Shattered Rainbows fa-5

by Mary Jo Putney

  Amy said under her breath, "That's a silly ceremony. What about daughters?"

  Ignoring her, the laird said, "You can kiss the bride now, Kenyon. I don't imagine it's for the first time."

  There was a pause that seemed to stretch forever. Then Michael's lips touched Catherine's, cool and passionless. Releasing her hand, he said, "Now that the pressing business is out of the way, I'd like to be excused so I can sleep twelve or fourteen hours."

  "Me, too," Catherine said in an unsteady voice.

  The laird sighed and leaned back against the pillows. "I need rest also. It's been quite a day. Davin, see that rooms are made up for Amy and Ashburton."

  After shaking his brother's hand and offering hearty congratulations, Ashburton embraced Catherine. "Welcome to the family." There was far more warmth in his voice than there had been in Michael's. Turning to Amy, he said, "It looks like we may be the only ones awake soon. Since I'm now an uncle of sorts, shall we further our acquaintance? Perhaps the constable can find someone to give us a tour of Skoal."

  "I'd like that," Amy said. "Can we also get my things from Lord Haldoran's house?"

  Davin said, "The head groom will be glad to oblige. I'd do it myself, but… but I must tell Glynis what has happened." He swallowed hard. "Thank you, Catherine. I'm still stunned that anyone could be so generous."

  "Not generous. Just." She stood on her toes and brushed a light kiss on his cheek. "I hope you'll let us visit. I've grown very fond of the island."

  He smiled with a warmth that touched his aqua island eyes. "You will always be welcome on Skoal, and in my home."

  Everyone left the laird's chamber in a group. After hugging Amy, Catherine turned and accompanied a silent Michael upstairs to the chamber they had shared. He seemed farther away than when she had been on Skoal and he was on the mainland.

  As soon as they entered the room, they separated, Michael going to the window to look out at the soft gray rain and Catherine glancing in the mirror. Lord, she was a wreck, with circles under her eyes and hair rioting from her single braid. No one would think her beautiful now.

  Nervously she untied her braid and combed her fingers through the tangled locks. Needing to break the killing silence, she said, "That's all you have to wear, isn't it? You and your brother are about the same size. Do you think he would lend you some clothing?"

  "Probably." He opened the window to let in the cool rain-scented air. "I'll have to send a message to Lucien to tell him that everything is all right. Otherwise he'll be down here taking Skoal apart in a few days."

  As conversation it wasn't much, but at least he was talking. She looked at her oversized wedding ring. It was a gold signet bearing what must be the Kenyon arms. The duke's seal of approval on the marriage. But what about Michael's? Voice low, she said, "So much has happened in the last few days. It's hard to believe we're actually husband and wife."

  Michael's breathing changed to a harsh wheeze that made her blood freeze. She whirled around and found him bent over, one hand clinging to the bedpost and the other pressed to his chest. "Dear God, Michael," she exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

  "Mild… asthma attack," he panted. "Just need. Fresh air." He managed the two steps to a window and threw open the casements so he could draw the cool sea air into his lungs.

  Catherine poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the washstand and took it to him. "Would you like a drink?"

  He emptied the glass in two swallows. After handing it back, he turned and slid to the floor, supported against the wall. His face was gray with strain and the pulse at the base of his throat was beating like a trip-hammer. "I'm fine. Really. But, Christ, the second asthma attack in a week. I'm falling apart."

  Catherine knelt beside him, watching his face like a nurse as well as a wife. "The second?"

  "I had a much worse one when Stephen found me in Great Ashburton." The skin tightened over his cheekbones. "That one was as bad as when my mother died."

  Painfully aware that this attack must have been triggered by her remark about them being husband and wife, Catherine said carefully, "Is this one a result of general exhaustion and stress, or is it because you don't wish to be married to me?"

  He gazed at her with bleak honesty, too tired to conceal anything. "I've never wanted anything more in my life than for you to be my wife."

  Her heart began to beat in triple time. "You've wanted to marry me? You weren't acting from duty?"

  "In this case, duty and inclination went together."

  Wanting desperately to understand, she asked, "Then why do you look as if you've just been sentenced to be hanged?"

  His lips curved in a travesty of a smile. "I'm rather good at mayhem, but I don't know much about being happy."

  She realized that he was telling her the exact truth. Though Michael had a great capacity to love and be loved, he had never had the chance to truly express it If she could reach him now, begin to heal his wounded spirit, he would be hers forever.

  Praying for the right words, she said slowly, "When I was full of fear, a wise man told me that my fears weren't created in an hour, and they wouldn't be healed in an hour. The same is true for damaged hearts."

  She leaned forward and kissed him with aching tenderness. "Because you were wise and kind, you cured me of my fear. Let me do the same for you, Michael. Your heart was not damaged in a day, and it won't be healed in a day. But let me love you, and I promise that in time you will come to like it."

