by Julia London
“I donna see at all,” Mr. MacLaren said, clearly annoyed with the reasoning.
“It’s evident, is it no’? The dukes and whatno’, they rarely marry for love. They marry for connections, they do. And a dukedom is so important for future heirs. He couldna marry just anyone, could he? He had to marry a woman with important social connections, which, of course, the Guinnes had until their unfortunate death in the fire.”
Catriona blanched. She set aside her tea, feeling queasy.
“That was her reasoning?” Uncle Knox asked, clearly perturbed. “She determined she’d not married for love, and that she must try again?”
“She expressed her misgivings to her husband, and though he didna care for her decision to separate and live freely, he nevertheless honored his vows to her. Naturally, she soon realized what she’d left behind and, in her own words, came crawling back to Blackthorn Hall to beg for his forgiveness.”
Bloody snake came slinking back, that’s what.
“This is the point, then,” Mr. MacLaren said. “MacGill, that old harridan, bluntly inquired what the lady supposed her husband would do, now that she’d come crawling back.”
“Mrs. MacGill didna inquire so bluntly,” his wife chastised him. “But the duchess was contrite in her response, the poor dear.”
The poor dear! Catriona bit down on her tongue to keep from saying her thoughts aloud.
“She said she didna know what would happen, if he’d even allow her to stay or turn her out after what she’d done, but that she would strive each and every day to earn his forgiveness. If you ask me, the duchess is to be commended for taking responsibility for her bad behavior, is she no’? We all make mistakes, aye? Marriage can be verra hard.”
“What? It’s no’ been the least bit hard for me,” MacLaren said, to which his wife rolled her eyes at Catriona.
“If you ask me, the one to be commended here is no’ Lady Montrose, but the duke,” Mr. MacLaren continued. “I’ve new respect for him, I do. He’s weathered the terrible things said about him with his head held high, that he has. A finer man you’d no’ meet.”
“You believed he had something to do with her disappearance, or have you forgotten?” Uncle Knox challenged his friend.
“Pardon?” MacLaren said, startled. “Did I? Well, he’s proven me quite wrong, has he no’? I told Caithness just yesterday that a finer man he’d no’ find for the seat in the Lords and to cast his vote in favor. No’ a moment’s hesitation did I give it.”
“This has all the markings of a grand love story,” Mrs. MacLaren said. “But I rather think you suspected it all along, did you no’, Miss Mackenzie?”
“Me?”
“You never believed him capable of murder,” Mrs. MacLaren reminded her.
“No, but I...I didna think this,” she said with a flick of her wrist. How she wished the MacLarens would take their leave. How she wished they would disappear with all their glowing praise of the Duke and Duchess of Montrose. She wasn’t a duchess any longer! How was it that a woman could leave her husband for another man, demand a divorce, extort money and still be treated like a triumphant warrior returning home? It was too much to be borne.
“No one could imagine that, I daresay,” Mrs. MacLaren agreed. “But here they are, properly reunited, and I am confident they will find their way to one another! Would it no’ be the most blessed event if an heir was to arrive as a result of their reunion?” This, Mrs. MacLaren asked, with the excitement of a child at Christmas.
“I do agree London will be beneficial for them both,” her husband said. “A bonny place to patch up their differences, aye?”
“Well, surely everyone hopes it will be so. You’d no’ believe how many are calling at Blackthorn Hall. Why, we passed two carriages turning onto the drive, did we no’, darling?”
“We did indeed.”
Catriona’s face felt hot. She felt hot. She resisted the urge to tug at her bodice. She hadn’t spoken to Hamlin, not since that awful night. At least she understood why, thanks to the MacLarens—he could not extract himself from the debacle. She understood what he was up against, how important appearances were to him right now.
“I suppose we ought to call, Cat, would you agree?” Uncle Knox asked.
The question startled her.
“To wish the couple well before we take our leave of Dungotty,” he added.
“Take your leave!” Mrs. MacLaren cried. “But you canna go!”
“Aye, we must,” Uncle Knox said, and rose from his chair, putting an end to this interminable tea. “Cat desires to return to Balhaire, and I to England before the autumn sets in.” He held out his hand to Mrs. MacLaren, which forced her to put down her teacup and rise. “You’d not imagine what all must be done to prepare for our departure, but thank you, both of you, for bringing us the extraordinary news. We will pay our call to Blackthorn Hall.”
“But...we’ll see you ’ere you leave, will we no’?” Mr. MacLaren asked as Uncle Knox ushered them to the door, which Rumpel had conveniently opened.
“Of course,” Uncle Knox said, and stepped out into the hall with them.
When they had gone, Uncle Knox returned to the salon and walked to Catriona, his arms open, and took her into his embrace. “Don’t despair, darling.”
“No,” she said simply. She had gone well past the point of despair into complete numbness. She asked to be excused from supper and went to bed with a cloth on her head. But there was no remedy for her. What hurt in her was incurable.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Uncle Knox took the carriage to Stirling for some business. “Come with me,” he urged her.
Catriona shook her head. She hadn’t even dressed her hair, finding the task of it too much to contemplate. “You were quite right, uncle—there is too much to be done here.”
