Kissing the Countess (17 page)

Her body and her heart had developed a distressing breach of interest. She frowned and looked out the window again.

As the gig's horse slowed to a stop, Catriona glanced toward the castle and saw the front door opening. Several people filed out to gather on the wide terraced steps in the moonlight.

The vehicle lurched as the coachman climbed down. Evan stood, ducking to exit, then turned to assist Catriona. Her limbs trembled and stomach rolled anxiously as he handed her down.

"Welcome home, Countess," he said quietly.

Home.
She closed her eyes, fought tears. For a moment the solid earth swayed beneath her feet. Evan's hand braced her elbow, lending her strength as she stepped forward.

* * *

Their faces were unfamiliar, their names vague. Evan nodded pleasantly and strolled beside Catriona as the housekeeper, Mrs. Baird, introduced his new countess to the staff. He paid close attention, for he had arrived at Kildonan only days ago and scarcely knew most of the servants himself.

Mrs. Baird and her husband, Robert Baird, the butler, had been at Kildonan since Evan's boyhood. The others were not as familiar, and he despaired of keeping their names straight. The cook and stableman were married, and most of the housemaids and grooms were either their children or their kinfolk. In addition, they resembled one another to a remarkable degree.

Catriona greeted each one, taking their hands and repeating their names. They all smiled and brightened as she did so. Evan saw that her calm nature and kind, lovely smile was quickly earning their appreciation and loyalty.

He would try it, he thought. Though he had already walked this gauntlet of introductions when he had first arrived, he followed Catriona's lead, repeating names and taking each hand in turn. Immediately their faces and names fixed in his memory.

He was already learning from his countess. He smiled.

"Here are Maggie and Deirdre, the upstairs housemaids," Mrs. Baird was saying. Two pretty brown-haired girls smiled and curtsied awkwardly. Catriona murmured a polite greeting, and Evan nodded. "Bethie is the downstairs lassie, and Seona is the kitchen maid." The young women dipped in turn, a plump redhead and the other dark and slim. "Here are Davey and Allan, who see to the chores inside and outside the castle. And here is wee Robbie, who works in the stables." Three lanky youths, scrubbed clean, nodded solemnly, hats in hand.

"And let me introduce Mr. MacGillechallum to you, madam," Mrs. Baird went on with her usual imperious air. The MacGillechallums were a smiling, bonny lot. "Mr. Gillie, as we call him, runs the stables. His wife is the cook."

"Gillie will do, aye," MacGillechallum said, his voice deep, his hands rough and large as he doffed his hat. "Congratulations on your wedding, madam." His eyes twinkled.

"Congratulations! I go by Mrs. Gillie, or Cook," said his wife, a short, robust woman who resembled the young housemaids. "The lads and lassies are our sons, daughters, and nieces. And we know
you
well... Lady Kildonan." She beamed at Catriona, who tilted her head. Mrs. Gillie then spoke softly to Catriona in Gaelic.

Catriona took her hands and murmured a reply.

Evan's knowledge of Gaelic was not extensive, but he had learned the basics from his nurse years ago. He knew that Mrs. Gillie thanked Catriona for some sort of help, while she replied that she and her brother had been glad to do it.

Puzzled, Evan leaned toward her as they moved on. "So you already know Mr. and Mrs. Gillie. Good, then."

She turned quick, fiery pink. "We used to help Mr. Gillie's old parents, who, ah, live in the high hills."

Hearing his name, Evan turned to see Jean and Harry coming out of the house to join the welcome. Evan kissed Jean and waited while his sister embraced his bride warmly.

"Come in," his sister said. "We've been very busy in the last hour, and I hope all is ready for you."

Evan took Catriona's elbow to guide her toward the entrance. Then he paused, reminded that he was entering his home with his bride. Pausing, he swept her up into his arms. She gasped in surprise, looping her arms around his neck.

For a tall girl, she was not heavy, and he easily carried her over the threshold into the foyer. Then he set her on her feet to the applause of those watching from the front steps.

He leaned to brush his lips lightly over hers. Her mouth felt cool and tender, and for an instant he felt certain that he had made the right choice in marrying her, though he could not say why. He just knew. And he knew that his bride doubted it.

"Welcome to Kildonan Castle, Lady Kildonan." He took her gloved hands and gazed into her eyes for a moment.

She glanced away. "Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

A view of the mountains in moonlight, seen through the large windows of the bedroom, caught Catriona's attention as soon as she entered. While Mrs. Baird closed the door and set a hurricane lamp with a flaring candle on a table, Catriona turned slowly to look around.

The sheer size of the room took her breath—lofty plastered ceilings, tall windows, and high, pale walls created a sense of spaciousness that even the large four-poster bed could not diminish. Drapes, coverlet, half canopy, and a chaise longue in serene creamy damasks and pale floral chintz harmonized with an expansive Belgian carpet in a green leaf pattern. Small oil paintings, polished mahogany furniture, and a glassed bookcase graced the room as well.

Compared to the simple decor and modest proportions at Glenachan House, this bedroom seemed like a queen's chamber. She murmured in admiration as Mrs. Baird pointed out the private dressing room, water closet, and large, tiled bathroom. Deirdre, one of the housemaids, was already in the bathroom filling a porcelain tub with steaming water from brass spigots for her evening bath. The girl looked up with a shy smile as she stacked thick linen towels.

"A cistern on the roof supplies hot and cold water for this floor and for the kitchen," Mrs. Baird explained. She held herself stiffly and seemed so formal and expressionless that Catriona wondered if years of serving the previous earl had made her humorless. "Sometimes we have a bathwater shortage if there are several guests. Then water will be brought up for your requirements."

