Samantha James (15 page)

Maura spun around and slumped to the ground, her back against the stone. Her hands were shaking as she pulled her pouch from deep in her pocket. She clutched it fast between her fingers.

Inside was the earth from McDonough lands, the pebbles and dirt she’d gathered when she left home. This was her reason for being here.

Pain like a knife ripped through her breast.

Ireland was where she belonged. Not here in Scotland, living beneath a cloud of guilt and deceit.

She sought to think of home. Of Castle McDonough. Jen. Toothless Nan. Patrick the Woolly. The ancient church high upon the hill where pagans and Christians alike had worshiped.

The place where the Circle had once burned so brightly.

But all she could see was Alec, his gaze icy and blue, damning her for not saving him.

At that same moment in Glasgow, Alec opened a small iron gate and strode down a brick walk-way. The house was built of weathered brick, each one very much like the other on the narrow street.

At the door, he rapped the brass knocker three times. Heavy footsteps echoed from within the house. The door was thrown wide.

“Your grace!” the man inside greeted him heartily. He was in his late forties, burly, and stood half a head shorter than Alec. His shoulders and neck were thick with muscle. “Come in, come in, your grace.”

“You may dispense with the formalities, Thomas.” Alec smiled. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Habits die hard. I still call your brother ‘Colonel.’”

Thomas Gates had served with the Highland
Regiment under his brother’s command. Alec stepped into a small entryway as Thomas closed the door.

“I’ve always been surprised you remained here in Britain rather than return to India,” Alec commented.

Thomas grinned. “I fancy m’pension more than that accursed heat in India.”

Alec retrieved two pungent cigars from his waistcoat. “Fancy a smoke?”

Thomas released a hearty laugh. “I do. A bit early in the day, but I have just the thing to go with them.”

Inside a small parlor, Thomas filled two brandy snifters. Alec sat back and the two of them enjoyed a bit of small talk.

The cigars had burned down when Alec said, “I hear you’ve turned down a post with Scotland Yard, Thomas.”

Thomas shrugged. “I fancy bein’ me own man now.” He grinned. “I can be a wee bit more discerning about the jobs I take on.”

“Precisely the reason I am here.”

Thomas laughed gustily. “I knew it wasn’t my ugly face that brought you to my doorstep.”

Alec crushed the ashes left on his stub of cigar. “I have a favor to ask of you, Thomas,” he said, wasting no more time on small talk. “In light of
being your own man now, how would you like a visit to Ireland?”

“Ireland!” Thomas was clearly surprised. “And the purpose of this visit?”

“A few discreet inquiries. You’ll be amply recompensed.” Alec paused. “Aidan always said there was no better man than you at his back, Thomas. If he trusted you, then so do I.”

His host glanced at him sharply. “What! This sounds like a matter of life and death.”

“No. But it is most certainly a matter of utmost discretion.”

“That’s the nature of my work now,” Thomas said. “Well, it’s actually been that for a great many years,” he added with a grin. “And you know I will do anything for the colonel’s family. But what might be in Ireland other than an overabundance of wind and rain?”

Maura, Alec decided dryly, would have taken vehement exception to his description of her homeland. Reminded of her righteous indignation over his own characterization of Ireland, a faint smile began to crease his lips. But then he thought of her deception, and the smile never quite made it to fruition. He sobered quickly.

Thomas’s own smile faded upon seeing Alec’s somber expression. He frowned. “A matter of utmost discretion,” he repeated. “A matter concerning what?”

Alec had gone very still. There was a faraway look in his eyes.

Thomas frowned. “Your grace,” he prompted. “A matter concerning…?”

Alec’s attention snapped back. “A woman, Thomas. The former Lady Maura O’Donnell.” He took a deep breath. “My wife.”

Alec returned to Gleneden late the following afternoon. He found himself impatient—he refused to call it eagerness—to see his wife. But his estate manager was waiting in his study with papers to be signed.

