Sleepless in Scotland (14 page)

The carriage soon rolled back into motion and they were under way again. Triona peeked out the window and watched MacLean cantering alongside, the wind ruffling his dark hair beneath his hat. His eyes were as bright as the ruby that gleamed on her finger, and the firm line of his chin gave her pause. It gave her the distinct impression that he didn’t negotiate—ever.

Triona sat back in her seat. At first she’d wondered about MacLean’s insistence on the physical aspect of their marriage, but no more. Since it was highly unlikely she’d ever marry again, it was a good thing she would be able to experience lovemaking—at least for a short while. It would be a pity never to have that.

So far, she’d enjoyed it more than she’d thought possible. Smiling, she snuggled into the corner, the blanket toasty warm about her as she did as Hugh had bid, and fell asleep.

The next couple of days passed much as the first. MacLean began each day in the carriage with Triona, but the sexual tension between them became more and more palpable. After a short time he’d leave the carriage and ride beside it, staying there until he was so exhausted that all he could do was sleep once he was inside.

Of course, that did nothing for Triona’s state of mind, and she discovered that one could lust after a man even while he was sound asleep, and even snoring a bit. Lust was a very, very mysterious thing.

After a while, Triona grew tired of sitting and being jounced in the carriage alone. Worse, as the terrain took on a craggier, wilder look, she began to feel homesick. She missed her brothers and sisters. She missed their noisy breakfasts, and their good-natured arguments, and everything else.

She also found herself worrying about how comfortable she’d feel at Gilmerton Manor. Would she ever feel as at home as she did at the vicarage?

Heart heavy, she wished she’d thought to bring a book, for she desperately needed something to redirect her mind.

They traveled through the first two nights, stopping only for a quick meal and, once, a blissfully hot bath. They were making good time because they changed the horses from Hugh’s private stock along the route. On the third night, a cloudy sky kept them from pressing on and they stopped at an inn, for which she was profoundly grateful. Her back and legs ached from traveling, and even when they stopped, she felt as if she were still inside the rocking carriage, the earth moving beneath her feet. Exhausted, she fell asleep over her dinner twice and didn’t even awaken when MacLean carried her to their room and tucked her into bed. She awoke in the early-morning darkness to a bed warmed by his body, though he had already risen and dressed. As soon as it was light, they were on their way.

Shortly after dark on the fourth day, they finally arrived at Gilmerton Manor. As they turned a bend in the winding country road, Triona caught sight of her future home, the moon lighting it in ghostly silver.

The manor perched on a treeless hill, three stories tall with a myriad of windows. Dark and menacing under the stark light of the moon, it seemed to glare down at her, and she shivered as she noted that only a few windows on the lowest floor were aglow with welcoming light.

Astride Shadow, Hugh looked at Gilmerton with an entirely different emotion. He was home. Finally.

Shadow clearly felt the same, for he kicked a bit and trotted smartly up the drive. Hugh laughed as he pulled the horse to a stop at the wide, red door, and swung down with a sense of pride. The house was spacious, well-built, and solid, the way Hugh liked things: a stately building of classic and simple design.

The door swung open and a tall woman dressed in a housekeeper’s gown and apron came bustling out. Following her were the footmen, Angus and Liam, carrying lanterns on poles to light the portico.

Mrs. Wallis frowned. “Och, milord! We weren’t expectin’ ye fer another two weeks! ’Tis a good thing your bedchamber is already made up.”

“I would have sent word, but circumstances hastened my return.”

The coach came to a halt by the portico, and Ferguson hopped down and immediately went to help Triona out of the coach. Mrs. Wallis’s eyes widened; Hugh never brought guests to Gilmerton.

Triona didn’t seem to notice Mrs. Wallis’s avid attention. Pale and wan, her hair half-pinned with long strands falling unnoticed down her back, her clothing wrinkled, she seemed too exhausted to take in her surroundings at all. Hugh’s heart softened. She appeared so weary and, standing before the house, so very small.

Though she held Ferguson’s arm, she stumbled a bit when her feet touched the ground. Hugh strode to her side, placed an arm about her waist, and helped her to the steps. “Mrs. Wallis, this is Lady Caitriona MacLean, your new mistress.”

