Rose In Scotland (32 page)

“Overturned?” Mairi gasped, clearly shocked. “You canna mean so! ’Twould be a dreadful scandal!”

“Perhaps.” Caroline gave a delicate shrug. “But not so great a scandal as it would have been in my country. Scottish law is far more lenient than English law, and here a divorce is more easily obtained. It was Grandfather’s idea, actually. A temporary marriage to Hugh to protect me from my uncle, and in exchange he helped Hugh regain title to the castle. Really, it’s quite practical when you think of it.”

Mairi was staring at her with horror. “It doesna sound practical to me!” she exclaimed, her hands on her hips as she glared at Caroline. “It sounds cold-blooded as hell!”

“Of course it is cold-blooded,” Caroline said, and was proud at how cool she sounded. “But
what else did you expect? I am English, you know.”

Mairi bit her lip and looked near to crying. “Caroline …”

“If you will excuse me, Mairi, I have a bit of a headache,” Caroline said, picking up her brush and drawing it through her hair. “If you don’t mind, I should like to be alone.”

Mairi rose to her feet, dignity and fury obvious in her rigid posture. “Och! To the devil with you and that stiff-necked brother of mine!” she cried. “You’re exactly the same, the pair of you! So cold and proud, you’d sooner cut off your nose than see what’s under it! I wish you joy in each other!” And with that she stalked out of the room, her red hair flying like a banner behind her.

S
ummer burst upon Loch Haven in a brilliant explosion of color. Hugh spent nearly every day out of doors, riding from croft to croft and reacquainting himself with the land and the people. The work was backbreaking at times, but he reveled in the effort, finding solace in the grueling labor as he finally made peace with himself and with his clan. Peace between him and Caroline, however, was proving a more difficult matter.

Following their bitter argument, she had retreated behind a wall of coolness he could not penetrate however hard he tried. And he had tried, he told himself bitterly. He’d tied his tongue into knots apologizing to her—groveling, in his eyes, to get her to forgive him. He’d even reversed his opinion on the house she seemed to want so desperately, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t breach the fortress she had erected about her.

Despite the distance between them Caroline continued working with him, seeing to the needs of his people with gentle kindness. The grumblings against her lessened, but he still kept a
watchful eye upon her when they were out together. When he couldn’t be with her, he continued making certain either Lucien or another trusted man rode with her. He didn’t think any of his clan would attack her, but he preferred not to take any chances. There was also her uncle to consider. Caroline’s safety was too important to him to believe blindly in the earl’s vow to leave them in peace.

Remembering Lucien’s remarks about the resentment caused by Caroline’s carriage, he had purchased a mount for her, requesting that weather permitting, she ride when carrying out her duties as the lady of the castle. He was certain that once the people came to know her as he did, they would see what a fine and noble lady she was. It seemed to be working, and he watched hopefully as she blossomed under her newfound acceptance.

One day nearly a week after the confrontation in the library, he and a group of men were on the far side of the valley repairing a crofter’s roof. It was a rare hot day, and in the heat of the day he’d taken off his shirt, baring his back to the sun. He felt the curious glances of his men when they saw the scars on his back, but to his relief they kept their own counsel.

It was approaching noon when he saw two figures approaching on horseback. He recognized Caroline first, and then William King, as they rode toward them. He started reaching for his shirt to cover himself, but abruptly changed his mind. To the devil with propriety, he decided, setting his jaw. ’twas not as if Caroline hadn’t seen his naked back. She was his wife, and mayhap
seeing him like this would remind her of that fact. He leaned against his rake, watching with narrow-eyed patience as she rode up to the cottage.

“Good morning to you, Mr. MacColme,” she called out, shielding her eyes with her gloved hands as she smiled up at him. “I’ve brought you and these other gentlemen a bit of lunch.”

Her consideration stunned him as much as it delighted his men. By the time he’d climbed down from the roof she was surrounded by hungry laborers, their dirt-stained hands reaching eagerly for the large hamper of food she’d brought them. There was cold chicken and ham, along with a selection of cheeses and crusty chunks of freshly baked bread. After leading Caroline to the shade of a tree well away from the others, Hugh dug into the food with the same enthusiasm as his men, his appetite sharper than it had been in days.

