Samantha James (11 page)

After dinner he shared with her tales of his travels. He’d been to America. To the Continent. To Egypt to visit the tombs of ancient pharaohs.

Maura found herself listening with rapt absorption, her elbows on the table, one hand supporting her chin, not caring that she displayed poor manners. Prior to coming to Scotland, Dublin had been the extent of her travels, she thought wistfully.

The evening passed far more quickly than she’d anticipated. After the last dish was removed, Alec slid his chair back and rose to his feet and ex
tended a hand. Maura hesitated. A hasty glance upward revealed his regard was ripe with amusement.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his and rose.

“A glass of wine in the rose parlor, Irish? Or perhaps the great hall. It’s quite cozy to sit before the fire with a glass of brandy.”

She shot him a telling glance.

“No? I thought you had your fill of tea during dinner. You must have been feeling more poorly than I thought the day after the masquerade.”

“Pray do not make light of me, your grace.”

He chuckled, the sound low and oddly pleasing.

Maura’s heart skipped a beat. His laugh…the way he looked at her, his blue eyes so warm…

She swallowed. “Actually, I believe I should like to retire.”

His brows shot high. Maura held her breath. Dear Lord, she prayed he didn’t perceive it as an invitation. “So soon?” he asked. She had no chance to respond. “Ah, but I forget,” he murmured. “You didn’t sleep well last night. In that case, allow me to escort you upstairs.”

He offered an arm. Maura had no choice but to take it. Her fingers rested lightly on his sleeve. Even through the layers of cloth, she could feel the taut muscle beneath. He was silent as they climbed
the stairs and turned down the corridor that led to her room…and his. She was too nervous to say a word. Would he follow her in? Claim his husbandly rights? He’d toyed with her last night. She wasn’t a fool. He’d wanted to discomfit her, and he had.

And now his air of self-confidence left her no less uneasy. He resented her. He resented this marriage. He’d made that very clear at the ceremony. But today his attitude had changed and it seemed he’d accepted the circumstance with no further consideration.

Maura knew better. She envied him his composure as they stopped at the door to her room. He opened it, but remained where he was, wearing the half smile that was becoming so familiar…a smile that both disarmed her yet left her wary.

She released his arm. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, what to say. Her poise had deserted her, as had her tongue.

His head lowered. She looked up sharply. It gave her a start to find him staring straight at her mouth, his eyes dark with some emotion she dare not ponder. For a heart-stopping moment she was convinced he meant to kiss her.

The bottom dropped out of her belly. Shadows from the wall lamps played across his features. Everything inside her twisted into a knot. Oh,
Lord, she thought helplessly, he was so handsome she could barely breathe. She wanted…oh, but she wanted him to—

His knuckles grazed the slant of her cheek. “Thank you, Irish, for a most pleasant day.” Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her fingertips, then turned and walked away.

Inside her room, Maura closed the door, then slumped back against it. Unwittingly, she lifted the back of her hand to her mouth—the very place his lips had kissed, she realized—then snatched it away. Airy as his touch had been, she felt as if she’d been branded to the bone.

She was trembling, she realized. Her heart was thudding so loud it echoed in her ears like a drum. Heaven help her, but she was a fool. She hadn’t planned on this. She hadn’t expected to be so attracted to him. She hadn’t expected to be attracted to him at all! she thought wildly.

But she was, far more than she had realized. Far more than she should have been. And she had been from the start. The admission shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did.

She had wanted to feel the heat and pressure of his mouth against hers. She’d wanted him to kiss her the way he had the night of the masquerade, long and slow and heated.

All the more reason to guard against him.

For she had learned something that day. Alec was a man of many sides. Those pale blue eyes could be icy and cold, or heated and seductive. Filled with cool deliberation or fiery anger.

She didn’t quite trust him. Again she had the feeling she had been weighed and tested throughout the day. Which left no conclusion but one.

Alec McBride was perhaps even more dangerous when he was charming…than when he was not.

Two days later Maura rode a dappled gray mare to the village just south of Gleneden, past the church to the graveyard. She tied the reins to a tree, then glanced around.

Murdoch stepped out from behind a stout oak tree.

