The Marriage Contract (2 page)

It rained almost
every day of the trip from London up into Scotland. Side roads were mired with mud up to a man’s knees, damp spring weather chilled a person to the bone, a broken coach wheel waylaid them for three days, bad food and uncomfortable beds met them at every stop—and Anne loved it all. This was the great adventure of her life.

She rode in Lady Waldo’s well-sprung coach with the Waldo coat of arms on the door and enjoyed the attention she received in passing villages. She’d not had so much freedom since her parents were alive and for the first time felt as if she were coming into her own. Marriage was a good thing.

When the “proper” maid Aunt Maeve had hired quit at the Scottish border because she’d decided she wanted nothing to do with “barbarians,” Anne wished the servant a good riddance. She would hire a maid when she arrived in Caithness. Meanwhile, Todd, Lady Waldo’s coachman, was more than com
pany enough. With the disapproving maid out of the way, his sense of humor and delight in the ridiculous came to the forefront and in spite of class distinctions he and Anne became co-explorers of the sights along the way.

Scotland’s beauty was beyond anything Anne could have imagined. She felt at home in the rugged landscape, the tall mountains, and green valleys. ’Twas was like discovering Paradise. She reveled in the isolation of the wild, untamed highlands.

Yes, the people could be standoffish, especially when they heard her English accent—but she quickly discovered that they could be generous, good-humored, and fair.

But sooner or later, they had to reach their destination. Still, Anne was not prepared when Todd cheerily informed her two days out of Inverness, “We’re within two days’ drive from Caithness. Mayhap one if I push it. We’ve got nice weather for travel, too. I like seeing a bit of sun.”

In the act of boarding the coach, Anne froze. “What did you say?”

“I said the weather’s clearing—”

“No, about arriving in Caithness today.”

Todd’s proud grin in his wizened face made him look a bit like a happy monkey. “I knew you’d be pleased for the news, Lady Tiebauld.”

“But I thought we’d have several days, maybe a week longer.”

He shook his head as if confused about where she
could ever have gained such a notion. “No, the road between here and Caithness is good. It follows the coast. You’ll enjoy the view, although I’d best keep my mind on the horses.”

“Oh. Yes.” Anne’s stomach twisted with anxiety. Tomorrow…maybe today.

She was tempted to turn tail and follow the snooty maid’s trail back to London. But she couldn’t. She had nowhere to go. Uncle Robert and Aunt Maeve wouldn’t want her back and her cousins would all laugh at her.

A moment later, Todd took all choice away when, with a snap of the reins and a happy whistle, he set the horses on the road.

How in the world was she going to break the news to her husband that they were married? How would she introduce herself?

The questions she should have considered earlier chased round and round in her head. She shunned the breathtaking cliff view of the North Sea crashing on rocks by dropping the canvas shade down over the window. She pulled the miniature and her marriage papers out of her embroidered purse. She’d rarely looked at either since leaving London, assuming she would worry about the matter tomorrow. Now, tomorrow was here.

With the avid attention of a legal clerk, she pored over each word of the contract—and found no answers as to how to smooth the initial introductions. She studied the miniature, trying to decipher the
mysteries of her husband’s personality. Was he kind? Gentle? Understanding?

The tiny painting gave away no secrets.

And what of the carnal side of marriage? Would he expect her in his bed the first night? She knew she must consummate the marriage. It was her bargain with Lady Waldo. But what if he took one look at her and sent her packing?

The possibility made Anne’s blood turn cold…especially since her knowledge of the intimacies between men and women was sketchy at best. What
really
did go on behind closed doors?

Worse, she’d been lazy this morning and worn her hair down with a simple ribbon. And she would have donned something other than her comfortable blue cambric if she’d thought she was to meet her husband.

Anne pulled the ribbon from her hair and shook hair pins out of her reticule. She’d put it up and then make Todd stop the coach so she could change clothes—

The coach came to an abrupt halt. It started to back up and shake. Todd shouted. Anne lifted the canvas covering the window. On one side of the road, they hovered on a cliff, high above the rocky coastline of the powerful North Sea. To their other side were rough terrain, grouse, and ravines. This didn’t seem to be a safe place to fuss with the horses.