“I also brought some cool cider,” Caroline told him, hands folded primly on her lap as she watched him eat. “I thought perhaps you and your tenants would want something other than Highland water to refresh yourselves.”

Hugh glanced over to where his men were passing about a ceramic jug of whiskey. “Aye,” he said, smiling as he took another bite of the delicious chicken. “I’m sure the cider won’t go amiss,
leannan
. Thatching works up a powerful thirst in a man, especially on a day so hot as this.”

He felt the touch of her gaze upon his chest, and resisted the urge not to preen. Instead he leaned back on his elbow, his legs crossed beneath
his kilt as he lounged on the sweet grass, as smug as a pasha in a harem. He spoke casually of the work he was doing, drawing her into the conversation as he inquired after the tenants she had seen that morning.

“Mrs. Muir is feeling more the thing,” she told him, brushing at a fly buzzing about her face. “The beef tea I brought her seems to be helping.”

“That is good,” he approved, his body stirring with desire as he studied her. He was certain she thought the straw bonnet and serviceable riding habit she wore were all that was modest, and wondered what she’d say if he told her they were having an opposite effect upon him. It had been over a week since they had lain together, and the sight of her made him ache with longing.

“Your aunt is to thank for suggesting the treatment,” Caroline continued. “When I mentioned Mrs. Muir’s symptoms to her, she said it sounded like a complaint of the liver, and told me to bring the tea and wine.” She cast him a curious look. “You never told me your aunt was a wisewoman.”

“The only thing my aunt is, is a royal pain in the arse,” he grumbled, wondering what his chances were of talking her into riding off with him for another romp in the wildflowers. There was a meadow not far from where they were, and it was secluded enough to guarantee privacy while he made love to her.

Following lunch he dismissed his men for the day, declaring it too hot for work. He also dismissed William King, and as he and Caroline rode back toward the castle, he decided to have it out with her. Their foolish separation had gone
on long enough, and it was time to put an end to it.

He turned to her, but before he could open his mouth she said, “What is that?”

Something in the question had him bringing Nathrach to a plunging halt. “What is what?” he demanded, his hand going to the sword he wore at his side and his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. He thought he detected movement just below the ridge on their right, but he couldn’t be certain.

“There.” She pointed a slender finger in the direction he’d already noted. “I thought I saw a flash of some—”

“Get behind me! Now!” Hugh shouted, kicking his mount in the ribs and trying desperately to interpose himself between her and the ridge. As if in a dream he saw Caroline turn, saw the questioning expression on her face as the crack of a musket shot split the air. He saw Caroline jerk, saw the reins falling from her hands as blood blossomed on her shoulder.

“Caroline! No!” The words were torn from his throat, and he urged his horse forward, his arms reaching out to catch her as she tumbled from her saddle.

“Oh, love, love, no, no, no,” he said, unaware he was even speaking. More than anything he wanted to tenderly lay her on the ground and examine her wound, but they were still in the open and vulnerable to the unseen enemy who had fired upon them. Catching her against his chest, he wheeled Nathrach around and charged for the stand of pines, doing what he could to shelter Caroline with his own body.

The moment they reached the safety of the trees he half-leaped, half-fell out of the saddle, gently easing Caroline to the ground. The prim habit he so admired was already stained with her blood, and the pretty little hat was crushed and broken. He untied the ribbons with hands that were unsteady, his gaze never leaving the slow rise and fall of her chest as he laid the hat to one side.

“Hugh?” Caroline’s eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him in dazed confusion. “Did I fall?”

“Yes,
annsachd,”
he said, fearing that learning she’d been shot might prove too much for her. He tore a wide piece of cloth from the hem of her riding skirt and hastily fashioned a pad which he pressed to her shoulder. “Lie still now, my love, while I tend to your arm. I fear it may be sprained.”

She winced slightly, but didn’t cry out. “All right,” she said, her bloodless lips lifting in a tired smile. “I’ve never fallen before. It hurts quite dreadfully. Hugh?”

