Samantha James (7 page)

The crossing across the North Channel was rough. Waves splashed high, spraying over the bow. Maura had been in small boats many times before, rowing around the bay when she was young. But this was different. She stood on deck, looking out, bracing herself with her feet, as if she’d been born to the sea.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour passed, then Alec came up beside her. “For pity’s sake, don’t stand there,” he growled. “You’ll fall overboard.”

“Then you’d be rid of me,” she said lightly. “I should think that would suit you well, your grace.”

He neither agreed nor disagreed. “At least hold onto the rail.”

There was something odd in his tone. Maura looked over at him. Her brow furrowed…suddenly she realized why he was so pale.

“Oh, dear. Are you of a delicate constitution, sir?” she asked brightly. How odd that for a descendant of a pirate, her newfound husband was a bad sailor. It was all she could do not to crow.

Alec shot her a venomous look. “You needn’t delight in it,” he muttered.

“Oh, but I do not delight in it! I merely inquired out of concern for my husband. It is a wifely duty, is it not, to see to the care and comfort of one’s husband?”

The little witch! Alec grappled for a handkerchief to press to his mouth. It was true the open sea affected him so. But she didn’t inquire out of concern. Why, the chit was gloating!

Wait, my Irish beauty. Wait until I am home in Scotland. At Gleneden. Wait until I have you all to myself. Then we shall see how tart your tongue is.

Ah, yes, wait until he was home.

The ship docked at the port town of Stranraer. The duke’s coachman Douglas was there to meet them. After a quick luncheon they were off. The vehicle was small, built for speed, yet still comfortable and well-sprung.

What was not comfortable was Alec’s regard
as he climbed in and took his place opposite her, tossing his hat on the seat. His black hair was tousled; it should have made him look younger. Perhaps it did. But it also made him appear dangerous. His eyes, so icy and pale, drifted over her. It was as if he could see right through her, into her mind. Her very heart. She wondered almost frantically if he’d discovered the truth already. Yet how could that be?

Maura quickly averted her gaze. The carriage rolled forward and gathered speed. She stared out the window at the countryside. Yet all she could see was Alec’s grim visage as she took her place beside him that morning at the wedding ceremony, his jaw bunched hard.

He was angry. Wary. Suspicious. He felt he’d been duped.

And he had.

At length she pretended to sleep. Before she knew it, she began to doze. At some point she was half aware of being tugged down upon the seat. Someone placed a pillow under her head and drew a blanket up over her shoulders.

She woke much later. She felt leaden, almost drugged.

“That was quite a nap you had,” came Alec’s drawl. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

That was enough to rouse her into full wake
fulness. The incline of her chin high, she sat up. She smoothed her skirts, repinned her hair, and resolutely ignored him.

His soft laughter tipped her chin even higher.

Twilight fell, settling over the treetops. Her heart began to pound. She turned her head toward Alec. She fought to make her voice even.

“We are on McBride lands, are we not?”

He looked at her oddly, then gave a nod. He pointed through the window to her left. “Gleneden Hall is several miles to the northwest.”

It was uncanny. Maura had known the instant they were on his lands. As they crested a small rise, she caught a glimpse of a building in the distance. Not a castle like McDonough…She saw aged timbers, stone chimneys, and a slate roof that protected the massive structure—a structure that appeared as dark as its owner.

A haze of mist began to drape over the earth, seeping into the hills and trees, when she saw lights from inside his home flicker, there one minute, gone the next, as the carriage traveled through dense forest.

An unearthly chill stole over her. Her father was right. She was right. The Circle was here. Somewhere. Somewhere close. Her ears buzzed; an odd sizzle flashed inside her. With aching heart, she remembered the night her father died, his words.

It calls to me. The Circle calls to me. It cries out to come home.

Oh, God. Now she knew what her father meant. How he had felt!

For she felt the very same—as if the Circle called to her.

The carriage door opened. Maura wasn’t even aware they’d stopped. She rose and started down the steps. Her knees threatened to buckle. The long hours in the coach had taken their toll—as well imparting a strange eeriness. Alec caught her around the waist and swung her around and to the ground.