“Wha—?” Mrs. Wallis gaped while both footmen gawked. “La—ye mean—when did—I—” She flushed a deep red and sank into a curtsey. “Och, milady, ’tis very good to meet ye! Welcome to Gilmerton!”

Triona managed a smile, leaning upon Hugh’s arm. “Thank you. I’m a bit fatigued from my journey, or I’d ask for a tour of the house.” She gave a rueful grimace. “I fear that I couldn’t manage all of the stairs just now. I’ve been sitting in the coach for four days.”

“Only four days to come from Londontown?” The housekeeper pinned an accusing gaze on Hugh. “Ye didna stop fer nothin’, did ye?”

“We were in a hurry.”

“Aye, so I see. The poor thing must be exhausted! Why don’t ye show her to her bedchamber, and I’ll bring up a pot o’ tea and some butteries.”

“Butteries?” Triona asked.

“Aberdeen rolls,” he explained.

She just blinked up at him, and Mrs. Wallis offered, “Sweet, soft rolls, milady. Ye’ll like me butteries.” She looked Triona up and down with a critical eye. “Ye London misses never eat enough, though ye seem better filled out than most I’ve seen.”

“Thank you.”

Hugh hugged her to his side and smiled. “Mrs. Wallis thinks we’re all wasting away. It’s one of her more charming flaws.”

“Hmph. If ye’d eat when ye should, I wouldna have to say something! Never fear, milady, we’ll have ye fattened up in no time.” The housekeeper turned and marched inside. “Come, now! A little food and then it’s off to bed with you.”

Triona glanced up at Hugh. “I would like a bath, too.”

“Of course!” Mrs. Wallis said over her shoulder as she headed across the grand hallway to the stairs. “Angus, off to the kitchen. Tell the staff we’ve a new mistress and she wishes a bath immediately.”

Hugh and Triona climbed the stairs after the housekeeper, who explained the various pieces of weaponry and art that adorned the huge stairwell. Hugh could tell that Triona wasn’t taking any of it in. Her face was pinched and pale, her shoulders slumped, and each step seemed to take her longer than the last.

As they reached the top of the first flight, Triona stumbled and would have fallen except that Hugh swung her up into his arms. She murmured a protest, her head resting against his shoulder, her arms clasped about his neck.

After a concerned glance back, Mrs. Wallis nodded her approval, then hurried to open Hugh’s bedchamber door.

Hugh savored his role of “rescuer extraordinaire” as he carried his tired bride. He had an idea that such acquiescence was rare, and he’d best enjoy it while he could.

A gentleman would give his exhausted new bride some privacy on her first night in a strange house after a strenuous journey, but this was his wife, by God, and he’d already been more patient than any man he knew. If he had to put up with the aspects of being married that he didn’t like, he’d at least enjoy the ones he did.

Mrs. Wallis plumped up a pillow on the settee by the huge fireplace. “I’ll go and see to the butteries and the hot water.”

“Thank you.” The familiar large room was a welcome sight with its royal blue hangings, comfortable fireplace, red and green carpet, and heavy furnishings of rich, dark wood. Ignoring the settee, Hugh placed Triona on the bed. “Rest until food and the bath arrive.”

She relaxed against the pillows and her lashes fanned her cheeks as she closed her eyes. Hugh’s gaze drifted over her determined chin to the delicate line of her neck, then down to the soft rise and fall of her breasts—

A flash of lust slammed into him and he turned away, disgruntled that it took so little.

As her breathing evened out, her lips parted and her face turned to one side. She looked so young, snuggled there among his pillows, her hair tangled about her, faint purple smudges under her eyes attesting to her deep weariness.

Hugh found himself brushing her hair from her forehead. As his fingers slid over her smooth skin, something flickered in the region of his heart.
Sympathy,
he told himself.
She has to be exhausted and concerned for her future. I only hope that when she finds out how things really are here, she will not disrupt my life or anyone else’s.
He hoped for that, more than anything.

He sighed, weary to the bone but wide awake. He would inform Mrs. Wallis that the butteries and hot water should wait while Caitriona rested. After an hour’s nap, she’d be able to eat her dinner and bathe before settling in for a good night’s sleep.

