She gave him a grateful look from under wet lashes. “Thank you for the broach, but I have nothing to give you.”
He smiled. “I need nothing, Alana. You’re of more value than anything.”
She returned his smile. “I’m skilled in weaving. I’ll weave you a new kilt for a wedding present, if you doona object.”
“I’ll treasure a kilt made with your hands above anything.” Actually he preferred to wear the more comfortable knee britches.
“Thank you, Gavin. It comforts me to ken you understand how frightened I was by Vanora’s visit. Even the McWayre doona realize how she is. She’s clever and charming when she wants to be.”
He kissed the top of her head afraid to attempt anything more at present. Her emotions were too fragile to press any further, and he’d have to give her a few days, a week at the most. It shouldn’t take longer than that to convince her Vanora was no threat.
“You’re not alone any longer. We’ll face Vanora together. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to earn your trust…and I hope, your affection.” He patted her cheeks with the handkerchief. “Now no more tears. I want you to greet my father with a smile. You may be sure he, at least, is eager to meet you.”
“And I him.” The smile curving her lips went straight to his heart. “As you know, I’ve never had a father.”
He resolved to protect this woman, and prayed he’d be able to. Taking her hand, he turned it over and pressed his lips to her palm.
The carriage jolted to a halt and she broke away. “What’s happened?”
“We’ve arrived at the inn. After we’ve eaten, you can rest a bit.” How tired she looked, and no wonder. He’d awakened her before dawn. In his haste to get back to Stonecrest, he’d insisted they leave after an early breakfast. He’d only allowed two short stops during their long, uncomfortable journey. Now it was dark with only a sliver of moon showing in the sky.
His desire for her was strong, and only one room was secured for the night. He’d find somewhere to sleep without arousing suspicion. “After we’ve eaten, you must go straight to our room. I expect you’ll sleep soundly until morning.”
“And you?” She regarded him with a questioning gaze.
“I have much work to do laying out the plans for the last leg of our journey. I’ll catch a little sleep in the stables with the men.”
A look of bewilderment flickered in her eyes, and he hoped she might protest. Instead, she sighed and gathered the folds of her skirt. “Then shall we see if our meal is ready? I’m quite hungry.”
***
Two hours later Alana lay in the hard narrow bed of the hostelry’s room. Tired as she was, sleep evaded her. Gavin’s promises played in her mind over and over, filling her with giddy delight. “You’re not alone anymore. We’ll face this together. I’ll protect you with my life.” Did she dare to believe him? He wasna fooled by Vanora. Even if he had loved her at one time, he no longer did.
Alana tossed over on one side. She longed for her husband, this man, this stranger, who already meant so much to her. As a bride, she deserved to have him beside her, to have his warm body sheltering her. She wanted to become his wife in body as well as mind…to conceive his child, but Vanora had cheated her again.
Not forever, she resolved.
Gavin dinna love her, but neither did he love Vanora. In the past, she’d capitulated to Vanora, just let her have her way to appease her. It had always seemed the simplest thing to do, but never again. Alana would somehow win her husband’s love and defeat her cousin for once.
Chapter 8
They made good time the next day, but still the sun was low in the sky as they descended the last rise.
Alana couldn’t repress a sharp intake of breath at her first sight of Stonecrest. It stood proud and tall atop the next hill silhouetted against the setting sun.
She saw pride in her husband’s face. “You must love it.”
“Aye. It’s magnificent, and you’ll love it too.”
What was there not to love? The small castle where she’d grown up would be dwarfed by Stonecrest. As they rode into the count yard, she marveled at the way the sunshine seemed to turn the weathered stone to a rosy hue. If ever she’d dreamed of a fairy tale castle, this was it. And it was her home.
A sense of belonging settled over her.
Would she be welcomed here? If Vanora convinced the crofters that Miriam was her mother, would they shun her? Gavin dinna believe the lies, and even if he did, he’d have married her anyway. She still marveled at that.
But he couldna force his people to accept her.