Huge wooden doors were thrown wide. Maura stood as if mesmerized. This, then, was her home—at least for the time it took to find the Circle. She found herself pierced by a pang of dread. Gleneden Hall was massive. In her eyes, it appeared dark and foreboding.

Alec led her up a series of stone steps. At the threshold he caught hold of her elbow. Startled, Maura looked up at him. His expression matched his half smile. Both reflected an almost smug satisfaction. Instinct made her start to step back; before she knew what he was about, Alec swung her up and into his arms and carried her across the threshold, past the doors and into a vast great hall.

He kicked the massive wooden door behind
them closed. “Welcome to your new home, Irish,” he murmured, just before he lowered her slowly to the floor, one arm curled possessively around her waist.

A host of servants lined up to greet their master. Catching her hand, Alec raised it high, introducing her as the new duchess. Maura winced. She was certain she’d never forget those stunned looks, though they were quickly replaced by smiles. The only name she truly remembered was Mrs. Yates, the housekeeper.

When they were finally alone in the massive great hall, Alec’s smile, however, was anything but welcoming.

He tipped his head to the side. “Well, well, well,” he said softly, “it’s right into the belly of the beast you’ve come, isn’t it, Irish?”

The scathing look she granted him was blunted by the tremor of her lips.

“What do you think of your new home?”

“Well, I’ve hardly seen—”

“Did you expect more from a Scottish duke? A grand palace perhaps? My lovely lady, my duchess, my wife. I do hope your new home fits your expectations.”

Maura ignored his mockery. She craned her neck to gaze at the massive timbered ceiling, the peak at least four stories high.

“Impressive, isn’t it? It’s the original great hall, what was initially built as a hunting lodge for Robert the Bruce.” Alec stood in the very center of the enormous great hall, his hands behind his back. Tall, so very much the proud duke.

“King Robert II of Scotland created the first Duke of Gleneden for my family’s support throughout the wars for Scottish independence. It’s said the first duke and the Bruce were distant cousins. In fact, you may find this interesting, Irish. The Bruce’s second wife, Elizabeth, was the daughter of the Earl of Ulster. It’s possible that you and I may claim the same lineage, back through the ages.”

“You are smiling, your grace. You find that amusing?”

His half smile widened. “You are quick to take offense. Your nature is a fiery one, is it not?”

Maura’s jaw clamped tight. “You have not known me long enough to know my nature, your grace.”

Deliberately, she turned her face aside, letting her gaze drift around the room. Alec gestured. “The stag heads mounted on each side of the doors to the formal dining room are courtesy of my ancestor Duncan, the twelfth Duke of Gleneden. The head of the gray wolf on the
wall beside the far window”—he waved a hand to his left—“was taken by the tenth duke in the 1600s.”

Maura couldn’t help but remember the howl of the wolf on the night her father died. Tingles went up and down her spine.

“The boar on the wall above you is a much more recent trophy, from one of my hunts as a boy,” Alec continued.

“The belly of the beast indeed.” Maura couldn’t resist a jibe. “The McBrides are great hunters, it would seem.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Any seafarers in the family, my lord?”

If he was discomfited, he showed no sign of it. He shrugged. “None that I know of.”

“I suppose not. Too plebian, I would imagine.”

The way he arched a single, black brow hinted at reproach. “You are not only quick-tempered, but quick to judge.”

“As are you,” she needled sweetly. She took a deep breath. “The fireplace is quite extraordinary.”

And it was. It was enormous, its expanse in keeping with the proportions of the room.

“Limestone?” She walked toward it.

“Indeed.”

“The family coat of arms?” Reaching out, she touched the carving on one side, the armored
helm of a soldier. There was a matching one on the other side.

He nodded. “Argent on a—”

“Fess gule.” With her fingertips Maura traced the broad, horizontal band across the width of the shield. “Three mullet of the field.” Within the band, she touched each of the five-pointed stars. “The argent, the shield of white, signifies purity and sincerity, I believe, the red for military might. Am I right, your grace?”

Both his brows shot high. “You are. But why do I suspect you already knew that? I am quite relieved to know I’ve married a woman whose education has not been neglected. Indeed, my brother Aidan, who served Her Majesty for a number of years in India, will be delighted to discover I’ve wed a woman who is able to correctly identify the symbols—and with the proper terminology.”