He sighed with resignation and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be gone all day.”
“I’ll be all right,” she said again, and pointed to the bolts of cloth she and Uncle Knox had bought in Crieff. The cloth was for the ladies at Kishorn Abbey. Catriona also had a few patterns she’d bargained from Mrs. Fraser. “I’ve so much to pack.”
There was indeed more than enough work to keep her occupied, but when Uncle Knox departed, Catriona left the packing to Rumpel. She was restless and felt incapable of the slightest productive thought—every bit of her head and heart had been taken up by Hamlin.
When she couldn’t bear all the aimless wandering around Dungotty, she called for a horse to be saddled. Riding was what cleared her head and helped her think. She wanted to go to the ruins one last time. She guessed seeing it would make the weight on her chest feel that much heavier, make her breath feel that much shorter, but Catriona needed to pour the salt on her wound. She needed to feel the sharp, bitter edges of it.
It took nearly an hour to reach the ruins. She tethered her horse and walked in through one of the archways in the wall and into the center and gazed up at the yew tree. How odd that the summer should begin in a ruin and end in one. It seemed terribly prophetic that all she held dear—Kishorn, her aunt’s memory, Hamlin—should end in ruins.
She shook her head, folded her arms over her middle and squatted down, staving off a swell of nausea. Her despair was so deep she felt as if she might faint.
“Catriona.”
Her first thought was that she was hearing things. But then she heard the footfall, and when she glanced up, Hamlin was leaning over her, helping her up.
His expression was thunderous, but not with anger—with desire. They reached for each other at the same moment, and then she was in his arms, and he had lifted her off her feet and was kissing her.
“Are you here alone? How did you know?” she demanded breathlessly.
“Aye, of course I’m alone. I didna know. But I’ve come every afternoon, hoping.”
Catriona
caressed his cheek, his hair. “But I thought... I assumed—”
“My God, how I’ve missed you,” he said, and kissed her hard, with what felt like passion and remorse all balled into one. He kissed her in a way he’d never really kissed her before, as if he thought he’d never see her again.
Catriona pushed hard against his chest. “You shouldna be here. If you are discovered—”
“What if I am?” he said curtly. “I donna care, Catriona. Let the whole world know what I feel for you.”
Her heart leapt painfully. “Donna say that!” she pleaded with him, but he’d moved her so that her back was against the trunk of the yew tree. He pinned her there, his gaze greedily feasting on her body and arousing her with the fiery, lustful look in his eye.
“It’s over, Hamlin,” she said. She could scarcely breathe, she was so ignited. “We must face the truth—”
“Donna tell me what I must face,” he said, and dipped his head to kiss her bosom, biting the swell of her breast. His breath was hot on her skin, and an inferno flared in her veins. “Nothing is over, Catriona. Nothing.”
He grabbed her wrists in one hand and pinned her arms overhead against the tree. He was pressed against her, and Catriona could feel all of him, every hard plane, every muscle, his rock-hard erection. His hand and his mouth were everywhere on her, making her heart race, her blood leap, her groin somersault. She closed her eyes and tried to drag air into her lungs again.
He pressed his erection against her as he nibbled her ear, then began to fumble for his trousers. She gathered her petticoat and yanked it up, then undid the trews she wore to ride and felt them slide down her legs to her ankles.
The mad rush to be with each other was intoxicating, an explosion of color in her thoughts, of fire in her body. Hamlin slipped his hand between her legs, slid his fingers inside her, and she gasped loudly with pleasure. She closed her eyes, leaned her head against the tree as he moved his fingers inside her. “I am lost,” she said. “I donna want to prolong the agony of you, but I canna stop.”
He pressed against her and cupped her chin to kiss her again. But his kiss was abruptly tender and sweet, and the inferno of desire in her disintegrated into primal thirst.
Everything in her surrendered to him. Her blood stirred violently as he pulled her hair free of its pins, then claimed a breast with his hand and mouth. She gave in completely to the stroke of his fingers, and then his body, moving fluidly, rocking her toward the moment of oblivion.
She’d abandoned every rational thought to wild passion, allowed herself to be swept away beneath the boughs of that yew tree until the need for release was clawing at her throat and her chest.
The conflagration was so intense that she cried out and choked at once, her voice garbled. Her body was shimmering as she tangled her fingers in his hair and burned with pleasure everywhere he touched her until he’d found his own release.
They collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, Catriona on top of Hamlin.
Hamlin’s hair had come undone from its queue. He leaned against the trunk of the yew, his eyes closed, his arms tightly around her. Catriona pressed her cheek against his chest. “I’ll no’ keep her,” he said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “You know that, do you no’?”
Catriona swallowed. “Aye, but you must for now.”
Hamlin sat up, took her by the shoulders. “I love you, Catriona. Do you know that I do? Can you feel it? I love you.”
His declaration, so desired by her, sounded almost desperate. “And I love you, Hamlin.” Tears were beginning to cloud her vision. “I canna convey how much I do.” She stroked his hair back from his face. “But this was never going to be, was it? Did we no’ know it all along? Is that no’ why we never spoke of it?”