To her relief, the elderly butler, correctly attired in knee britches and powdered wig, greeted her warmly. Then even before she’d had time to take more than a sweeping glance at the magnificent furnishings—the heavy baroque furniture, the Persian rugs, the priceless paintings—she was ushered into the chieftain’s presence.
He’d been prepared for their arrival. Propped up on pillows, Barthram Carmichael’s shriveled body lay hidden by an embroidered robe. He raised a shaking, blue-veined hand. “Gavin, bring her to me.”
Alana looked down into the watery blue, kindly eyes as Gavin introduced her. “This is Alana, Father.”
She took Barthram’s outstretched hand and smiled. “Welcome to Stonecrest, Alana.” His raspy voice bespoke his sincerity. “You have a beautiful wife, Gavin. You’ve done well.”
As an afterthought, Alana dropped a curtsey. “Thank you, my lord, I’m verra pleased to finally meet you.”
Barthram still held her hand, and he squeezed it with surprising strength. “Aye, I’m glad too. Stonecrest is now complete. You two will fill it with the laughter of children. I won’t live to hear it, but I can die in peace, knowing my blood will continue.”
Alana kneeled beside him. “Oh, nay, please doona speak of dying. I intend to get to know you. I want to hear stories I can tell our children about their grandfather. I’ve been known to be a good nurse, and I refuse to believe that anyone is too sick to be made better.”
She resolved to do all within her power to at least make him more comfortable, and hopefully, even lengthen his days. But as if to dampen her hopes, Barthram went into a coughing fit.
When he was able to speak, he patted her hand and said, “Tis kind of you, lass, to want to nurse me. You are your mother’s daughter. She’d have done the same.”
He glanced over her head, and she turned to follow his gaze. The portrait of Hester. She shifted back to Barthram and noted the trembling in his hand had subsided. He drew strength from the portrait.
A startling revelation flashed before her. Barthram hadna merely admired her mother—he had loved her. If Barthram had married Hester, he’d have been her father, not Torquil, and Gavin her brother. Her life would’ve been so different.
She found that fancy strangely repugnant.
Even if Barthram had loved Hester, his love wasn’t reciprocated. Hester was all engrossed in Torquil, and he’d had an emotional stranglehold on her until the end. Yes, Hester had sacrificed her life to save Barthram, but not because she’d loved him. Her mother had thrown herself between Barthram and the musket ball only because she was a heroic woman…and because she hated Miriam. She’d refused to let Miriam win.
“Hester sat for the portrait that last summer.” Barthram looked wistful. “We had a young painter visiting. He was here to paint all of our portraits. Gavin’s is in the drawing room, I believe. He was only eight years old at the time.”
She glanced toward Gavin. “I’d verra much like to see it sometime.” She wanted to know what Gavin had looked like as a boy. Her own son would be a reflection of him. If she ever had a son.
“I’ll show you tomorrow,” Gavin said, “in fact, I’ll show you the whole house, but it’ll soon be dinnertime. I think you should get some rest.”
Barthram coughed. “You’re right, of course she needs rest after that grueling carriage ride. There’ll be time tomorrow for a talk. You will come by for a chat, my
dear?”
“Of course I shall.” She leaned over and dropped a kiss on his wrinkled brow.
Gavin took her hand. “We’ll come back after dinner to wish you goodnight, Father.”
Alana felt a tremor as Gavin squeezed her hand, and her pulse quickened at his touch, but before they’d reached the stairs, Halberd, the butler, stopped them. “Begging your pardon, m’lord, McGuire asked you to see him before dinner.”
“McGuire is my man of business, Alana,” Gavin explained, then turned back to Halberd. “Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow. Tonight belongs to my wife. I’m certain he’ll understand.”
“But he needs your advice tonight, I believe,” Halberd insisted. “Five sheep have been stolen during your absence.”
A curse sprang from Gavin’s mouth. He dropped Alana’s hand, and she knew the moment of quiet time with her husband was lost. “I’ll have to see the man, lass. We’ve been troubled by thieves for months.”
“I understand.”