At that moment, she heard what sounded like a woman’s shriek, and yet it wasn’t. She didn’t have
time to consider the problem before the horses reared, screaming. Todd called them “bastards.” He struggled to control them. Anne stuffed her marriage papers back into the purse and leaned against the velvet seats, clutching the miniature in one hand. If Todd didn’t get a handle on the horses, they could plunge the coach over the edge of the cliffs.

Todd swore long and colorfully. Anne could imagine him practically standing in the box, pulling on the reins. The coach tilted, almost rolling over. She threw her weight to the other side. She didn’t want to die. Not this way.

There was a bump and she knew one of the wheels had gone over the edge of the road.
Dear God!

“Yah!” Todd shouted just as the hair-raising shriek cut through the air again.
What was it?

The coach heaved and she felt all four wheels bounce back on the road. She gulped for breath, but then the horses bolted, dragging the coach across the hilly country on the other side of the road.

It all happened in the wink of an eye. One second, they were at a standstill; the next, Anne could imagine herself flying. Up, down, the coach rocked this way and that. She was thrown from the seat, her legs tangled in her skirts, her arms doing everything they could to protect her from injury, which was silly, because she and Todd were going to die; she knew it. These were her last moments on earth.

And she’d never gotten to meet her husband.

Perhaps it was wise she hadn’t bothered preparing an introduction.

Todd cursed, unable to bring the horses under control. He yelled, “I’m cutting them loose. Hold on! Hold on!” Before she could grab a handhold of anything, a great cracking and splintering reverberated through the coach. The horses thundered off in one direction. The coach went rolling over and over itself in another before coming to a shattering halt.

Anne opened her eyes. It took several minutes before she could place her surroundings. She lay in a jumbled heap on the coach floor. No, it wasn’t the floor. The heavy coach lay on its side and one door had been ripped off. That was why she could see the sky.

She was still alive…although she sensed she’d been unconscious.

Gingerly, she took an inventory of her person. Other than a few bumps and scrapes, she seemed to be all right.

But why was the world so silent?

“Todd?”

Nothing.

She made herself sit up. Every bone in her body had been rattled from its sockets. Her hair was a tangled mess and the sleeve of her blue cambric was torn. Carefully, she came to her feet. The coach rocked a bit. She took a moment to shake her skirts down and then stuck her head up through the open door. “Todd?”

Still no answer.

The coach had landed in a gully surrounded by shrubs and a few spiny junipers and gorse. The wheels were split and broken. Her trunk, which had been tied to the top of the coach, had vanished, but her scarves, dresses, and other possessions were strewn all over the hillside. Her lacy formal petticoat, caught on the black gorse, flapped like a pennant in the breeze at the top of the hill. If she didn’t hurry it would soon be gone.

Todd was nowhere to be seen. The eeriness of such quiet sent a chill up her spine and she warned her fanciful imagination to remain practical.

Perhaps Todd had left to search for help. Yes, that was it. He wouldn’t leave her alone for any other reason.

She levered herself up and out of the coach, pausing a moment to sit and pull the lopsided ribbon from her thick, heavy hair. It fell to her waist and she absently braided it with her fingers and tied it off. Then she decided to collect her clothes and wait for Todd.

Anne jumped to the ground, wincing as pain shot up her ankle, but she wasn’t going to stop and rest. Her goal was to rescue her petticoat. It was a way of establishing normalcy in a world turned upside down. She hoped Todd would not be gone long.

The ground was rough. She stumbled as she climbed to reach that bit of white muslin and lace. With her luck, it was probably torn. She was a few feet from the petticoat when she almost stepped on Todd. The ground dipped to a hollow place and
there he was, his head tilted at an odd angle, his eyes staring at the sky without seeing.

He was dead.

Anne gave a small cry and stumbled back, losing her footing, and almost tumbling down on her rump. At that moment, a shriek rent the air, the same one that had spooked the horses.

She scrambled toward the petticoat, her thought being that whatever it was wanted the coach. Not her. It didn’t want her—and for good measure, she told herself so twice.