“I knew no such thing,” he tried.
“Aye, you did,” she said. “You were always bound for London. And I was always to return to Balhaire and Kishorn Abbey. We lived each day as if it were our last because we both knew an end would come—”
“For God’s sake, I am a bloody duke, I can do as I please.”
She touched her fingers to his lips, then kissed the corner of his mouth. “None of us can do as we please, Hamlin.”
He abruptly let her go and scrambled to his feet. He walked to one of the holes in the crumbling wall. He stood there, one arm braced against what was left of the wall, and stared out at the lush, green valley below. Catriona followed him. She put her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back. “Promise me one thing—promise me you’ll no’ forget me.”
“For the love of God, Catriona, I could never forget you. I could never forget you, for if I did, you might verra well forget me.” He twisted around and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly against him. “I’ve never loved anyone as I have loved you. I’ve never known such happiness in my life, aye?”
She closed her eyes, squeezing back the tears. “Neither have I,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”
He slipped his fingers under her face and made her look up at him. “When do you leave?”
“In two days.”
“The day before I leave for Edinburra and the vote, then. Will you come and see Eula before you go?”
Catriona didn’t know if she could bear the thought of stepping into Blackthorn Hall again, but she had only to think of that lass. She nodded. “What will you do once the vote is taken?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head as his gaze moved over her face. “She is no’ my wife. She will no’ live as my wife.”
That should have soothed Catriona, but it didn’t. It made her sadder. “I do love you,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’ve shown me the best days of my life.”
“And you leave me bewitched,” he said hoarsely. “My love for you will never end, Catriona. Never.”
She thought that would be the hardest thing of all—it would be agony knowing there was a man in the world who loved her, the one man she could not have.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FOR HAMLIN, THE next day was filled with the sheer agony of a broken heart and the necessity of having to receive callers as the vote for the House of Lords neared. It was torture to stand in a room while Glenna pretended to be contrite and so very sorry for her bad behavior, when all he could think of was Catriona, and those moments under the yew tree. She’d been so beautiful, with her hair wild about her, her eyes shining with such pleasure.
He had to appear as if he was a measured man, which, weeks ago, he might have been. But he was so filled with resentment it was hard for him to be anything other than distant. He despised Glenna with all of his being and couldn’t wait for the moment he could remove her from his sight permanently.
Glenna, however, was bold, and without any apparent remorse. She’d brazenly commissioned three new gowns, knowing Hamlin would not utter a word before the vote was taken. She cared nothing for Eula, and while she tolerated the child’s presence, she otherwise hardly seemed to notice her at all. Eula, Hamlin noted, had not touched her painting in a week. She kept to her rooms and her kittens and Miss Burns. Hamlin didn’t pretend to fathom how deeply this strange turn of events might have influenced the lass, but the blame for her melancholy belonged to Glenna. That, he was certain.
Two days before Hamlin was to leave for the vote in Edinburgh, Glenna sought him out in his study and announced very matter-of-factly that she would accompany him to London after the vote.
Hamlin lifted his head from his correspondence. “I beg your pardon?”
Before she could answer, Stuart appeared. “Your grace, His Lordship the Earl of Norwood and his niece calling.”
Thank God. Hamlin rose from his seat. “Show them into the salon, aye?” He walked around his desk. “You’ll no’ accompany me to London, Glenna. You will be long gone from Blackthorn Hall by then.”
“But I’ve no’ been to Londo
n.”
Was she mad? He couldn’t possibly care where she’d been or hadn’t been. “I donna care.”
“Why are you rushing off? Who is this Norwood?”
He ignored her as he strode across the room.
“Is it the woman you were dining with when I returned?” she demanded. “Is that what makes you run like a wee lad?”
He paused. He glanced back at her. “I would advise you to send for tea and calm yourself, madam.”
“But I’m talking to you!” she said angrily. “Whoever it is may wait.”
“We’ve nothing to talk about,” Hamlin reminded her. He resumed his walk to the door.
“You’re a fool, Hamlin. I’m with child!”
Those words halted him mid-stride. He whipped around and glared at her. Who was this woman? She was not the woman he’d married—surely he would have noticed her utter lack of compassion or character.
Glenna was suddenly tearful. “I didna want to tell you this way, but you left me no choice. You’d no’ listen.”
“It would seem that you should hasten back to Charlie posthaste, aye? How fortunate that your carriage will carry you to wherever you will go in two days’ time.”
“But that’s just it, Hamlin. Charlie is gone,” she said, her bottom lip trembling.
Hamlin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She thought she would find sympathy in him? He shook his head incredulously. “That is your trouble, Glenna. No’ mine.” He turned and walked out of the study, striding down the hallway to Catriona.
“It’s your trouble, too, Hamlin!” Glenna shrieked from somewhere behind him.
He paid her no heed. He walked on, turning into the salon, and feeling the smile on his face at once when he saw Catriona squatting beside Eula, Norwood standing near the window. “Good afternoon,” he said.
“Your grace.” Norwood bowed.
Catriona rose to her feet and curtsied. “How do you do, your grace?” she said, and her smile, that bloody bonny smile, illuminated the room.
