The Captain's Caress (51 page)

“Then I guess I’ll have to keep him,” Brent said tenderly.

Summer rose from her chair and walked into his outstretched arms. Their long kiss was finally interrupted by their son’s loud protest. “

“He doesn’t want you to forget about him,” said Madelena. “He’s part of the family, too.” With a burst of laughter, Brent swept Summer up into his arms and carried her over to the rebuilt campfire. He motioned for everyone to gather around.

“I want to show you my wife and my son. Stoke that fire, Roberto. How can anybody see her in the dark?”

“No,” he said suddenly. “We’re not going to hide any longer.” He swung Summer up onto the wagon. “Everyone is invited to Glenstal. We’re going to light the courtyard and break out the beer and ale. This is a night of celebration. I’ll not have a dry throat or a cheerless spirit around.”

“I have a horse and wagon in the barn,” Summer said to Wigmore. “You’re welcome to hitch it up and ride.”

“Bless you, milady, but I don’t think I can get down from this beast.” Brent helped Wigmore dismount, but the poor butler’s legs buckled underneath him when he attempted to stand unassisted. The crowd roared with laughter, but Wigmore, dignified as ever, did not deign to notice.

“You can ride with us,” Brent invited. “After what you’ve done, you deserve to be mounted on a royal steed.”

“Thank you, but I’m quite content with a wagon,” Wigmore said, shivering with horror at the thought of being astride a horse once again.

“Smith, round up your men and see that Roberto brings everybody from his camp. The rest of you, bring your families. I want every man, woman, and child from Glenstal and Windswept to share in the celebration.”

When the flambeaux had been lighted and the beer was flowing freely, Brent took Summer and the baby and climbed up onto the back of the wagon; he motioned for the roistering crowd to be silent. “A new day has dawned for Windswept and Glenstal, and for everyone who has given loyal service during these difficult years. There is enough wealth to rebuild every farmhouse and to repair every building on both estates. It’s not our intention to keep everything for ourselves because we believe that we will prosper as you prosper.” He took the child from Summer and held him up so everyone could see.

“This is my heir,” he announced proudly, and received a rousing cheer. “He is also my pledge that the greed and hatred that have divided these lands and oppressed you for so long are gone forever. In this child you see the future of these estates. Let us work to increase our strength until ours is the most powerful house in Scotland.” A louder cheer rose from the crowd.

“We owe a great debt to Roberto and his people. They were my eyes, my ears, my hands, and my feet—my soldiers and my midwife. This is their success as much as it is mine. You must tell your children of what the Gypsies have done for us so that they may remember to be grateful and to treat them with kindness and trust. Your people are free to use these lands for as long as you like, Roberto. If you are in need or in danger, you may be certain of refuge among us, for truly we are your brethren.” Brent clasped Roberto’s hands in a symbolic gesture of brotherhood.

“And now I want to propose a toast to my wife,” he announced, pulling a reluctant Summer to her feet so that she faced him. “If it had not been for her, I might never have found the courage to return.”

Brent gazed lovingly into Summer’s eyes, then slowly raised the cup to his lips and drained it.

The crowd drained their draughts more quickly and responded with yet another cheer. Summer heard their acclaim, but she was blinded by tears of happiness.

Chapter 48

I’m glad this week is almost over, Summer thought to herself on the afternoon when Bridgit had at last allowed her to get up and dress. It had been a week of dizzying changes tempered by lingering fears. It was hard to believe that she was Brent’s wife and the mother of his child. When Brent smiled at her from across the room or when she felt his strong arms around her at night, she gave thanks all over again. And she often pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that she was actually the contented wife of a wealthy landowner, not a frightened runaway.

All week long wagons had traveled between the two estates, transferring from Glenstal items that Summer and Brent needed to set up housekeeping at Windswept. Even though they were currently staying at Glenstal, they had decided to begin their married life in Brent’s home. “There’s so much that needs to be forgotten before I could be comfortable in this house,” Summer had explained.