Maura ran to him, throwing her arms around him. Murdoch had followed almost directly in her wake. It was part of the plan they had conceived, a way to stay in touch should she find the Circle.

When he was able, he stepped back, searching her features. “Lady Maura! What’s wrong, girl?” His welcoming smile vanished. “It’s the duke, isn’t it, child? I knew he was a blackguard! I swear, if he has mis—”

Maura shook her head, blinking back tears. “No, no, Murdoch! I’m fine. Truly I am. He’s not the sort of man to harm anyone.”

And as soon as she’d said it, she realized that he wasn’t. She knew it instinctively. He had remained polite and charming, but she sensed his distance. She sensed his watchfulness. In turn, she tasked herself to be prudent and cautious, ever vigilant, lest she further arouse his suspicion.

Neither of them allowed it to show on the outside, but Maura knew that Alec was as wary of her as she was of him.

“Have ye learned anything, Lady Maura? Have ye found anything?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. The house is large, each wing built in different centuries.” She hesitated. “It may take longer than I expected,” she admitted. “But the Circle is there, Murdoch.” She told him about the portrait of James, the seventh Duke of Gleneden. As she spoke, a shiver slid down her spine. “Alec said he endured some sort of family tragedy. And I know why.” Her tone turned bitter.

“The curse?” asked Murdoch.

Maura nodded. “I searched through the family annals—I told Alec I was fascinated by such things. But there was little about him. The date he married, and the date of his son’s birth and
death.” She scowled. “For such a scoundrel, he lived to a ripe old age. Why, he was nearly eighty years old when he died. I wonder when he ceased his pirating days.”

She was silent for a moment. Her eyes grew dark. “Murdoch, the Circle is here. I know it. I can feel it. It is uncanny. I cannot explain why, but somehow I just know it is. I—oh, I know it sounds silly, but it’s just as Papa said. As if I can hear the Circle calling to me. Crying out.”

Murdoch squeezed her shoulder. “Ye need not convince me, child,” he said gently. “I have faith that you will find it.”

Maura smiled at him, then held up a finger. “Wait,” she said. “Wait.” She went to her mare and untied two small sacks. Dropping to her knees, she untied one and brought out two large candlestick holders with a flourish. “Look!” She licked a fingertip and rubbed it against the base. “Pure silver! I brought this pair and another, a tray and a gilt-edged vase as well. Sell them and take the money home to Nan.”

“Lady Maura!” Murdoch couldn’t hide his distress. “What if the duke discovers they are gone?”

She scowled. “He will not. The Black Scotsman stole from us. And these will never even be missed. I found them in the garret.” Which she had. Well, the candlesticks, at least, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.
The candlesticks were in the garret. The tray and the vase had come from a bedchamber in the old wing.

Murdoch took the sacks, his expression sober. “I know that look, lass. Take care that ye are not too bold.”

Maura knew what he meant, that she should take no more risk than she dared.

They arranged to meet in the same place two weeks hence. She gave him a hasty peck on the cheek, mounted the mare and rode back to Gleneden.

Outside the stable, she handed the reins to a groom. Whistling a merry little tune, she rounded the corner, only to bump headlong into a form as solid as a granite wall.

Strong heads steadied her. “There you are,” Alec said smoothly. “Where were you?”

“Just out for a bit of a ride.” How lame that sounded!

“Along the road?”

“Through the fields mostly.”

“No wonder I didn’t see you, then. I just came from the village—”

Maura’s heart lurched. Mercy, what if he’d seen her with Murdoch!

“—but once I was home, when I went to find you, no one knew where you were.”

“Why were you looking for me?” She sought to quiet the quick, hard pounding of her heart.

“We’ve spent no time together today, your grace. I thought we might walk down to the loch.”

Your grace. Maura felt her skin grow hot. Must he call her that? It was intentional, she was sure, in order to discomfit her.

Which, of course, it did.

“Have you been there yet, Irish?”

“No. You told me you would show me a path through the woods.”

Alec took her arm. “I did, didn’t I?”