Atop a day’s worth of post was a letter from his mother. Alec hesitated, then tore it open. He felt a niggle of guilt and made a mental note to write her. It was time…no, past time that he wrote. He pictured her dainty mouth pursed in astonishment upon discovering he was married. No doubt there would be a subtle inquiry as to when he would produce an heir.

A smile on his lips, he exited his study and hailed Mrs. Yates in the great hall. No, the
housekeeper hadn’t seen her grace since luncheon.

One of the downstairs maids piped up. “I saw ’er grace on the terrace some time ago, yer grace.”

Alec headed outside. Perhaps she’d gone to the loch. Or maybe she’d gone riding. Perhaps to the cove.

Where the devil was his errant wife?

In the midst of that thought came a sight that brought him up short.

He saw her outside the courtyard, down where the slope of lawn leveled out. She sat beneath the shade of an oak tree.

Eagerness. Longing. Desire. All of those things flooded him. He reminded himself that there was much he didn’t know. Too much his lovely Irish lass kept hidden. Deliberately concealed.

Yet in that moment none of it mattered.

There was an odd catch in the rhythm of Alec’s heart. Only Maura would have sat thusly on the ground, careless and heedless that grass might stain her dress. A group of the servants’ children sat in a half circle before her.

Maura’s back was to him. Alec advanced silently, holding his finger up to his lips when one little boy caught sight of him.

Lord, she looked sweet. Heat coiled deep in his
belly. Her head bent low when a little girl with curly hair and apple-red cheeks crawled into her lap.

The children stared at her raptly.

As did Alec. She told a tale filled with myth and magic. And when she was done, they all cried for another.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. It was loose and unbound, held away from her face by a ribbon.

He listened as she spoke with her lilting, Irish brogue. “There is a place in this world,” said she, “a place where the wind meets the sky, and the sky meets the earth—”

“Scotland,” said he, declaring his presence.

“Ireland,” declared she, decrying it. She twisted around to glare up at him. “Perhaps you should continue with the telling of this tale, your grace.” Her eyes sizzled, but her tone was honey sweet.

Alec glanced at the children. “Oh, I believe Her Grace is much more suited to the telling of tales than I.”

Maura stiffened. What the devil did he mean by that?

“And her grace is certainly much prettier than I, don’t you think?”

A dozen vigorous nods and giggles affirmed it. Alec planted his shoulder against the tree trunk
and folded his arms. “I shall interfere no more, Duchess. Pray continue.”

And she did, ignoring him. As for Alec, he was only half aware of the story. All the while she spoke, his gaze wandered over her. When the story finally ended, she glanced at her audience. “Would any of you like a sprinkling of fairy dust?”

Shouts and hands went up.

Her laughter was like the tinkling of little silver bells. Reaching into the pocket of her gown, she withdrew a velvet pouch. Alec vaguely recalled seeing it on her bureau a few times.

She reached in, pretending to pull something out. Then she waggled and waved her fingertips. “There! You wear a cloak of fairy dust, my doves. It will protect you and keep you safe and warm and happy!”

“Another story, your grace,” begged a little girl. The stable master’s youngest child.

Maura dusted off her hands. “Tomorrow, Greta. I promise.”

Alec lent his wife a hand up and onto her feet. “What of me? Am I not worthy of a sprinkling of your fairy dust?”

The children dispersed.

“I believe you are well able to see to yourself,” she told him tartly.

“Ah, Maura, you wound me.”

She snorted, tugging her hand away.

They began the walk back toward the hall. “I apologize for my abrupt departure and return to Glasgow,” he said smoothly. “I hope you can forgive me. It was a matter I neglected to attend to before we left there.”

“You needn’t apologize, and there is certainly nothing to forgive. I understand that you must tend to your affairs.”

“A forgiving wife. I consider myself blessed. I trust you had a pleasant day?”

“I did.”

Her tone was such that Alec was a trifle affronted.

“Tell me of it, Irish.”

“I fear there is little to tell.”

“Oh, come, there must be something.”

Suddenly he stopped short. Maura turned to face him. His expression was odd.

Something leaped in her breast. “What?” she said. “What is it?”

