Rose In Scotland (25 page)

Lucien’s jaw dropped, and he set his glass
down with a thud. “Then ’Tis true?” he demanded, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’ve married an Englishwoman?”

“And if I have?” Hugh growled, his hands clenching in fists.

“Then I would say you’ve taken leave of your senses!” Lucien shot back, rising also to his feet. “Good God, Hugh, what could you have been thinking? You must know the people would never accept a
Sasunnach
as mistress of Loch Haven!”

This was a fact Hugh had already considered, but he’d told himself that until the castle and lands were once more in his hold it didn’t matter. Now they were, and the problems of Caroline and what they would next do seemed insurmountable.

“It’s not a marriage that need trouble the people,” he said at last, thrusting a hand through his hair and turning away from Lucien. “It’s … temporary, I suppose you would call it.”

“Temporary?” Lucien repeated in obvious confusion. “I dinna understand. How can a marriage ever be temporary?”

Hugh hesitated, wrestling with his pride and his duty. Loath as he was to discuss his marriage to Caroline and the reasons behind it, he could see no other way. Reluctantly he told Lucien how he had come to meet Caroline, and of the deal struck between the general and himself. Safety for Caroline, Loch Haven for him.

“So that is why you marred the wench,” Lucien said when he was done. “It makes sense to me now. My apologies to you, MacColme, for doubting your honor. I might have known you
wouldna have married one of the English without good cause.”

“But you can see why I must ask that you tell no one?” Hugh cautioned, eyeing his friend warily. “ ’Twould be disastrous for Caroline should the earl ever learn the truth of the matter.”

“I hope I know better than to wag my tongue like a foolish woman,” Lucien responded in an affronted tone. “I’ll nae say a word, if that’s what you wish. But dinna think I’m the only one wanting an explanation. What of your chieftains and the elders? Dinna they deserve the truth?”

Hugh busied himself pouring another glass of whiskey. “Very well,” he said at last, picking up the glass and studying the amber liquor inside as if it contained the wisdom of Solomon. “You have my leave to tell them I married to secure the castle. But mind that is all you tell them,” he added, fixing Lucien with a deadly look. “Do I hear but a whisper of this other business, and I’ll cut the tongue from your head before I kill you.”

“As you wish, laird,” Lucien replied, inclining his head with grave courtesy. “I shall inform the clan of your marriage and the reasons for it. Is there anything else you wish me to tell them while I am about it?”

“Only this,” Hugh said, his lips thinning in a grim line. “For all intents and purposes Caroline is my wife, the lady of the castle, and I’ll have the life of any man who treats her with other than the greatest respect. Tell them that, Lucien, and make certain they understand you, for I’ve never meant a thing more in my life.”

Lucien eyed him for several seconds before responding. “Aye,” he said carefully, “I can see
that you do, and I will do my best to follow your orders. But have you stopped to think what you ask may nae be possible? You’ve been a long time away, and you dinna know how things are. It will be difficult enough for some to accept you as laird, but if they think you have chosen an English wench above them, I—”

“Enough!”
Hugh hurled his glass of whiskey against the fireplace. It shattered into a hundred glittering shards, and the whiskey inside stained the gray stones, darkening it as the liquid ran down the soot-stained bricks. Hugh stared at the spreading stain for several seconds, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to master the pain and rage inside.

“What is it you want of me?” he demanded, whirling around to confront a shocked Lucien. “What is it you all want? What else must I say, or do, or sacrifice and suffer before it will finally be enough to satisfy the lot of you?”

An uncomfortable silence followed his passionate outburst, and Lucien stared at him as if he thought him quite mad. “Hugh,” he began, the awkwardness in his tone almost painful to hear. “I am sorely shamed if I have offended you. I dinna mean to insult you; I give you my word.”

Hugh waved him into silence, abruptly sick and weary with it all. “No,” he said, sighing as he briefly closed his eyes. “ ’Tis I who must apologize to you, Lucien. I had no right to rage at you that way. I pray you will forgive me.”

“I understand.” Lucien’s voice was soft. “And I am sorry if I pressed you too hard. It wasna my intention.”

Hugh opened his eyes to meet his friend’s solemn gaze. “Was it not?” he asked with a bitter laugh. “Then you are the only one with such scruples. There are times, Raghnall, when I wonder that I do not pop like a grape from the pressing.”

