often. Indeed, until recently, she had not heard it at all. It was, she thought, a particularly warm and pleasant laugh.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shawl?” he asked her abruptly as he opened the library doors and gestured for her to precede him inside.

“I chose not to,” she said, moving to warm her hands by the fire. The library was warmer than the dining parlor had been, and she wondered why that was so. It was a larger room, and on the ground floor, which ought, she thought, to make it colder. It had no proper windows, however, only ancient glassed-in arrow slits, and its walls were particularly thick. In any event, she welcomed the fire’s warmth.

“You will catch Serena’s cold if you are not careful,” he said, hesitating with the doors still open. “I can send a servant to fetch a wrap for you.”

“No, thank you. I am warm enough for now, and in any case, I shall need to fetch my cloak and gloves, and tidy my hair, before we leave. If you did not bring me here to scold me, sir, why did you bring me?”

To her surprise, he equivocated. “Is it beyond reason that I should want to have a private word with my wife?”

“No, but you made the decision so abruptly that you cannot be amazed if I wonder what brought it about.”

“Perhaps not. Look here, Mary, is Serena going to drive you to distraction with her reproaches and laments?”

“Is that it?” She searched his expression but could not tell if that had been his real reason. “I shouldn’t think so,” she said. “She is disappointed, but in truth, sir, I believe that is because she will not someday become a countess, not because she will not be your wife. If that offends you, I apologize—”

“Don’t be foolish. I know Serena does not care a snap for me. She has never made a secret of that. She behaves more as if she had been denied a treat than as if she were broken-hearted. I merely want to know if she will annoy you.”

“I cannot answer that,” she replied honestly. “Perhaps she will desire to return home, now that her hopes have been dashed. I know that with the weather in such a state, it will be no easy journey—”

“I would arrange it, nevertheless, if I thought she would go. She won’t though, and my father would kick up the devil of a fuss, because we’d have to send any number of men to protect her, and they would have to stay with folks along the way. Moreover, at this time of year, we could not allow such a party to descend on folks without providing food and supplies for them.”

“You would have to accompany her, too, would you not?”

He began to shake his head, then grimaced and said with a sigh, “I suppose I would at that. Caddell will choose to be grievously offended, I’m afraid, especially since I know that I can’t count on Serena to smooth things over with him.”

“Indeed, I think she would delight in making trouble for you just now.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said with the curtness she had come to expect of him, “That isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

“No?”

“No. Look, Mary, I know I said that I would be patient, but I have thought more about it now, and I just don’t think patience is the wisest course for us.”

She did not have to ask what he was talking about, for she understood him all too perfectly, but suddenly she found it hard to meet his gaze. Rubbing her hands together over the warmth from the fire, she struggled for her usual calm as she said, “Why do you think it unwise, sir?”

His hand on her shoulder caught her by surprise, and she jumped, but she turned obediently to face him. Without taking the hand away, he said gently, “A significant reason for our marriage, lass, was to confound Ewan MacCrichton. I am not altogether sure that he cannot overturn the marriage even now if he can manage somehow to have his way with you before we consummate our union.”

“Surely not,” she said, staring at his waistcoat. “I thought you said the magistrate would accept written proof of our marriage, and stop Ewan’s nonsense.”

Whatever Duncan might have said to that remained unspoken, for the doors opened and Balcardane strode in. He came to a halt, clearly surprised to see them. “What are you two doing here? They are hitching a team to the sleigh, and we’ll be leaving for the kirk in just a few minutes. I thought you were fetching your coats. I do hope you don’t mean to keep those horses standing long in this weather.”

Exchanging an apologetic look with Duncan, Mary excused herself and hurried upstairs to fetch cloak and gloves, and to tidy her hair. She also replaced the lace cap. It was all very well to please one’s husband, she thought, but people would ask why she did not wear one; and she did not want to supply them or the magistrate with more food for gossip than her hasty marriage had already provided.

Duncan also excused himself to the earl, for not only did he want to don his outdoor clothes, but he wanted to be certain that the sleigh contained enough rugs and furs to keep the ladies warm. Not that he would mind overmuch if Serena caught a chill, he thought with a mild renewal of his earlier exasperation.

He was well out of that entanglement, he knew, for entanglement it would soon have become with the vixen so hot to marry him. It made him shudder just to think of the riot and rumpus Caddell and Argyll might have stirred up in order to press him into obliging her. Better to be safely wedded to the unflappable Mary. She would not enact him a tragedy every time he failed to dance to her piping.

His confidence suffered a slight setback, however, when she rejoined them in the hall, for the first thing he saw was the lace cap on her head beneath the cloak’s fur-trimmed hood. She met his gaze with her usual serenity though, merely raising her eyebrows as if she wondered why he looked stern.

Making no comment on the cap, he handed her into the sleigh with the other ladies and tucked the furs around her with his own hands. He had not liked the way she had kept trying to warm hers, both in the dining parlor and in the library.