“Halberd, show Lady Alana to her chambers. I’ll come for you at dinnertime, dearest. Try to rest until them.” He walked away in urgent strides.
She followed Halberd up the stairs and down a wing to the end of the hall. He opened the door for her, and she entered the sitting room of her bedchamber.
Heavy ornate furniture dominated the room, including a plush velvet chaise lounge and matching wing chairs. She crossed the room and opened the door of the bedroom. A lovely canopied bed met her gaze.
It was a woman’s room with touches of satin, lace, and ruffles. She glanced at the door opposite and knew Gavin’s bedroom lay beyond.
How long would it be before the door separating them stood open? With all that was going on, how long would it take for them to get to know each other? More importantly, how long before they’d assuaged the clan’s fears, turning them from the Gilmours’s and Vanora’s troublemaking?
A tall, heavy-set woman sailed through the doorway of the sitting room, carrying a stack of linens. Alana surmised she must be the housekeeper from the ring of keys hung at her side.
The woman didn’t even look in Alana’s direction, but set her burden on the vanity and rearranged the soaps. She hustled about the room, fluffing pillows, tugging at the drapes, straightening a painting.
A dozen questions rose in Alana’s brain, but she couldn’t force one of them out. This housekeeper intimated her more than Mrs. O’Toole, the housekeeper at McWayre.
The haughty tilt of the Carmichael housekeeper’s head and the set of her shoulders bespoke her disapproval. Alana would have to summon the courage to deal with this servant. All the servants. She’d have to assert her position as the mistress of the castle.
But not today.
The housekeeper sent a sweeping glance around the room, careful to ignore Alana, and rushed to the door where she halted, turned, dropped a begrudging curtsey and left, closing the door behind her.
Alana sighed. Fatigue swept through her as she ambled to the lounge. Lying down, she had hardly closed her eyes before sleep overtook her.
***
A creaking door pulled her into consciousness. Thinking it must be Gavin, she didn’t open her eyes but waited for him to come to her. The room remained silent, and she began to think she was mistaken when a low, raspy female voice pierced the silence.
“My babe, my babe,” the voice moaned. “My babe has come home to me.”
The voice held an unearthly tone, and Alana felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. “Who’s there,” she shouted, afraid to open her eyes.
“Tis I, love,” the woman croaked.
Hearing a swishing sound, Alana realized the apparition came towards her. Her eyes flew open, and she found the room grown dark, the sun having set while she slept. Fright heightened, threatening to choke her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. All the while, the woman walked toward her with halting steps.
Alana leaped from the lounge and ran across the room to put distance between them. Unable to find the door in the darkness, she backed up to the wall, her heart pounding. “What do you want? Who are you?”
“Want? Why, I want you, love.” The old woman’s voice squawked. “I’ve been searching for you for years and years.” As the woman came closer, Alana could discern her shriveled face and wild, white hair. Her fiendish grin.
“Who are you?” Alana felt the scream rise in her throat.
“I’m your mother, my bonny. You’re my own wee lassie.” The woman reached out with bony fingers.
Alana screamed then and, when the woman touched her, screamed again.
Chapter 9
The door crashed open. “Finella, what are you doing in here?” Mrs. Gantry rushed inside, holding a lantern aloft.
Alana pressed a palm to her racing heart as the housekeeper set the lantern on a side table and grabbed Finella’s arm, giving it a rough jerk. “You shouldn’t run off like that. Here’s your babe.” She thrust a doll into Finella’s outstretched hands.
“My babe, my babe,” Finella crooned, clutching the doll to her bosom.
Pounding footsteps sounded from the hall, and Gavin burst in, alarm evident in his eyes. “Mrs. Gantry, what’s Finella doing in her ladyship’s chambers?”
“Begging your pardon, your lordship, Betsy was sickly, and Finella got away from her.”
“Take her to her quarters immediately.” Gavin’s command shot out in anger. He’d always been so controlled, his reaction startled Alana.
Mrs. Gantry dropped a curtsey before wrapping an arm around Finella and easing her out of the room.