Lucien looked much struck by the admission. “And is it your wife who presses most?” he asked. At Hugh’s black glare he added hastily, “I’ve heard ’Tis the way of wives with their husbands, which is why I have labored so hard to remain a bachelor.”

Hugh knew the other man was attempting to make light conversation; still, it bothered him to speak of Caroline so disrespectfully. “No,” he said, surprised to find he actually had to work to keep his tone friendly. “My wife does not press me.”

Lucien poured himself more whiskey before speaking. “If you’ve no objections, MacColme, I am interested in knowing more of your English bride. What does she look like? Is she comely?”

An image of Caroline as he’d last seen her—her hair gloriously tousled and her face flushed from lovemaking—flashed in Hugh’s mind. “Aye,” he said, wishing fervently now for the whiskey he had dashed against the fireplace. “She is comely.”

“And wealthy with it.” Lucien gave a cynical laugh, saluting Hugh with a lift of his glass. “My congratulations, Hugh. You’re a fortunate man, and clever as well, to make such good use of a temporary marriage.”

Hugh felt as if he’d taken a cannonball to the gut, so great was his astonishment. For a moment
he simply stared at Lucien, scarcely believing the evidence of his own ears. “And what would you mean by that?” he asked, shifting his weight on his feet in preparation to attack.

In answer Lucien indicated the rose brocade settee beneath the portrait of Aunt Egidia as a young bride. “ ’Tis new, I gather, like the carpets in the hallway and the fine pianoforte I see in the corner. You’ve been helping yourself to her deep pockets, ’Tis plain, and there’s none who would think the worse of you for it. You are her husband, and ’Tis your right.”

Hugh warily lowered his guard, recalling Mairi’s unaffected delight when Caroline had made her a gift of the expensive pianoforte. He hadn’t even known his sister played, or how much she had longed for one of her own. But Caroline had known, and had presented the gift in so gracious a fashion it almost made it seem that Mairi was the one granting the boon by accepting it. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but he did so now, and his pride gave him a belated jab at the realization of the hundreds of pounds his wife had poured into rendering his aunt’s shabby residence somewhat more presentable.

“Caroline has been very kind to my aunt and sister,” he muttered, wishing his friend would finish his whiskey and leave. “She is grateful for the hospitality they have shown her.”

“As well she should be.” Lucien gave another laugh. “Even the poorest hovel in the Auld Town would seem a castle when compared to a madhouse. Which reminds me …” He cast Hugh a speculative glance. “Will you be removing soon
to the New Town? ’Tis all the thing for the wealthy to take up residence there.”

At the end of his patience and not scrupling to show it, Hugh drew himself up with rigid pride. “Why should I do that?” he demanded, making no effort to soften his tone. “I will soon be returning to the castle, and until then I see no reason to move. Aunt Egidia’s home suits me fine.”

“Aye, it suits
you.”
For the clever man Hugh knew him to be, Lucien seemed amazingly thick. “But what of your rich wife? She’s English, is she nae, and now that they’ve rebuilt Edinburgh to their taste, I assumed she would wish to move there.”

Hugh said nothing, despite a mounting sense of disquiet. As it happened, he and Caroline had been looking at houses, and admittedly it was the newer homes about St. Andrew Square which had most interested her. She’d never spoken of actually purchasing one, and after a while he’d shrugged aside the matter. Now he couldn’t help but wonder how he would react should she insist upon buying one of the elegant homes.

“Have you any other messages you wish to convey to the clan?” Lucien had set down his glass and seemed finally ready to take his leave. “I should be happy to deliver them.”

Hugh thought for a moment and then shook his head. “None,” he said, feeling faintly ashamed by the sense of relief he was experiencing. Hospitality toward a guest was no small thing in Scotland, and the knowledge that he had been anything but hospitable toward a guest who had traveled so far on his behalf stung him. “Must you go?” he asked, anxious to make
amends for his poor manners. “I was hoping you might stay to share supper with us.”

“Thank you, no, but ’Tis best I was on my way.” Lucien refused the offer with a gracious smile. “The clan is anxious for word of you, and I promised to bring it quickly as I could. When will you be home, do you think?”

