“Since before dawn.” His fingers brushed lightly against her skin and her breath caught “Lift your hair. I don’t want to catch it in the zipper.”
She reached back and lifted the braid. The metallic rasp of the zipper sounded very loud to her ears. “There’s a little hook at the top,” she said.
“Aye. It’s done.”
She let the braid fall between her shoulder blades and stepped away from him, feeling terribly disappointed. If last night had meant anything at all to him, you wouldn’t know it by his manner. “How’s everything going?” she asked. “Are the tables set up?”
“The staff is very efficient,” he said. “Robby supervised the outdoor crew and they had everything ready an hour ago.”
“I’m sure Mag is keeping a close eye on the kitchen help.”
“You’ll have to find out for yourself, Samantha. No man would dare invade her territory today.”
Sam laughed. “She is protective of her kitchen, isn’t she?”
“Aye. I couldn’t believe she allowed you to use it.”
“Mag and I have reached an accommodation.”
“She likes you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sam said, pleased despite herself.
“I saw her sampling your potato salad.”
“You’re joking!”
“Ask her,” he said.
“I will.”
Sam loved the banter but she had the sense that he was using it to avoid what they’d shared the night before. Which told Sam much more than she wanted to know about the real state of their marriage.
Better to know where you stand, Sam. That way you won’t get hurt.
She could enjoy making love with him, raising their child together.
But if she was looking for a real marriage, the kind that was based on love—well, that was the one thing she’d never have.
* * *
THERE WAS SO MUCH Duncan wanted to say to his bride, but it would have to wait until after the party. Their neighbors had begun to arrive an hour ago and Robby said they’d been asking for the newlyweds. Tonight, after the dancing and the music, would be time enough for him to show her how he felt. How he’d always felt.
“Does this dress look okay?” his beautiful wife asked as she stood before him. She had changed from the yellow dress to a blue one then back again to the yellow.
“You’re a bonny lass,” he said, knowing how far short of reality his meager words fell.
“The dress,” she said again, placing her hands on her belly. “Maybe I should change into something else.”
“It’s perfect,” he said. As perfect as you are. “Our guests are waiting for us, Samantha.”
She took another long look at herself in the mirror then shuddered. “This is terrible.”
“You’ll outshine the sun.”
She met his eyes and started to laugh. “You’ll say anything to keep me from changing my clothes again, won’t you?”
“Aye,” he said. “I will.”
“All right,” she said, smoothing the skirt of her soft yellow dress, “let it be on your head when your friends whisper about your poor choice in wives.”
She said it lightly but he thought he caught the slightest hint of real insecurity. It baffled him. How could she look in the mirror and see less than the goddess he saw?
They went downstairs and through the kitchen. The yard out back had been set up with tables and chairs, tents, grills, all manner of things necessary for party giving.
“It looks like the entire town is out there,” Sam said.
“You invited them,” he reminded her. “This was your idea.”
“Tell me again why I thought it was such a good one,” Sam said as they approached the door.
“Don’t be nervous. Half the town already knows and loves you. Once the other half meets you, they’ll love you, too.”
She cupped the swell of her belly with her hands and he knew what she was thinking. This is for the baby.
And it was. He wouldn’t deny that. But it was also about the two of them. She would know that tonight when he gave her the ring.
* * *
SAM’S NERVOUSNESS vanished the second they stepped outside. The warmth of their welcome far surpassed the late July sunshine as they were greeted by their happy, laughing neighbors. Sam was swept off in a crowd of women and girls, all of whom wanted to know everything there was to know about her marriage to Duncan and the baby they were expecting.
In her old life back in Houston, Sam would have been looking for the nearest escape hatch. Business situations were easy for her. Social situations were anything but. Yet there she was, surrounded by scores of people she barely knew, and she felt happier and more at ease than she had in years. The good women of Glenraven showered her with advice about her baby. Everything from morning sickness to false labor to teething—they covered it all. Sam’s head was spinning with information, and she was thankful when the lawn games began and they all rushed off to play. She took the opportunity to slip into the house for a moment’s rest and a tall glass of very cold water.
Duncan followed her into the kitchen. “Is something wrong?”
“Just thirsty,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be out there, running around with everybody?”
“A man needs his own cheering section for inspiration.”
She took a long sip of water. “Cheering is about as much as I can do.”
“And it’s all I’ll ask for now.”
What a strange remark. She looked at him carefully. The same face, the same glorious features. But something was different. Some essential ingredient had changed, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.
* * *
SAM’S POTATO SALAD turned out to be an enormous success with her Glenraven neighbors.
“Have you any more of this?” asked Gordon Thornton, the local banker. “I’ve never tasted its like.”
“I’d love the recipe, Samantha,” said Elizabeth Macfadden, wife of the town eccentric. “I’d serve it at the next church gathering.”
Sam, whose culinary skills were extremely limited, preened over the compliments.
“You were right, lassie,” Old Mag said as the two of them went inside to fill more serving bowls. “Your American salad is disappearing.”