He and Balcardane had chosen to ride. The rest of the castle’s inhabitants, including servants and stable hands, the herds and their families, would follow on foot. A few guardsmen would stay behind to mind the castle, however, for even on Christmas, one could not depend upon enemies to love their neighbors.

A light snow was falling, and the only sounds were the hushing of the sleigh runners and the crunching of the horses’ hooves in the snow, punctuated now and again by a masculine voice, or comments from his mother. It was not far to the village of Ballachulish or to the wee steepled kirk around which it had grown.

When the party from Balcardane entered, an instant stirring greeted them. Good manners suggested that folks already in their places ought not to turn to peer at newcomers, but even before Balcardane had unlocked the family pew, heads turned and whispers could be heard.

Duncan saw Mary push back the hood of her cloak. She stood proudly, her chin up, her shoulders straight, the little lace cap like a crown on her golden hair.

When she would have followed Lady Balcardane into the pew, Duncan reached forward and stopped her with a touch, gesturing for his father to precede them. Balcardane glanced at him, then nodded and moved on. Duncan put his hand lightly in the small of her back to urge her forward, a possessive gesture that he knew the onlookers would not miss.

Many, but not by any means all, of those present had attended the Christmas Eve festivities at Balcardane. Still, by the time the parson got round to announcing the recent marriage of Duncan, Master of Dunraven, to Mistress Mary Maclaine of Lochfuaran, Duncan was willing to wager that although the news could not yet have reached every corner of Argyll, it came as a surprise to no one sitting in the kirk.

His mind proved unwilling to focus on the parson’s sermon despite its being Christmas. Grand religious festivals no longer held the preeminence they once had held in the Highlands, for the dour Protestant church disapproved of such goings-on, and Duncan found himself wondering if Mary, who doubtless had not been raised a Protestant, had been accustomed to more cheerful Christmas celebrations in the past.

From that point his thoughts drifted to Mary herself. She was so close to him that he could smell the tantalizing lilac scent she wore and feel her slightest movement. He wondered if she smelled like lilacs all over.

Perhaps he had not made himself plain earlier. Had she understood his intent to consummate their marriage, and the very excellent reasons for doing so?

He did not trust Ewan MacCrichton. The wonder was that the man had not already caused more trouble, and once he learned of their marriage, no one knew what his fury might lead him to do. If he managed to rape her, declaring a belief that her promise entitled him to her virginity, he might still prevail before his magistrate, especially if Duncan had to admit that the marriage had not yet been consummated. Clearly, the sooner they completed their union, the better it would be for her safety.

The necessity of sitting through the long service made him restless, as did the ritual of receiving felicitations from those members of the congregation who had not been present for the ceremony. Duncan forced himself to speak pleasantly for Mary’s sake, even greeting Bardie Gillonie without the impatience he generally felt toward the impertinent dwarf.

Bardie was not impressed with Duncan’s forbearance. He glowered at him. “What did ye do tae the lass? I swear she never wanted tae marry wi’ ye afore.”

“Hush, Bardie,” Mary said, smiling at Duncan. “He has done me the honor to marry me. You must not be unkind, for he will keep me safe from Ewan.”

“Och, aye, and is that the way of it?” He looked from one to the other, searchingly, then said abruptly, “Where are the bairns?”

“There,” Mary said, gesturing toward Chuff and Pinkie, who were chattering happily in the midst of a group of other children.

When the dwarf had gone to speak to them, Duncan said quietly, “Tonight, madam, we will make certain that you are safe from MacCrichton.”

She moistened her lips nervously, then said, “Very well, sir.”

He could not seem to keep his eyes off her after that. The short trip back to Balcardane seemed longer than ever, and upon their arrival, when Serena said politely, “If you will come with me to the saloon now, Mary, I will show you that stitch you want to learn,” Duncan wanted to throttle her.

He nearly stopped them, but tempted though he was to tell Mary the stitchery could wait, he recalled that dinner would be ready to serve as soon as the cook and her minions could attend to such finishing touches as they had left until their return from the kirk. Therefore, he contained his soul in patience, an act that required so great an effort as to make him feel rather virtuous.

The whole family gathered in the saloon before the meal, which was to be served in the hall again, where the more important members of the household would dine with them. No one dawdled, for the odors wafting from the great platters as they were carried in were too enticing to ignore. Duncan managed to suppress his other appetites in favor of the excellent food, although he found himself watching Mary throughout the meal, approving of her dainty manners and the easy way she conversed with others at the table.

Serena held herself aloof, as if it were beneath her to talk to MacDermid or to Martha Loudoun when she joined them, but Mary was at ease with everyone. It was a knack he had noted before, and one that pleased him. He also approved of the fact that she had removed her cap again, allowing candlelight from the chandeliers to set golden highlights dancing in her beautiful hair.