Almost convinced, she reached the top of the hill, put her hand on the petticoat, and found herself eyeball-to-eyeball with a wildcat.

Anne didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so ferociously dangerous in her life. The creature had the general form of a yellow tabby, but was three times the size, with teeth that looked as if they could tear open a bull. The cat’s yellow eyes took her measure and then it licked its chops.

She knew she was about to be dinner. She cowered just as the cat’s gaze shifted to a point past her shoulder. It hissed and crouched with an angry growl.

From behind her, a voice as deep as Mephistopheles’ said, “Don’t move.”

Anne’s heart stopped. She’d thought herself alone…

So: who stood behind?

She turned and found herself looking—not at
Todd’s ghost, but at something more startling. Less than an arm’s length behind her stood a mythic Celtic warrior, over six feet tall and with shoulders so broad they blocked the sun.

He wore a kilt of forest green cloth, rough suede boots, and nothing else. Muscles banded his chest. His legs appeared carved of solid oak. Bits of leaves and twigs clung to his dark shaggy hair, which hung down to his shoulders. But most frightening of all was the vivid blue paint covering his face and the sharp, wicked knife in his hand.

Anne screamed at the same moment the cat attacked.

“Bloody hell,” the warrior said, and unceremoniously pushed Anne’s head to the ground.

The wildcat leaped past her and sank its claws into the Celt’s shoulder. Real blood appeared. She could smell it. He was no ghost but flesh and bone.

For a second, man and animal struggled over her head and then his hand holding the knife lifted and he buried it in the animal’s back. The wildcat jerked spasmodically, but continued to fight. They fell to the ground, mere feet from her, and battled to the death.

Terrified, she watched, not knowing which she wanted to win. The scene reminded her of a picture she’d once seen of the mighty Hercules fighting a lion. The very earth seemed to shake from their struggle.

Again the knife blade appeared and the warrior stabbed the writhing cat over and over until at last the animal went still.

Anne released the breath she’d been holding. She was crying. Silly. She never cried. And yet she’d been doing it without realizing it. She swiped at her eyes.

The warrior moved. He turned his head and looked right at her. In the evening light, his eyes burned brightly. They assessed her critically, and Anne had one clear thought: now might be a good time to leave.

Carefully, awkwardly, she got to her feet. He rose with her, his movements easy, almost graceful for such a large man. He lifted the knife.

Anne froze, expecting him to plunge it into her heart. Instead, he bent to wipe the blood off his blade against the cat’s fur.

Her gaze on his bowed back, Anne edged one step away and then the other. He turned to her and she stopped, her feet suddenly glued to the ground.

“Are you all right?”

She took a full minute to comprehend that he’d spoken to her, and she couldn’t reply. Her mouth refused to form words. Even if he was human, such a man could be capable of
anything.
She took another step in the direction of the coach.

“I’ve been hunting this animal for hours,” he explained as if she’d asked the question. “A sheep killer. A cat like this is too dangerous to leave free.”

He spoke the King’s English with a trace of a brogue but she wasn’t going to chitchat with him about it. Instead, she hiked her skirts and took off running for the shelter and safety of the coach.

“Wait!” he shouted.

From the shadows surrounding the overturned vehicle stepped two men dressed in the same half-naked, blue-faced fashion of the warrior. They weren’t as huge or powerful, but they appeared just as disreputable.

She skidded to a halt. Were they men? Or devils?

Anne didn’t think; she reacted, swerving away from them. Her foot almost tripped over a hefty piece of wood broken off from the coach’s crash. She scooped it up, hefting its weight in her hand.

“What is the matter with you, lass?” the shorter of the two warriors asked. His was the strong lilting brogue she’d come to expect from the highlanders.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warned, holding her stick like a club.

“And who are you, lass, to be threatening us?” the older one demanded belligerently. The carrot-red of his hair and sparse beard were a comical contrast to the blue paint. His clean-shaven, blue-faced companion was much younger, with brown curling hair covering not only his head but his chest and back. It was all very unnerving.