Sam almost passed out cold on the kitchen floor. Old Mag had admitted she was human, after all. “It’s one of the few things I can cook, Mag. I was praying it would go over well.”
“And your chili,” Mag went on, shaking her head. “I think they starved themselves for a week before comin’ here, the way they swarmed about the tables.”
Sam laughed as she took the rest of the potato salad out of the refrigerator. “They have been eating a lot, haven’t they?” She met Mag’s eyes. “Seems to me they made quick work of your contributions, too. Your sausages disappeared the second we put them on the table.”
“Ach,” Mag mumbled, obviously pleased by Sam’s compliment. “They fear my evil tongue if they don’t eat my food.”
The two women worked well together. The weeks of party planning had somehow bonded them, and Sam was delighted with the outcome. Mag and Robby were Duncan’s surrogate parents. They fussed over him, chided him and occasionally even ordered him around, and now they were doing that to Sam, as well. She had the feeling there was no greater acceptance.
“We still haven’t heard all the details about your wedding,” William Dixon’s wife, Sally, said as they all dug into their plates of cake and ice cream.
Sam met Duncan’s eyes. “There isn’t that much to tell,” she said, wondering how she was going to manage to sidestep the truth.
“Love at first sight,” Duncan said.
Sam’s breath caught in her throat. He said it so easily, so naturally, that if she didn’t know better she might believe him. “We—well, we didn’t know each other very long when we, um, when we decided to get married.” Every word she said was true, but it sounded as if she was piecing it
together from whole cloth.
“Samantha thought our Duncan was a pilot,” William Dixon said to everyone’s amusement. “She hired him to fly her someplace and they had that crash alongside the loch.”
“You still owe me, lassie,” Duncan said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “A deal’s a deal.”
They all laughed except for Sam. That’s what their marriage was, wasn’t it? A deal between two strangers who just happened to be expecting a baby together.
She patted her stomach. “Don’t worry,” she said in what she hoped was a lighthearted tone. “I think you’ll like the compensation.”
That got another roar of laughter from their friends.
“I wish you’d waited to marry here in Glenraven,” one of the women said. “It’s been a long time since we saw a beautiful wedding in the chapel.”
“You should have let us be part of it,” said another woman. “I can’t believe you’d deny us the pleasure.”
Duncan handled it better than she ever could. “That’s why we’re having this party, Annie. This is our celebration.”
“And we’ll have an even bigger party for the baby’s christening,” Sam promised. “The biggest you’ve ever seen.”
“No more talking,” Robby called out. “Time for the dancing to begin.”
As if on cue, she heard the skirl of bagpipes, followed by the sight of five kilted pipers marching over the hill. Down through the centuries, how many other Stewart wives had stood where she was standing and seen the same thrilling sight? She felt connected to each and every one of them.
“Let’s dance Strip the Willow,” Lucy from the Heather and the Thistle suggested.
“No,” said Duncan, his arm still draped around Sam’s shoulders. “An eightsome reel.”
Lucy looked disappointed but she nodded.
“Why the eightsome reel over Strip the Willow?” Sam asked him.
“Because you’re pregnant, lassie. Strip the Willow downs the strongest of us.”
There was little she could say to that. She hadn’t a clue what any of the dances entailed.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” she admitted as the music swelled around them.
“You’ll learn soon enough.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
“Americans square-dance, don’t they?”
“Not every American,” she said, laughing. “But most Texans do.”
“Then you’ll have no trouble.”
“We’ll see about that,” she murmured. At least they called square dances. Here in Scotland you were expected to actually know what you were doing.
To Sam it seemed like a cross between a line dance and a square dance, but the effect was one hundred percent Scottish. Men in kilts spun past her, in tartans of red and green and black. One young father held his baby daughter to his shoulder as he danced, imprinting the traditions of a proud nation in her memory. This time next year the proud father would be Duncan.
The eightsome reel was easy to grasp, and before Sam knew it, she’d relaxed enough to actually enjoy herself.
She had Duncan to thank for that. Every time they came together she had the sense she was flying, as if her feet had somehow left the ground and she was suspended by happiness alone.
“We should do this every week,” she said to him as they spun in tune to the lively music. “Make it a tradition.”
His smile was wider and more open than she’d ever seen it. “And what about when you’re seven months along? What then?”
“Then I’ll watch everyone else dance,” she said, laughing with the sheer delight of music and movement.
“You’re having a good time?”
“A wonderful time. In fact, if I—” She stopped as she realized he wasn’t listening to her. He was looking over her right shoulder in the direction of the path that curved up the hill to the castle. So were Old Mag and Robby and at least a dozen other people. “Duncan,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. She turned in time to see a small, curvy woman climb from a black car. The woman wore a pale blue suit that hugged her tiny waist and round hips. She walked toward them with the kind of feline grace that always made Sam feel big and clumsy. This time was no exception.
“Do you know her?” she asked. “Who is she?”
But he wasn’t listening to her. He dropped his arm from her shoulders and moved toward the woman in the blue suit.
“Duncan!” Sam started after him but Old Mag pulled her back.
“Don’t follow him,” the housekeeper said. “He will take care of the likes of her.”