Home
. Hugh let the beauty of the word sink inside him, stilling his rising disquiet. “Tell them I hope to be with them within a week,” he said, mentally reviewing all that was left to be done. “Sooner, perhaps, if all continues to go well.”

“Wednesday next, then, we shall say, just to be certain,” Lucien agreed. “Pray give my regards to your family, Mairi most especially; I am sorry to have missed her. And MacColme?” He eyed Hugh solemnly. “A word of advice, if I may.”

Hugh steeled himself as if for a blow. “What is it?”

“Dinna tarry long,” came the soft counsel. “Come home. Loch Haven has sore need of her laird.”

“Oh, Mairi, it’s perfect!” Caroline stood in the center of the flagstone entryway, her eyes alight with pleasure at what she saw. “Isn’t it quite the loveliest house you have ever seen?”

Mairi glanced dutifully about her. “Aye, ‘tis,” she agreed good-naturedly. “And considering the number of homes we’ve marched through these past few days, I would call that high praise indeed.” She turned to give Caroline a teasing look, her green eyes merry. “Will you be having it, then?”

Caroline gave a distracted nod, her mind already whirling with tenuous plans. A long clock just there, she decided, studying the corner opposite the curving staircase, and perhaps a cherrywood side table next to the door, with a silver tray to receive the calling cards of their visitors. She gazed at the expanse of blank wall painted a soft, muted rose and lavishly trimmed with cream-colored cornices. She’d inherited several paintings upon her parents’ deaths, and thought they would look quite lovely hanging there. There was nothing like a few family portraits to turn a house into a home, she mused, feeling a decided air of proprietorship.

“Caroline?” The questioning note in her sister-in-law’s voice made Caroline start, and she grew red-faced in chagrin.

“Never mind,” the younger girl said with a laugh before Caroline could speak. “I can see the answer plain in your face. But dinna you think you should show the place to Hugh first? He may nae like it so well as you.”

The sisterly warning dimmed some of Caroline’s burgeoning pleasure, and she fell into a worried silence. Hugh had accompanied her and Mairi on several of their explorations about Edinburgh, seeming to delight in showing her the fine buildings and great institutions which had earned the ancient city the sobriquet of “the Athens of the North.” He’d even toured several of the houses Mairi had alluded to with them, offering witty and sometimes provocative asides that had her laughing and blushing by turns. To be sure, the subject of actually purchasing one of
the houses had yet to be broached, but he had to know that was her intention.

“Do you think he will like it?” she blurted out, giving voice to the sudden uncertainties nagging her. Although the money was hers, legally it was Hugh who held the purse strings, and it would be his name upon the deed. She wondered if he would allow her to keep it once their divorce was finalized, and then winced at the sharp pain that shot through her at the thought.

“Well, he would be very hard to please did he find the slightest fault,” Mairi declared stoutly, threading her arm through Caroline’s. “But the devil take my troublesome brother! He will live where you tell him and like it. Now, tell me how you mean to decorate the place. I want to hear everything.”

Caroline complied, eagerly describing her vision of what the house would be. She was discussing her plans for the hall when a sudden thought occurred, and she turned to Mairi.

“I am certain Hugh must have portraits he will wish to hang,” she said, studying the other girl curiously. “Are there many?”

“Not so many as that,” Mairi replied, looking thoughtful. “We Scots are not like the English, to be forever posing for some dolt of a painter. My father would never agree to it, and the other paintings we had were seized with everything else.

“There is my mother’s miniature,” she added, with a bright smile. “You might have a larger copy made to hang here. That would make a grand present for Hugh.”

“Your mother’s miniature?” Caroline repeated,
thinking that Mairi was right, and that it would make the perfect gift.

“Aye, the one Hugh gave you after your arrival.” Mairi was gazing at her with a puzzled look. “He
did
give it to you, did he not? It was meant for his wife, he always said.”

A shaft of pain shot through Caroline at Mairi’s artless observation.
His wife
, she thought, an uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. His real wife, he must have meant, and not the woman who would be in his life but for a year.

“Caroline?” Mairi gently touched her arm. “What is it? You’ve the queerest look on your face.”

The rattle of the door handle announced the return of Mr. Penderson, the solicitor Caroline had engaged to help her find a house. He’d taken his leave shortly after admitting them to the vacant house, having learned Caroline preferred exploring prospective homes without him trailing after her like a puppy.