During this transition period she was confined to bed, and her activities were limited to the care and feeding of her lusty son, Robert Frederick, named for both his grandfathers. She was content to leave the ordering of things in the capable hands of Wigmore and Bridgit.

“I’m proud to be serving another generation of the Douglas family,” said the old butler when he brought in her tray. “It’ll soon be like old times.” Bridgit grumbled about leaving a perfectly good house for a moldy old barn, but she worked just as hard as Wigmore so that Summer could devote all her time to Brent and the baby.

“You can be sure that as soon as I sit down she will rise up from her bed, no matter how much harm it will do her, for make her do what is best for her I cannot. I can barely manage to keep her from sweeping the rooms herself. As it is, she’s worn out from chasing after the young lord and nursing that baby.”

None of the servants had any difficulty in switching their allegiance from Gowan to Brent. Everyone liked him right away, and, unlike Gowan, their new master appreciated their efforts. Within a few days Gowan was as forgotten as last night’s bad dream.

Brent’s wound was healing nicely, but his arm was still a little stiff. “I’m leaving him in your care this time,” Smith had told Summer. Giving her one of his rare smiles, he’d added, “He’s a very bad-tempered, ungrateful patient. He threatened to kill me if I ever again kept him knocked out, so I’ve decided to let you put your head in the noose.”

Summer had thanked Smith so often that the poor man almost cringed when he saw her coming, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from filling with tears and her heart from overflowing with gratitude every time she thought of the unselfish care he had lavished on Brent during his long illness.

Only one patch of fear now dimmed the brightness of her days; the sheriff had not been able to apprehend Gowan. He had been seen in Edinburgh several days earlier, but he’d disappeared when he’d learned that his property had been seized on behalf of Brent and Summer.

“I say good riddance,” Bridgit confided to Wigmore. “He was a hateful, trouble-causing man, never happy unless he made your skin crawl or had you shaking in your boots. But it’s so nice to work for Lord Douglas, and seeing the pair of them together is like something from a story book.”

“I won’t believe we’ve seen the last of the earl until I know he’s in a coffin and under six feet of earth,” stated Wigmore. “I know him, and he won’t give up.”

“You and your goblins,” Bridgit scoffed. “You’ve lived in this moldy pile so long you can’t think straight. Why should he show his face here when the sheriff is just waiting to clap him in jail and every tenant between here and Edinburgh would love to stick a pitchfork in his hide. Besides, every blessed thing he owned now belongs to the master and the mistress.”

“To my way of thinking, that makes him all the more dangerous. A man that has nothing to lose has nothing to fear. You heed my words. You had best have a care. Milady and the baby are not safe yet.”

“Piffle,” Bridgit replied, but she couldn’t rid herself of the nagging suspicion that Wigmore might know the earl better than she did.

The dingy, ill-lighted room was different from the surroundings Gowan was accustomed to, but in the past few days he had often had to make do with much less. Remembering days spent hiding in barns or woods and long nights in the saddle, a fugitive from justice and the legal prey of any lowly peasant’s gun, he cursed Summer and Brent with aweinspiring ferocity.

“I shall be even with you yet, Brent Douglas,” he swore savagely. “You need not think yourself done with me so easily.”

But it was at Summer and the son she had borne in defiance of him that he directed his most virulent hatred. He cursed them upon going to sleep and upon waking.

A tiny woman rose to meet Summer as she entered the salon. Her ample figure was tightly corseted, and her bosom was raised and accented in the style that had been popular thirty years earlier. An enormous hat was perched precariously on the side of her head, and abundant iron-gray hair framed her plain face, almost mulelike in its ugliness. She stared out at Summer from under her hat’s broad brim, her shrewd eyes, not without a hint of humor, scanning the younger woman.

“I beg your pardon for taking so long. Did Wigmore look after you?”