“My good woman, there are cobwebs in your hair.” He flicked them away with his fingers. “Fairy dust?” he inquired.

Annoyed, Maura longed to slap his hand away. Damn the man! Must he be so observant?

Nor was he done. “And I believe”—he plucked
something from the folds of her gown—“yes, I was right. There are bits of fern in your skirt. I expected a few blades of grass. But not ferns. Most assuredly not fairy dust in either case.”

Did he tease? Or did he mock? With him, she could never be sure.

She wet her lips. “I was at the wishing well this morning.”

“But there are no ferns there. There is nothing there, save the well.”

“I strayed from the path several times.” If she was defensive, she couldn’t help it. In truth, she had searched the area around the wishing well and all the way down to the loch. “I played with the children this afternoon. Oh, and this morning I spent a little time in the garret. I imagine that’s where I picked up the cobwebs.”

“The garret?”

Maura was irritated. Must she account for every moment of the day? By heaven, she would not.

Particularly when she’d met Murdoch that morning.

Last night she’d crept into Alec’s study. The money Alec had told her about—the money hidden in his desk—was precisely where he’d said it would be. She took nearly all of it and tucked it in the pocket of her robe. She’d given it to Murdoch to take back to Castle McDonough.
By the time he returned to Scotland, she hoped her search would be over. Her deceit was wearing on her. With every day that passed, she feared that Alec would discover why she was there.

That could not happen. It would not happen, she assured herself.

Now, if only she believed it!

Maura lifted her chin. “There are some lovely pieces of silver in the garret. I thought to have them cleaned and displayed in one of the parlors.”

Blue eyes flickered. “You needn’t sound so defensive. After all, you’re mistress of the house.”

Maura eyed him. What did he mean by that? Oh, good heavens, she was being ridiculous. She
was
the mistress of the house.

For the time being, at least.

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, “I stopped by Madame Rousseau’s shop. I was pleased that she had a number of gowns completed. By now they’re surely tucked away in your armoire.”

“I have my stockings, your grace. If you recall, that is all I desired from her shop.”

“How fortunate that I wed a woman such as you. There is no need to be frugal, however. And I should be remiss in my duty as husband if I did not wish to shower my bride with gifts.”

They stood near a brick wall near the herb garden. The scent of mint teased her nostrils.

The scent of man took precedence as Alec took a step closer.

“I’ve just noticed we are quite alone, Irish.”

Ah, she knew she had cause to be suspicious! The gleam in his eyes made her guard go up. Because of a slight slope in the ground, her eyes were almost level with Alec’s. “And so we are,” she said briskly.

“I suggest we give each other a proper welcome, then.”

Maura’s heartbeat skittered.

“Tell me, Irish. Did you miss me?”

She wasn’t quite sure what he was up to. She was at a loss for words. “I…certainly. Certainly I did.”

Alec took a step closer. His gaze fastened on her lips. “Despite your feelings the night before I left?”

“Y-es.”

“Your tone leaves me doubting,” he said huskily. “Convince me.”

Bother, but she couldn’t think with him so close! “What?”

“Convince me you’re happy I’m home.”

“I am happy you’re home.” The words came out stilted. Alarm skittered up Maura’s spine. Less than the width of a hand separated them.

Alec shook his head. “That is hardly the wel
come I hoped for. Come, darling, will you leave me in despair? I ask but a kiss.”

Darling?
Maura nearly choked. Yet his air was that of a tiger stalking its prey. A very hungry tiger.

Oh, and how she would much rather be the hunter than the prey!

Taking a breath, she leaned forward on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek. She braved no more, for he smelled of soap and sandalwood, and suddenly all she wanted was his mouth on hers, banishing all thought and care. All but the yearning that wound through her whenever he was near—and when he was not!

A lean arm slid around her waist, catching her close. She was forced to steady herself by splaying a hand on his chest.

“That was hardly convincing,” he chided. “What must I do to lure my wife back into my embrace? What must I do to entice her willingly and without question?”

Maura’s breath thinned to a wisp. Moored in her breast was a sea of uncertainty. Something in his air was unsettling.

