Marriage By Arrangement (15 page)

She put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “Avondale is behaving in quite a strange fashion. I hope you can advise me.”

The woman sighed, plodded over to a chair and dropped into it as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. “What strange behavior?”

Cailin sat on a chair facing her. She straightened her shoulders, gazed into the troubled hazel eyes opposite her, and related everything about Avondale that puzzled and upset her. “Has he ever had strange dreams and fears?”

The dowager reached out and took her hand. “I’m so sorry, my dear.” She lowered her head and peeled off her gloves. “Geoffrey showed signs of being a bit odd as a young man. Still, almost until he reached his majority he was fairly normal.” She sighed. “Then he had spells where he seemed a different person.” She shook her head. “I think the problems started with the accident on his horse. He and a group of his friends were following the hounds chasing a fox. His big hunter refused a hedge and Geoffrey sailed over his head and landed on the other side. He was still unconscious when they brought him back to the estate.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“He was ill for some time. Occasionally acted as if he didn’t know where he was.” Her eyes took on a far-away look. “We hid his problem, and the bouts of darkness and hearing of voices seldom occurred. Then this war with the Highlanders erupted. Geoffrey was at court, and then taking his turn in the House of Lords. When he returned home his spells had increased and so had his ravings. Something weighed on his conscience and troubled him greatly.”

Cailin nodded. “And?”

“I could no longer keep his odd behavior secret, and his betrothed, the daughter of Count Spencer, broke their engagement.”

Cailin gulped and gazed down at her folded hands.

“His actions grew so strange that rumors abounded.” Her fingers trembled as she took Cailin’s hand. “He gambled away most of our money.” Tears filled her eyes. “Before his injury, my son was not interested in gambling dens. I’m still not certain that’s where the money went, but it is gone.” She swiped at her face with her balled gloves. “We still have our lands, our estates, and our houses in London. There’s no worries for Geoffrey’s heir, but thanks to his reputation for madness, he was quite ruined. No titled English lady would have him.” She wrung her hands. “And if he doesn’t produce a male heir, and the crown declares him incompetent, my nephew will inherit everything. Including Geoffrey’s title.”

She leaned forward. “I love my son. I could not have him rendered penniless, so I was desperate to have him appear normal at his wedding. That’s why I spent every minute with him. I couldn’t chance letting him out of my sight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have married him?”

Cailin shook her head.

“You were my last hope.” The royal mother smiled through her tears. “And you are expecting the heir. You’ve done so well, my dear. I will never forget your service and will help you and the duke apparent in every way I can.”

Cailin had never felt more like a piece of chattel. Still, the woman meant well. And perhaps Avondale could yet be healed. “How long ago did he fall?”

“It’s been four years now. But his behavior grows worse each passing year.”

And she was the sacrificial lamb. “So I can never expect a normal marriage with a man in his right mind?”

“Never is a very long time.”

A hard knock sounded at the door. “I’ve come for your trunks, Milady.”

Her mother-in-law jumped to her feet and turned towards the door.

Cailin grasped her arm and pulled her to a halt. “How can I help him?”

“Laudanum when he grows out of control. I’ve ordered Hennings to act as his body-guard. He’s a good man.”

“But the nightmares. The demons he fears? How can I help him?”

“My dear, Geoffrey is a stalwart, loving man. His problems grew much worse after The Jacobite Rising. I think he suffered an additional trauma because of that Highland problem. The massacre at Culloden seemed to send him over the edge. Perhaps having this heir will bring him back to his senses.”

Her mouth tightened. “Your duty is to keep Geoffrey’s escapades secret and protect your child. You must not let my son touch you until this heir is born. Everything depends on this child. Had I not been ordered to court in Geoffrey’s stead, I would remain here and guard your health myself.” She nodded. “Good day. I shall return at Christmastide.” Her wrinkled lips kissed Cailin’s cheek. “If his behavior gets out of hand, you must lock him away.” She walked out of the room and down the stairs.

Cailin watched from the window as the dowager’s weight on the steps bowed the coach.