They walked past the north wing toward the forest. They hadn’t gone more than a half mile when Maura stopped short. “Oh, look!” she cried. “How lovely.” She pointed to a stone bridge that crossed a small brook. A vine-covered archway led into a small open clearing. “What is that? A well?” A timbered roof, almost a miniature of the one in the great hall, covered a round stone well.

“Yes. It’s always been known as the wishing well.”

Maura had already started across the bridge. She paused near the well, glancing around. “It’s lovely here, so quiet and tranquil.”

Alec propped a hip on the stony wall of the well. “A matter of opinion. My mother finds
the well charming. It was bricked up for years, even in my grandfather’s time, I believe. My mother had it opened again when I was a boy.” He pointed to a stone bench on the other side of the clearing. “A bit solitary for my taste, but she finds it peaceful and sometimes comes here to read.”

Maura laughed. “I was just about to say that very thing!”

The well was perhaps six feet across, built up to about the level of her hips. She peered far down into the round opening, down the moss-laden sides that ended in shadow. “It’s dry,” she said in disappointment.

“I’m not surprised. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to make a wish here, since one never knows when it will fill with water.” He smiled slightly. “My sister and my cousin Caro used to wish upon stars. I often wondered why they never came here.”

“Perhaps they did,” Maura said.

“Possibly,” Alec said wryly, “but I think perhaps they simply wanted to stay up long into the night and bedevil their nurse or the rest of the household.”

He paused, as if in fond remembrance, Maura suspected.

“When the well does fill with water,” he said,
“by the next day it’s completely gone. It’s the oddest thing, but I believe it’s been that way for a number of generations.”

“Well, I find it just as charming as your mother,” Maura announced.

“Do you, now? Why do I have the feeling you merely wish your opinion to be contrary to mine?”

“Your statement, sir, not mine,” she retorted.

And one he chose to ignore. He held out his hand. “Come. The loch isn’t far. Just over the next rise.”

Maura hesitated. She didn’t want to take his hand. She didn’t want to touch him. Her response to him was too unpredictable. She couldn’t control it. The thought sprang wildly into her head that she couldn’t control him.

“Your grace?”

He beckoned with the tips of his fingers. The glint in his eyes was almost a dare.

He knew, damn him. He knew full well what he did to her.

Maura’s chin came up. Almost defiantly she placed her hand in his. Perhaps just as defiantly, his fingers curled hard around hers.

They walked in silence for a time, following a winding pathway through the forest. Sunlight played hide-and-seek through the treetops.

But all was forgotten when she caught her
first glimpse of the loch. Wooded hills rose on the opposite shore, their shadows reflected in the brilliant blue of the loch below.

She ran down the grassy hillside, exclaiming in delight. “A boathouse! Oh, and look at the dock!” She ran out farther, perching her hands on her hips, then pointing across to the hills. “The trees near the shoreline, the ones with the lovely, arching branches. Are they downy birch? And Scots pine higher on the hills?”

“They are.” Alec seemed pleased that she knew. “I’m glad to see there is something in Scotland that pleases you, Irish. You should see it in the autumn, when all the leaves are brilliant and gold. And in the springtime, with primroses and violets everywhere.”

Ah, but she wouldn’t be here in the autumn. Or the springtime.

Maura ignored the insistent little voice in her head. Plunking herself down near the end of the dock, she tugged off her slippers, peeled off her hose, hiked up her skirts and dangled her toes in the water. Feeling like a child again, she was unaware of the way Alec’s gaze alighted on her darned cotton stockings.

He sat down, long legs stretched out before him. Laughing, Maura aimed a splash at him with the bottom of one foot.

He ducked.

“What, your grace! You’re not the sort who wails at getting a bit damp, are you?”

This time he couldn’t evade the spray of water she sent his way.

With a peal of laughter, Maura leaned back on her hands. “Is there a boat in the boathouse?”

“Aye. And you are not to venture out alone in it,” he said sternly.

Maura pulled a face. “And you, your grace, are behaving like a stodgy old man.”

“Am I? Lovely as it is, my sister Anne and my cousin Caro once spent a very frightening night here on the loch when a sudden storm blew in. If you were alone, Irish, and I could not find you, I might think you’d been spirited away by a selkie.”

“By what?”