Perhaps, while he was downstairs, he’d retire to the library for some port before he came to bed. Otherwise he’d never sleep, and if there was the one thing he needed, it was a deep, unconscious sleep—especially with his innocent temptress of a wife within reach. In the morning, when she awoke…

He smiled and tucked the blankets about her. Then, still smiling, he quietly left.

Chapter 9

“If ye ever find yerself with a MacLean, avoid his green gaze. ’Tis said they’ve but to look at a woman to capture her heart, and ’tis always good to be careful.”

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER’S NIGHT

A
n hour later as Hugh left the library, he noticed the sitting-room door was thrown wide, the lights inside softly glowing. He glanced in and stopped at the sight of a pair of boots stretched out toward the fireplace.

They were especially fine boots of soft Italian leather, shimmering with a polish not usually found off St. James Street. The heels were specially crafted and etched with silver, while ebony tassels hung from the white tops, the acknowledged footwear of a dandy. Judging by the sheen of the man’s breeches, the rest of the man appeared to be just as well dressed.

Hugh strode into the room. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

The man in the chair sipped the port he’d been cradling in a large glass. “Is that any way to greet a brother?” he asked in a languid voice.

Hugh frowned. “Where are the girls?”

“Abed, where they belong.”

“Then nothing happened—”

“Your daughters are safe. Even now, they are guarded by seven of my best men.”

Hugh sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Dougal. It’s been a hell of a week, and I received that letter right before I left—”

“I know! It worried me, as well. That’s why all of my best men are there. I would never allow anything to happen to my nieces.”

Hugh managed a smile. “Thank you. Sorry to be so on edge.” He glanced around. “Where’s Sophia?”

“My lovely wife left for Edinburgh this afternoon to escort her father to see a specialist.”

“Red is ill?”

“He merely has a case of gout, but Sophie fusses over him as if he were a baby.” Dougal smiled, his gaze softening. “She won’t be gone long; she is never happy away from me.”

“Away from MacFarlane Manor, you mean. I never saw a woman love a house more.”

“And who can blame her? It’s not as impressive in size as this monstrosity, but definitely more elegant.”

“And more expensive.”

Dougal lifted his brows. “Oh? Are you suffering some sort of reverses? The last I heard, you were the wealthy one.”

“Alexander has more than all of us together.”

“He inherited his fortune; the rest of us have had to make our own money. You through your blessed horses, and me through my skill at the table.”

“I never thought of card playing as a skill.”

“Ah, but you’ve never played me.”

“And never will.”

Dougal smoothed the sleeve of his coat of blue superfine. “Don’t trust me?”

“Not with cards, women, or my port.”

“That’s only prudent.”

Hugh returned to the original subject. “If you are not returning the girls, why are you here?”

“I saw you gallop by and thought I would welcome you home.”

“You couldn’t have seen me; it was dark.” Hugh went to the sideboard, retrieved an empty glass from a silver salver, and poured himself a goodly measure of port.

“It wasn’t too dark for you to ride.”

“I was on the open road with the moon overhead, while you had to peer through the trees that surround your house. You couldn’t have seen me,” he repeated.

Dougal shrugged and took a sip of his port. “Then perhaps I heard the coach.”

“Or perhaps you’re still paying that ramshackle footman of mine to spy for you.”

“Liam is a good man,” Dougal protested.

“To you.” He’d have to talk to his footman again. The problem was, Dougal was so damned good at making things seem right even when one knew they weren’t. When he and Dougal were younger, that had gotten Hugh in trouble time after time.

Dougal regarded Hugh from beneath his lashes. “If you were more forthcoming, I wouldn’t have to hire a spy to learn things. Such as the interesting fact that my dear brother has returned from London with a
wife
?”

Hugh’s jaw tightened, but he returned no reply. He’d just spent the last hour trying not to think about the woman currently gracing his bedchamber and he didn’t welcome Dougal’s prying attentions into that very situation.

Hugh had already downed a glass of port in the library in an attempt to soothe the edges off his lust and exhaustion—a bad combination on the best of days. He quickly finished off the rest of his newly filled glass and then refilled it.