Alana met Gavin’s look. His anger had evaporated, softening the hard edge of his chin and giving her the courage to ask, "Who was that?”
He drew in a breath and let it out in a shudder. “She’s your aunt.” He took her hand and pulled her to the chaise. “I can tell Sir Angus never told you. Finella is Hester’s sister. As you can see, she’s quite mad. After Hester’s death, my father gave the poor soul a home.”
What little strength Alana had left her. She sank onto the seat, a gasp tearing from her throat. She had an aunt? Who was mad? She clutched her free hand to her chest, the word conjuring all kinds of horrible possibilities.
“Finella is my aunt? My mother’s sister? Then my blood is tainted.” She was condemned even if Hester was her mother. “There’s madness in my family.”
Gavin gave her a look as if he couldna make sense of her, then smiled. “No…no, you misunderstand.” He caressed her arm in a soothing manner. “Finella wasn’t born that way. She had a fever as a young child and, apparently, thinks she’s still seven years old. But she’s quite harmless, though she has a habit of wandering about the castle.” His jaw clenched again.
By slow degrees, Alana allowed her anxiety to ebb away. “There’s a reason other than Finella that has you upset?” she asked her husband.
The candle flame shone on his chestnut hair, and she noticed a sheen of perspiration across his upper lip. “Aye, I can’t deny it.”
“Were the sheep found?”
“No, but my horse was found on the Gilmour side of Loch Cullen.”
She stiffened at the implication of that news. Someone of the Gilmour clan had attacked Gavin on his way to McWayre. “The horse you lost at McWayre?” That was over fifty miles away. No horse wandered home from such distance. “Who found him?”
“Lywulf found him in the forest near a Gilmour croft. Or so he said.”
She had no reason to believe Lywulf either. From all she’d heard, he was a sinister man, and she wished Aunt Elspeth would be rid of him. “At least you’ve recovered the horse, but I suppose it means those highwaymen at McWayre are from the Gilmour clan.”
“Aye, or in league with the Gilmour clan.” His tone just missed being hostile, and she knew the smile he gave her was forced.
Though he continued to stoke her arm, his mind far away. She wanted to ask more questions, but it was useless. He wouldna tell her what was really troubling him. They were strangers
, each brought together because of convenience.
Would he ever confide in her? First he’d withheld the reason he’d taken Rory’s place in marrying her. Now he’d not thought to tell her about Finella. How many other secrets did this house hold? He wouldna tell her what was really troubling him even if she asked.
“Your maid should arrive tomorrow.”
“Mina? Of a truth? Mina is coming?” Elation swept through her. She’d given up all hope her maid would be allowed to join her at Stonecrest.
“Aye, and Sir Angus is sending Orion, your horse.”
Joy bubbled over, and she started to throw her arms around him but caught herself in time. They were strangers still. He’d married her for honor. He dinna care for her as a husband would, but with time, she prayed he might.
She’d have to be patient. At least they could be friends, though deep down, she yearned for something she couldna put a name to. “When Orion arrives, mayhap I can ride with you…help you find the sheep?”
“It’s nothing for you to be concerned with. I’ll meet with the men, and we’ll find the thieves. Let’s forget the matter and go down to dinner.”
***
The next day Gavin set out to retrieve his horse from the Gilmour castle stables. He reined in his mount on the peak of the hill that separated the clans and turned to look over the hillsides and glens. Beyond the glens, fields spread out dotted with crofters’ homes and farther on were the stables, burns, and groves of pine, alder, and oak that fringed the lip of deep blue Loch Cullen.
The beauty of the land took his breath away, and brought to mind Alana’s beauty. Without saying much, he’d stared at her all during dinner last night. She told him stories of her childhood, a time of loneliness that had inspired her imagination. He’d heard the longing in her voice. Her fiery hair hanging in waves about her shoulders and her innocent blue eyes had made him want to forget about waiting to get to know each other. He was ready to sweep her in his arms and make her his wife in every way possible.
The Chieftain's Choice (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 1) Page 8