“A selkie. We Scots have our legends, too, you know. A selkie is a creature of the sea, with a seal-like skin. When he—or she—cast off their skin, they assume human form. A selkie-man is said to be a dashingly handsome creature, with extremely persuasive powers over women.”

“And would you be jealous, your grace, if I were to find myself smitten with a selkie-man?” She dipped her toes in the water, watching it dimple.

“I would be very jealous, Irish. And it occurs to me that perhaps you are a selkie-woman, come to bewitch me. You did tell me you grew up by the sea.”

Maura bit back a laugh. “You are hardly bewitched! You find me an annoyance rather than bewitching.”

“I was quite bewitched the night of the masquerade. And if you were to try, you might bewitch me once again.”

Maura’s pulse began to clamor.

“And far more easily than you think,” he added softly.

A dare or a jest? Her breath caught halfway in her throat. Unsettled by his lengthy regard, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his comment.

“But I would appreciate it if you would let someone know where you are.” He referred to her absence that morning. “I should hate to lose you so soon.”

Maura was annoyed. “I do not take kindly to being told what I may and may not do. Will you place me under watch if I refuse, your grace?”

“Tempt me not,” he said pleasantly.

“Then tell me not.”

A slow smile crept across his lips, “I will tell you this, then, Duchess. If I wished to keep you under
lock and key”—his tone was buttery smooth—“it would be in my bedchamber.”

Judging from his half smile, Maura decided it best not to pursue the subject. Ignoring him, she donned her slippers and hose.

Alec offered a hand up.

They were just crossing the stone bridge when he glanced over at her. “It occurs to me I’ve been remiss as a husband.”

He stopped her in her tracks. Maura’s gaze flew up to his. She could think of only one thing in which he had been remiss.

His smile was sly. Damnation! It was as if he traversed a road that led directly into her mind, the rogue!

“Our wedding being as hasty as it was, it occurs to me you had no time to assemble a trousseau.”

Maura blinked. “What?”

“A trousseau. It’s a bride’s—”

“I know very well what it is,” she interrupted. She might as well be blunt. “I have no need of one. I’m an Irish country lass at heart—”

“Who is now the Duchess of Gleneden.”

A pang of guilt shot through her. Well, she wasn’t, but…“Nor am I the sort to put myself on parade like some silly young debutante.”

“Well, of course there’s no need. You’re a married woman now. But it would please me
if you allow it to be my gift to my bride.” He went on, “I’ve business in Glasgow, and several other matters to attend to. If we start on our way early tomorrow, we can take the train from Tay into Glasgow. It’s an excellent place to buy what you need. Whatever you fancy. Anything you fancy.”

Maura kept her dismay at bay. With him gone, it was the perfect opportunity to search for the Circle!

“Truly, I prefer to remain here. I’ve hardly had the chance to feel at home here at Gleneden.”

“And you have years and years for that, Irish! Besides, what would people think if I left my bride so soon after our wedding? Someone might say I was a neglectful husband.”

Or that she was a neglectful wife.

She took a deep breath. “I really prefer to remain here at Gleneden.”

“Why?” It appeared it was his turn to be blunt.

Maura thrust her chin out. “I know what you are doing,” she said, her voice very low. “You are testing me. You think I wed you so that I could become a duchess, for the possessions I might gain. But I don’t want your title or your wealth. Or anything it can buy. In sum, sir, I won’t spend a single shilling of yours.”

A little voice in her mind reminded her of the
candlesticks and such that she’d given Murdoch only that morning. That was different, argued another voice. That was payment for what the Black Scotsman had stolen from the McDonough. That was for the people of McDonough. Not for her. Not for her own pleasure. She wanted nothing for herself.

“Now that,” Alec remarked dryly, “is simply being foolish. You are a duchess. You must dress accordingly.”

“A pity you find me so lacking, sir. I am sorry to embarrass you so.” The scathing look she bestowed on him was blunted by the tremor of her lips. The admission cost a bit of pride, but she held her head high. Stupidly, she felt the sting of tears burn the back of her throat.

“I said no such thing, Irish, and you know it. It is not a lack of breeding you suffer from.”