The bleeding seemed to have stopped, and he tore another strip of cloth and used it as a bandage to help secure the pad. “Yes, my love, what is it?” he asked, his trained gaze scurrying over her as he searched for any other sign of injury.

“Don’t frown,” she said, raising her good hand to lightly touch his cheek. “You look so fierce when you frown.” Then her hand dropped to the ground, and she fell into unconsciousness.

The ride home was a blur in Hugh’s mind. He drove Nathrach brutally, his only thought to reach the safety of the castle as quickly as he
could. Caroline’s wound reopened during the rough journey, but she thankfully remained insensate, her head lolling against his shoulder. He rode the sweating horse into the great courtyard, shouting for help as he leaped down from the saddle. Servants came running from inside the house, Mairi hot on their heels. She skidded to a halt at the sight of Caroline clasped in his arms.

“Mother of God! What has happened?” she cried, stumbling back as Hugh brushed past her.

“Send for the doctor,” he called out over his shoulder, taking the steps two at a time. “And then order every man in the glen armed and ready to ride within the hour. Send Lucien to the north meadow with a party of men, and order it secured until I arrive.”

“But what happened?” Mairi picked up her skirts and dashed after him. “What is going on?”

He kicked open the door to their rooms, striding forward to carefully lay his wife on the soft bed. “Caroline was shot,” he said, his voice raw with torment as he let himself touch her pale cheek. “Some black-hearted whoreson shot her, and when I lay hands upon him, he is a dead man.”

“Oh, Hugh, no!” Mairi gasped, her hands fluttering to cover her mouth. “Who would do so vile a thing?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, stripping off his wife’s riding gloves and tossing them onto the floor. He examined the nails on her injured arm, breathing a silent prayer of relief when he saw their pinkish color. Had they been blue, or worse still, white, it would not have boded well for her.

Aunt Egidia arrived, summoned by the shouts
of the servants. She took one look at Caroline and ruthlessly elbowed Hugh to one side. “We will take charge of your wife, Hugh MacColme,” she said, sparing him a burning glare. “You rally the clan and find the
diahbol
who did this.”

Reluctant as he was to leave Caroline, Hugh accepted the wisdom of his aunt’s commands. He was a master at hunting down and destroying the enemy, and he could better serve his wife doing just that, instead of hovering like an old maid about her sickbed. He laid his hand on Aunt Egidia’s arm, staying her.

“Send word,” he ordered, holding her gaze. “If there’s the smallest change send word, and I will ride directly home.”

Egidia nodded. She seemed to know Hugh meant to notify him only if the change was for the worse. “I will send word.” Then she astonished him by leaning forward to kiss his cheeks. “Go now,” she told him gruffly, “and avenge your wife.”

The men were mounted and waiting when he ran back downstairs. A new horse was saddled and waiting for him, and he led them away without saying a word. They reached the place where the ambush had occurred in a little under twenty minutes, but even after an extensive search, there was no sign of the intruder to be found.

“Whose land lies to the east?” Hugh asked, doing his best to tamp down his white-hot rage. He had to keep iron control on himself, else he feared he would descend into howling madness like a rabid dog. If he let himself think, he remembered watching Caroline get shot, so he
kept his mind tightly focused on what was next to be done.

“That would be Ben Denham land now,” a grizzled Highlander offered, scratching his badly scarred cheek. “The
meirleach
bought it last year when it came to auction.”

Hugh swallowed the fury that threatened to choke him. He turned to three of his most trusted men. “Ride there,” he ordered in a clipped voice. “Search hard, and if you find a man riding who has a musket, I want him brought here. Even if it’s the laird himself,” he stressed, meeting each man’s gaze in turn, “I want him brought here.”

After they rode off he divided the rest of the men into search parties, ordering them to fan out in ever-widening circles before doubling back. If the attacker had been a stranger and was still on MacColme land, they would have him within the hour. That done, he rode up to the site where he gauged the shot had come from, and dismounted to begin examining the ground with senses trained through almost fifteen years of combat.

“One rider,” he determined, studying a set of hoofprints. “And he wasna riding a Highland pony. The hooves were shod.”

Lucien followed him. “How can you tell that?” he asked, leaning forward to peer at the tracks. “I canna see a thing.”