“Put your arms around my neck, Irish. Kiss me the way you kissed me in Ireland. Cling to me the way you did then.”

She could hardly speak. “You toy with me,” she said, her voice very low.

“Never. Do I not stir you as you stirred me that night in Ireland? What has changed since then, I wonder?” His gaze roved her features.

Maura fought to keep all expression from her face. The only way she could manage was to lower her eyes, which then focused directly on the sculpted smoothness of his lips.

“Ah, Maura, you leave me no choice but to convince you.”

Her insides were churning. She could scarcely breathe, let alone talk, yet somehow she managed. “And just how might you do that, Scotsman?”

“One kiss at a time,” he whispered just before his mouth closed over hers.

Indeed, it took but one kiss to plunge her into desire. And aye, her arms stole willingly around his neck. His mouth parted hers; warm breath mingled with hers. His kiss was burning. Masterful. Persuasive. It made her come all undone, weak in the knees and wanting. Yet there was something in his manner that warned her to beware—

She tore her mouth away. “Why?” she cried. “Why do you continue to kiss me like that?”

“Why do you let me?” he countered.

“You didn’t want me as your wife,” she reminded him unsteadily.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you in my bed.”

Everything inside her seemed to shatter. It was a blow to the center of her heart. “Am I to be flattered, then? You were hardly the eager bridegroom.”

“While you were certainly eager to make yourself my bride.”

Maura blanched. “May I remind you it was you who…who…”

“Claimed your virginity?”

“Aye!” Little wonder that she faltered. Her feelings—her thoughts—were scattered in every direction. She dared not meet his eyes—on several counts. For one, embarrassment flooded her every pore. Secondly, she feared he’d glimpse the lie on her face. Guilt rode heavy on her soul. She couldn’t let it sway her. It couldn’t be helped. It didn’t change what the Black Scotsman had done those many years ago. The Black Scotsman had stolen the lifeblood of every soul on McDonough lands forever after. It didn’t change her reason for placing herself at Gleneden. Oh, Lord, she was digging herself ever deeper. She had to make Alec believe it. She had to make him believe her!

Because if she didn’t, then all her effort would be for nothing. She couldn’t leave, not without the Circle.

“I want you in my bed, Maura.” His tone was very deliberate. “I daresay that with the exception
of that one night in Ireland—that one night,” he stressed, “you endeavor to stay out of it.”

Maura’s face flamed. Her heart lurched. Honesty commanded a high price, a price she could not pay. It was wearing on her, wearing her to the bone. She hated that Alec would surely despise her deceit, and it was killing her.

She had been right to be wary. Aware that he watched her closely, she had the wildest sense he peered directly into her soul.

“Am I wrong, Maura?”

She looked away.

“Look at me, Maura.”

She tried to withdraw her arms. He only held her tighter.

“Why? You said I didn’t hurt you,” he reminded her. “Did I?”

She shook her head.

“Did I please you?”

She bit her lip. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She constrained her vision to the plane of his cheek.

“If I did not, I apologize. I understand a woman’s first time can be difficult. I regret if that was the case.”

Maura cringed inside.

“It is embarrassing to admit I have no recall. I beseech you, share with me what memories you
have of our first union. Perhaps I might remember then. Perhaps I might exchange those memories with new ones.”

Maura’s gaze jerked back to his face. Her pulse skittered. Oh, Lord, she thought in sudden panic, did he know she had drugged him? She had the awful sensation he did.

“You wanted me as much as I wanted you. That, I haven’t forgotten, Irish. Yet now you make me doubt my skill as a lover. If not, permit me the chance to change your reluctance.”

She was trapped. Caught in a web with no way out. “You mock me, Scotsman.”

“I merely question what continues to elude me. But I admit, I am puzzled by your behavior.”

“How so?” She could barely force the words past the tightness in her throat.

His gaze never left her face. “You dance away,” he said softly. “You dance back. It’s almost as if I wed another woman entirely.”

Maura felt her cheeks flame. She curled her fists against his chest and pushed herself away.