The other two coaches followed, one carrying Lady Jane and the other Lady Marie.

Cailin dropped on the settee and covered her face. Her poor, dear, wounded husband. Surely she could do more for him than drug him, keep him under guard, and lock him inside the castle.

Whatever she did, she would certainly not move out of Avondale’s bedchamber.

18

Bright sunlight filled the corridor as Cailin tiptoed past the nursery.

Megan had left the door ajar and rustled about inside.

Cailin hesitated outside the door. As soon as she finished the task at hand, she would hasten back, and have another chat with Megan. Cailin gently rubbed her stomach. Her sister would likely spend a good portion of the morning seeing to preparations for the coming baby. And the nursery offered them a private place to talk.

When would she feel the first stirrings of life? Even with the grim venture she faced, Cailin tingled all over at the thought of a new life invigorating the castle. She couldn’t keep from smiling.

But she couldn’t think of her baby now. She must complete the task. Her velvet slippers noiseless on the thick carpet, she rushed to the far end of the long corridor before she could change her mind. How long since she’d visited the armory? Months? Years? She didn’t like weapons, so she’d had precious little need to enter the locked room.

The heavy key dragged down the pocket hanging around her waist beneath her day dress. No one had questioned Mikey when he’d gotten the key for her.

Fiona had promised to delay all the women in the tapestry room by inking out an ancient Scottish design of thistle and heather that all the ladies were eager to work into a quilt for Cailin’s very own first born. The design, which promised to bring good fortune and health, intrigued the ladies. They had avidly set to work with their sewing.

Having begged off with morning sickness, none had questioned her absence. She hurried down the narrow back staircase, her low-heeled shoes making almost no sound, and paused to check the lower hall.

No one in sight.

She scurried down the hall until she stopped at the far end, her heart beating fast. The wooden door, banded with iron and secured with a great iron lock, distinguished it from the other closed doors lining the corridor.

Gazing up and down the hall, she listened intently. Outside this furthermost room from the family’s living quarters, she felt isolated. Through the ceiling-high, thick window panes extending across the end of the hallway, the faint banging of pots and pans, chatter, and laughter drifted over from the kitchen directly across the open-air, cobbled atrium.

The scullery maids and parlor maids had finished their daily routine, so they wouldn’t disturb her.

Papa had long since departed on one of his quick, secret trips to England.

Megan worked in the nursery, and all the other ladies of the household were sewing in the tapestry room far from earshot.

Unfortunately, once again, she had no idea where Avondale was. Carefully she fitted the giant iron key into the heavy lock. It glided in easily, and then wouldn’t budge. She strained with both hands.

Grudging as an old man disturbed from his slumber, the key creaked until the lock clicked. She pushed open the door and slipped inside.

Wrinkling her nose, she blinked against the stale, dank odor. Apparently she was not the only one who seldom visited this room. Very little light illuminated her way. The few windows loomed far above her head, high, round, thick, and heavily glazed. Outside the windows, a forest of green trees partially obscured the sun, shrouding the huge room in a sort of gloaming dimness.

The walls wore no tapestries to warm the thick stone, enveloping the room with unusual coolness. She hugged her arms close to her body. She’d take what she needed and quickly leave.

After striking the flint, she lit the candle, raised it high, and appraised the large space. Dressed wooden rafters crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling. A huge stone fireplace stood at either end of the massive room, looking quite like empty black mouths, open to cry about their unused state, or perhaps her illicit entrance.

No carpet shielded her thin slippers from the granite floor. Cold seeped through the velvet soles. Her candle’s flame didn’t illuminate the dark corners. The flickering light merely shot massive wicked shadows from the stacked and hanging arms up the distant walls.

She shivered. Nasty place.

Tall pikes, great swords, Lochaber axes, heavy shields, and torges lined the walls. Papa kept pistols and muskets locked in the tall cabinets. Obviously, the key she held was far too large to fit these closets. Papa must keep the cabinet keys somewhere else.