"Thank you," Catriona replied. She stopped short of revealing that she took baths in a hip tub in the closed pantry of Glenachan House late at night after filling the tub laboriously. A cistern and a private bath were astonishing luxuries to her.

Mrs. Baird opened another door. "This leads to the wee sitting room that you share with Lord Kildonan. His room is through that opposite door there."

His room? Peeking inside with surprise, Catriona saw a cozy room with a small fireplace, a window, and armchairs and a small sofa in leather arranged on a worn Oriental carpet. The opposite door was partly open, and she saw a smaller room, dark and cozy, with deep green walls and mahogany furnishings. Then she heard Evan speaking quietly to someone. A moment later, he appeared at the connecting door, about to close it.

His gaze touched hers, piercing and intent. Then he nodded and clicked the door shut.

"Deirdre will be your lady's maid for now, until you choose one you prefer," Mrs. Baird said. "The previous countess was not in residence at Kildonan, and Lady Jean brings her own girl, so we do not have a trained lady's maid for you."

Catriona nodded, unsure what use she might have for a lady's maid or indeed how to choose a maid. "Deirdre will do a fine job," she said, smiling at the girl who was arranging lotions on a tray that held fresh flowers.

After Mrs. Baird left, Deirdre helped Catriona out of the blue silk gown. The young maid had a gentle manner, and Catriona began to relax a little as Deirdre unwound and brushed out her hair. While Deirdre unpacked her two portmanteaus, Catriona closed herself in the bathroom and sank into hot, fragrant water. Sighing, she closed her eyes.

Only a day ago, she would have sold her soul for such heat and comfort. In a way, she had—that cold night in the hut, craving warmth, she had gone willingly into Evan's arms.

Remembering his touch, the heat and pleasure of skin against skin, her mind further conjured the feel of his lips and hands. She wondered if Evan expected to share her bed tonight, or if he shared her reluctance over their hasty marriage.

Moaning low, conflicted, she sank into the hot, rose-scented water until she was nearly submerged, her hair floating out in rich streams of dark bronze. Her body craved the comfort and power of his touch, but her mind was a jumble of uncertainties.

Chapter 12

Standing before the connecting door late that night, Evan paused. This was his wedding night—he had certain rights now, but he was not the sort to claim them without consideration. And he was not sure what his bride wanted. Tightening the belt of his maroon silk dressing gown, he knocked. When she answered, he entered the room.

Catriona glanced up from the book in her hands, her eyes wide and a little wary. Enthroned in the big bed, sunk deep in lacy pillows under an ivory coverlet, she looked lush and beautiful. Her long, graceful form was swathed in a prim white nightgown with a high buttoned neck and lacy flounces.

She looked so vulnerable, he thought, yet he recognized that touch of wildness he had seen in her before, in the spark in her eyes, the fiery gleam of red hair flowing over her shoulders. The sight of her stole his breath, and his body clenched deliciously in response. He moved toward her.

"Good evening, madam," he murmured.

"Lord Kildonan." She flipped book pages nonchalantly. Her fingers trembled.

He wondered where to begin, what to say. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his silk brocade robe, he glanced around. New fabrics had been installed, but the furnishings were those his mother had used years ago. The leafy patterned carpet had been hers, too. He remembered tracing its design with small fingers, long ago, in happier times.

"I trust you are—no, please, go ahead," he said, when she began to speak and stopped.

"I only wanted to say that it's a lovely and comfortable room." She folded her hands. "Was this your mother's room?"

"Aye. My parents used this suite years ago, before... she left. She was no more fond of him than you were," he said wryly.

Catriona blinked and did not comment, but he saw comprehension in her eyes.

"My sister had the rooms redone after he died." His own newly redecorated room was smaller and cozier than Catriona's, in dark greens and dark wood—he liked its warm cave-like feel. "Both rooms are quite nice now."

"But you did not expect to install a wife here."

"Well, not so soon," he admitted. God, he did not know quite what note to strike with her.

Last night she had come willingly into his arms when the compassion of strangers had blossomed into poignant, stirring intimacy. He wanted that natural magic back again for both of them, but did not know how to recapture it.

The discussions, the tensions, the marriage—the return to civilization—had ruined that dreamlike night, and it would take some effort to get that back, he realized.

He walked toward the bed. "What are you reading?"

She peeked at the spine as if she did not know herself. "I found it on the bookshelf.... Sir Hugh MacBride,
The Enchanted Briar."
She flipped a few pages. "Oh! This is inscribed by the author—'To Master Evan. Yours affectionately, Sir Hugh. Dundrennan House, Christmas, 1840.'"

"I turned twelve just before Christmas that year, and Sir Hugh gave me the book as a gift. I'd forgotten it was here."

"I see. So you'll turn thirty-one in December?"

"Aye. And... might I ask? I don't even know your age, though I suspect you're not nearly as old as your bridegroom."

"Twenty-seven in September. Quite the spinster."

"No longer that," he said, watching her. Aware of her intent gaze, he knew they were both using the conversation to edge closer, exploring the moment. He felt tentative, and did not like it. He preferred action and quick, uncomplicated truths.

In the shieling hut he had known what to do. Following heart and instinct that night, he had allowed need and passion to lead him along a path of fire. Not the best decision—but in the moment, with the girl going along with him, it was best for both.

Now he danced around pretty social conventions, even though he burned to pull her into his arms and make love to her again, fully and fervently. Legitimately and sincerely. He wanted her to know that he would honor the marriage. But the dance that had caught them both was intricate, its design delicate. One wrong step and hearts and hopes could shatter.