It wasn’t meant as a compliment. It was simply his turn to needle her.

Maura ignored the jibe, still taking in the room with its timbered roof and whitewashed stone walls. But numerous comforts had clearly been added over the years. She glanced down at the handmade carpet beneath her feet.

“Aubusson?” she inquired.

“Persian. Sixteenth century.”

Richly colored tapestries hung on the walls.
Whether they were French or Dutch, she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t about to ask Alec, with his superior airs, that was for certain. One depicted a hunting scene—why, who would have thought?

A medieval lute caught her eye. She paused before an ornate, gilded pier table with a marble inlaid top. The worth of this piece alone, she speculated, would have fed and kept in comfort everyone on McDonough lands for at least several years. A spark simmered within her. She couldn’t help the thought that ran rampant through her mind. How much had been pilfered by the Black Scotsman on his raids? Prizes claimed from other vessels and taken for his own?

A group of furniture was clustered around the fireplace. Two divans with plump flowered cushions. Several roomy, claw-footed wing chairs with matching footstools. She seated herself in one, but her back was ramrod straight.

“You are right, your grace. It’s all quite impressive.” Her first impression had been wrong. She wanted to hate it, to declare Alec’s home as forbidding as its master. But she couldn’t. Despite the rich furnishings, with the fire burning in the hearth, the rustic feel gave it a charm that was warmly inviting. “And though I’ve yet to see all of it, I doubt my opinion will change.”

“Alec. You must call me Alec. After all, we are
husband and wife now.” He moved to a table under the window where a silver tray filled with shimmering crystal decanters and glasses had been placed. “Wine?” he inquired. He half filled a delicately etched goblet.

Maura couldn’t seem to take her eyes from his hands. His fingers were long. Graceful yet strong, bronzed from the sun. So intensely masculine she felt her mouth grow dry. “I think not,” she said finally.

“Lost your taste for it, eh?”

Their eyes locked. He was toying with her, the cad! Damn him for reminding her!

He started to drink. Stopped, then slowly lowered the glass. He stared at her in taut silence until Maura wanted to scream. Then, in a voice almost deadly quiet, he said, “Do you think I don’t know what you did?”

Maura blanched. Composure was impossible. Her breath hung suspended in her throat, but her mind was racing. Was it the fact that she’d drugged him? Or the fact that their marriage—

He approached, so that they stood at opposite ends of the sofa. “Why so coy, your grace?”

Maura ran her tongue over her lips.

“You’re not smiling, my lady. I should imagine you would be gloating. You’ve managed to marry yourself to a duke.”

Oh, but he was arrogant! If he wanted to be provoked, she would oblige! “A wealthy duke?” she dared.

“Yes.” It was a statement of fact—he did not brag. “You’ve gained a great deal from this marriage. But that was the point, wasn’t it? And as you’ll find out anyway, yes, I’m titled in England, too.”

She should have realized sooner. Why, he thought she’d married him for money! How laughable!

She ran a finger along the elaborate stitching on the arm of the chair. “With estates…where?”

“Two others in Scotland, two in England. And a town house in London.”

“I’ve never been to London,” she said sweetly.

“Well, if you’re thinking of taking up residence elsewhere, Duchess…do not.”

“And why not?” She was inclined to be as lofty as he.

“Because I wish to keep you close. It’s as I stated before. Because you are my lady. Because you are my wife. Because you are my duchess.”

Hah! Maura longed to roll her eyes.

“Are you hungry?”

His sudden change in tack startled her. “Famished, actually,” she admitted guardedly.

“I have some business to attend to in my study,
but it shouldn’t take long. I’ll have Mrs. Yates show you to your room and have a tray sent up.” He paused. “And then…”

Wrapped in his silky tone was something that sent Maura’s gaze skidding up to his in alarm. She was on shaky ground, and he knew it. His expression—the light in his eyes, that rakish hint of a smile—confirmed it. He relished her nervousness, damn him!

“What?” she asked faintly.

His slow-growing smile added to her unease.