“Someone brought me wine and cakes, but I didn’t eat any. I don’t approve of eating between meals.” She nodded, indicating Summer’s wraithlike form. “From the looks of you though, you could use some extra food.”

“The baby takes a lot out of me,” Summer said happily. “He’s growing fast, and he’s hungry all the time.”

“You should get yourself a good wet nurse,” Mrs. Slampton-Sands said disapprovingly. “It’s not proper for a woman of your standing to nurse her own child.”

“I may do that for the next one,” Summer admitted, remembering sleepless nights and continual exhaustion, “but after the worry I had over him, I can hardly bear to let him out of my sight.” She laughed suddenly. “Brent still hasn’t talked me into letting him spend the night in the nursery.”

Mrs. Slampton-Sands’s face suddenly clouded over. “Have they found Gowan yet?”

“No. The sheriff thinks he’s left Scotland.”

Mrs. Slampton-Sands pressed her lips together and for a moment Summer thought she was going to say something about Gowan, but she seemed to change her mind.

“I’ve come here today to repair an oversight. I have refused to have anything to do with Gowan for so long—I haven’t even set foot in this house in more than seventeen years—that I have been blinded to simple Christian charity.”

“But you were kind enough to accept me and introduce me to your friends.”

“No I wasn’t,” Mrs. Slampton-Sands insisted, and the rigid control no one had ever seen slip, not even her husband of more than twenty years, deserted her. “I accepted you because I harbored a guilty secret. I tried to erase it by easing your way, but that was not enough.”

“Surely, you didn’t—”

“Let me finish. It’s a silly story, not very significant really, but it’s important to me, and not very easy for me to confess to you.

“Many years ago your mother and I were good friends. I couldn’t help but be jealous of her beauty, but I felt true affection for Constance. I was not as ugly as I am now. I was never pretty, still I was happy enough to accept Carleton’s offer, even though I didn’t love him, because I was unlikely to receive another. You see, both Constance and I had fallen in love with Frederick, but it was clear from the first that he never saw anyone but her. When her father stubbornly refused to even consider permitting them to marry, I helped them elope. I won’t distress you with a recital of that needless tragedy, but at one point I was given the marriage documents to keep safe.” She reached inside her large reticule and withdrew some papers tied with a faded ribbon. “I have them still.”

“You have the proof that my parents were married!” Summer exclaimed, starting up from her chair.

“And there’s more.” Mrs. Slampton-Sands motioned for Summer to be seated. “I only heard from your mother twice in twenty years. The first letter was written just before she sailed. She said that she never meant to return, that she intended to cut herself off from her family and Scotland forever.

“Then about two years ago I received a second letter informing me that she had a nearly grown daughter. She said the child was Frederick’s and that she meant to return to Scotland to see that her daughter was suitably married. She asked me to send her the marriage documents.

“I didn’t do it. Oh, I meant to and I would never have withheld them from Constance had she returned, but I was jealous and afraid. I envied her for having Frederick’s child—I’m childless, you see—and I feared for my position. I was never well liked; Constance was the one who was always popular, but over the years I had become the most influential woman in the district. I knew that if Constance returned, and if she claimed Gowan’s wealth for you, I would once again be relegated to her shadow. I had struggled too long for what I had to give it up.”

“Surely you aren’t blaming yourself for all this?” Summer asked.

“Yes, I am. When I saw you, I knew what I had done was unforgivable, but I didn’t know how to make it right. My coming forth with the documents wouldn’t have changed your position, you might even have hurt by it, and my position would have been destroyed. I can only ask you now to forgive me for what I have done. I am perfectly ready to accept the consequences for my selfish actions.”

Summer crossed the space between them, and kneeling before Mrs. Slampton-Sands, she took her hand.

“I can never express to you the importance of your unquestioning acceptance when I first came here. I was a young bride in a strange country, frightened, hiding a guilty secret. It would have been quite understandable if you had refused to see me. But that cannot compare with what you have just given me. To have these documents, Mother’s letters—well, it makes everything all right.”