A terrible sense of foreboding filled Sam’s chest. “Who is she, Mag?” she asked quietly, certain of the answer.
“Ach, lassie.” Tears filled Old Mag’s faded blue eyes. “That’s the one who broke his heart.”
* * *
“DARLING!” Lana walked toward Duncan with her arms outstretched. “It’s been so long.”
Duncan stopped short. He had no need of her touch. “Lana,” he said, aware of the curious glances all around him. “Why are you here?”
“Such a greeting.” Lana’s gaze swept the crowd, obviously seeking an adoring fan upon whom to hang her hopes. “I expected a much warmer hello than that.”
He refused to be pulled into that old and dangerous game. “Then you must be disappointed,” he said mildly. Not one of the party guests had made a move to say hello to his ex-wife.
She dissembled prettily, acting as if he’d greeted her with a kiss. “A party, is it?” she asked, tilting her dark head in the direction of the music.
He turned away from Lana and toward Sam, who was watching him with serious blue eyes. She stepped forward and took her place by his side.
“Duncan?” Lana asked, unable to mask the sharp note of curiosity in her voice. “What’s the occasion?”
Duncan took Sam’s hand in his. “Our wedding,” he said.
The color seemed to drain from Lana’s face, and he was not above feeling a certain satisfaction.
“Oh, dear,” Lana said, as her eyes slid over Sam then moved back to Duncan. “This certainly does complicate matters.”
Duncan felt an uneasy pinch deep inside his gut. “We’ll talk inside,” he said, pitching his voice low so only Sam and Lana could make out his words.
“I’m not alone,” Lana said. “Bryce is in the car.”
Duncan felt his jaw harden into concrete. “And Bryce is—”
Lana’s face glowed with studied brightness. “My love!” she said, opening her arms wide. “The man of my dreams.”
Duncan refrained from pointing out that she had felt that way about at least three other men, himself included. It didn’t matter to him whether or not she’d found the man of her dreams. All that mattered was getting this over with as soon as possible.
Lana motioned toward the car and a tall, lanky man with ginger-colored hair unfolded himself from the passenger seat and climbed out. He seemed all arms and legs as he ambled toward them.
“Do you have the car keys, darling?” she asked, all sweetness and concern.
The man shook his head. “I left them on the seat.”
“Well, no matter,” Lana said. But Duncan knew her well enough to see the signs of irritation that would later erupt into anger. She tossed her head, sending her dark hair drifting away from her face, then linked arms with the man next to her. “This is Bryce Stephenson.”
Duncan extended his right hand. “Duncan Stewart.”
“A pleasure.” Bryce clasped Duncan’s hand and the two of them stood there for a moment, locked in some kind of macho combat.
Duncan finally put an end to the stupidity. If he thought Duncan envied the man his future with Lana, then Stephenson was sorely mistaken. The only thing Duncan felt for the man was pity. He draped an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “This is my wife, Samantha.”
Stephenson’s long jaw opened then closed quickly like a marionette’s. He looked at Lana, who was observing all of th
em with spider-like interest. “His wife?” he asked.
Lana placed a slender hand on the forearm of her latest victim. “We’ll talk about it inside.”
“Duncan.” Samantha’s voice was high and tight, not her usual low, sweet drawl. “We have guests who would love to get back to that eightsome reel.”
Lana’s eyebrows arched at the sound of Samantha’s voice. “An American?” she asked, meeting Duncan’s eyes. “How interesting.”
The look he gave her stopped any further comment on her part.
He broke away from their group and called for attention. “Where’s the music?” he bellowed. “I’d say it was time to Strip the Willow, wouldn’t you?”
He motioned for the pipers to launch into their next song, and moments later the lawn was filled with happy, wildly dancing men and women.
He turned to Samantha, Lana and the ginger-haired man. “The library,” he said, then took his bride’s arm and headed inside.
* * *
FOR A SECOND, Sam considered pulling away from her husband and running as far and fast as she possibly could, but reason got the better of her. Whatever this was, the odds were she couldn’t outrun it, no matter how hard she tried.
Anger rolled off Duncan in waves. Stephenson’s confusion was almost palpable. Only Lana seemed in control of the situation. A fact that terrified Sam. What on earth could she possibly want with Duncan at this late date? It was obvious she wasn’t looking for a reconciliation. Not if you could judge by the golfball-size diamond on her left ring finger. Still, the look of shock on both her face and Stephenson’s when they heard about Duncan’s marriage was unmistakable. Why would they care?
She felt almost dizzy with apprehension by the time they all found seats in the library.
Duncan was the first to speak. “What do you want, Lana?”
His ex-wife neatly crossed her left leg over her right then leaned forward. It wasn’t hard to see why she was a movie star in Europe. She had that exotic, almost catlike allure that would translate beautifully on screen. Tiny, perfectly sculpted features, small bones, enormous brown eyes that dominated her face. A searing image of Lana’s perfect little body moving sensuously atop Duncan’s caused Sam to look away so no one noticed the angry red flush staining her face.
Operation Page 17