She stood gaping, as if she’d never before seen the massive room. A realization dawned. Small wonder Papa had wanted a son.

She had entered a man’s world, a whole domain enclosed in this one room. Papa had told her stories of when he was young, accompanying his father to this room. The two of them had oiled and cleaned each weapon. Papa had spent many hours with his father, honing his skills with these guns and swords. Before he died, Grandpapa had taken Papa on numerous boar hunts, fox chases, and such. The two of them had used many of the weapons.

Much as she disliked this room, Papa loved it.

These arms spoke eloquently of his care, all polished, and smelling of gun oil and other strange odors. Ancient coats of mail posed in different spots as if a knight still stood protected inside.

Enough weapons lined this room to equip a small army. A shiver spidered her spine and raised bumps on her arms. Perhaps the ghosts of that army still haunted this room. Silly. But the room did have a mysterious, hard, killing ambiance.

On her last visit, Papa had held her hand and ushered her to this long table. A fire had burned inside the hearth then and illuminated myriad maps that still lay spread across the length and width of the table, overlapping each other. She’d been barely tall enough to see the interesting colored lines that she’d wanted to explore. The memory brought warmth to her heart. She shook her head. She must get to the job. Where should she start?

Tall as she was, even when she stood on tiptoe she couldn’t reach the weapons. A double bladed knife in its carved sheath hung just above her fingertips. She needed a stool.

But there was no stool.

This room had been designed for men. Tall, heavy-muscled, lithe men like Avondale and Brody. She but visited here. A stranger in her own castle.

Papa had been right. He needed a son. He deserved a son. Perhaps she would give him a grandson. She touched her abdomen. Yes, there was a small bulge.

No matter how hard she tried, she could never learn to wield these weapons, even had she wanted to.

With a flash of insight which brought a stab of pain, she realized that Papa had expected something different from her than he would have from a son. And she had not disappointed him. But he had so disappointed her.

Pain shot through her heart. Papa betrayed her trust. She’d obeyed his express will and wed the Duke of Avondale. And he was a madman. What was she to do? Perhaps he hadn’t known of Avondale’s strange fits. But surely he must have wondered at a duke wedding a mere daughter of a Baron.

The weight of his betrayal struck her so she could barely draw a breath. Papa must have known of Avondale’s disability. In order to protect the castle, he’d knowingly chained her forever to a lunatic. And she had no way out.

She fell to her knees on the cold stone and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Papa. How can I forgive you?”

As she knelt, another thought, like a sledge hammer to her heart, struck her to the core. Her throat closed. She scrunched her eyes against tears creating hot pools behind her eyelids.

Father, God. In my anger against Papa, am I disobeying You? Will you punish me by making my son mad as well? Or will you punish me by giving me a daughter?

She tried to still the painful anger racking her heart.
Father, God. Please forgive my sins. Help me forgive Papa. Show me what to do about my marriage. About the sometimes wonderful, sometimes horrifying man I married. What shall I do?

Cailin listened. She yearned to hear the still, small voice of her Shepherd. Her knees ached, yet she waited. In the stillness, with the unfamiliar odor and sight of weapons of war gleaming around her, peace crept into her heart. A verse she had memorized during her childhood rose to the surface of her mind.

My sheep hear My voice and they follow Me. They will never follow a stranger.

The anguish in her heart lessoned to a dull pain. Yes, God would tell her what to do. He would protect her and her baby. She could trust God. He would not betray her. She rose to her feet. Perhaps bad things did happen to people committed to God. Perhaps God had a reason for permitting hardship and heartache in a person’s life.

Avondale had never come close to threatening her. Her presence seemed to calm him. So she had no need of a weapon with which to fight him off. God would be her fortress and her shield. Nor would she use a weapon when she embarked on her new mission. God was her fortress and defender.

Father, though I find a beautiful, loving side to Avondale, I also find a dark, fearful, and mad side to him. He is two men caught inside the body of one. He is good and evil. He is light and darkness. He is my husband. We are one flesh. I love him and I fear him.