  Michael made a raw sound in his throat and pulled her into his arms, holding her with rib-bruising force. "All my life, no matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough," he whispered. "It's easy to believe that will always be true. I sacrificed honor and decency for a false love. After that kind of criminal folly, does one get a second chance?"

  Catherine raised her head so she could look into his eyes. "You said that the friend who betrayed you gave you a second chance at friendship," she said softly. "Your brother has given you a second chance at family. Why can't you have a second chance at love? If anyone has ever deserved it, it's you. I've never known another man with such strength and character and kindness. I fell in love with you in Brussels, even though it would have been wrong to say the words aloud."

  He drew her into his arms again, feeling an intensity of emotion so great that he did not know if it was pleasure or pain. "When I first met you in Brussels, I felt as if a mountain had fallen on me," he said haltingly. "You filled my thoughts and mind from the beginning, even though I hated myself for becoming obsessed by a married woman. I took secret comfort in knowing that your blood flowed in my veins-when I yearned for you the most, I could tell myself that you were with me."

  "I was," she said quietly. "In spirit, if not in body."

  Closing his eyes, he simply held her for a long time. Catherine was warm and giving and offering her love. The only thing that stood between them was his inability to accept it. He opened his eyes and released her from his embrace. "Let's go to bed, Catherine. After I've slept, I might be more sane."

  He stood and helped her to her feet. Then he halted, his gaze going past her to the sky outside. The rain had stopped and arcing through the heavens was a rainbow, as transcendently beautiful as Catherine herself.

  He stared at it, and in a single instant the alienated fragments of his spirit fell into place. In a world that contained rainbows and kittens and friends like Nicholas, why was it so hard to believe that with Catherine he could find love? At the very core of his being, he felt a slowly blossoming peace unlike anything he had ever known.

  He put his hands on Catherine's shoulders as she studied him with searching aqua eyes. "I always thought of my kaleidoscope as holding shattered rainbows and broken dreams," he said quietly. "Looking inside it was a way of seeking order out of chaos. But I don't need that anymore. Look."

  She followed his glance out the window. The rainbow still shimmered, heaven's promise to the earth. He continued, "It's you who brings order into my life, Catherine. Order, a
nd love."

  "Then it appears that we love each other. How simple, and how right." Her eyes filled with joy, she raised her face and kissed him. It was not an embrace of raging lust or desperation. Instead, it simply was, an interval of peace and gentle communion such as they had not had a chance to experience in the turbulence of the past days.

  With peace came exhaustion. He released her, saying, "Now, my dear, let's go to bed and sleep for a day or two."

  Her smile turned mischievous. "And we're finally sleeping together legally."

  "A pity I'm too tired to behave like a bridegroom."

  "There will be time enough for that later." She covered a yawn, then began stripping off her clothing.

  He did the same, moving by rote because he was unable to take his eyes from her. She had always been lovely beyond belief, but now she was his wife. His wife. She raised her arm to push back her hair, exposing the faint transfusion scar on the inside of her elbow. He felt a wave of tenderness that began in his heart and swiftly expanded to suffuse through his whole body. For as long as he lived, the gift of life she had given would be part of him.

  She slid under the bedcovers, giving him a quizzical glance to see why he was delaying. He smiled wryly. "Do you know, I may not be quite as tired as I thought."

  She reached out one hand, her smile rainbow-radiant. "Then come to bed, my love, and we'll find out."

  Epilogue

  Isle of Skoal

  Spring 1817

  The christening had gone off with considerable decorum. Louis the Lazy attended, but he was a very well behaved dog. Even the guest of honor had given only one small, startled squawk when cold water was dripped on his head. The party that followed, however, was best described as a roaring good time.

  Since the day was warm, Catherine sat in the shade with several of the other women. The newly christened Nicholas Stephen Torquil Kenyon was passed from lap to lap, reveling in the attention. On the far side of the garden, a casual game of cricket was being played on the smooth emerald lawn. Nearer to hand, a baby corral had been set up for the smaller children.

  Clare shaded her eyes with one hand. "Catherine, that daughter of yours is dangerous with a ball in her hand. If Oxford took women, they'd recruit her for their cricket team."

  Catherine laughed. "Amy's game isn't hurt by the fact that the umpire is her great-grandfather and he looks ready to whack his cane over anyone who fails to appreciate her." It was amazing how well the laird had recovered. The wheelchair was a thing of the past, and he got around beautifully with only a slight limp. Publicly acknowledging Davin as his grandson and heir had given the laird a new lease on life…

  Catherine continued, "I've never seen a cricket match with so many peers and peeresses playing."

  Clare chuckled and patted her rounded stomach. "I'm glad I've got a good excuse not to play. Kit and Margot are both far more athletic than I."

  The next batsman was Kit Fairchild, the slender brunette whom Catherine had once seen in the park with Michael. She stepped up to the wicket and swung her bat menacingly. The bowler was her husband, Lucien. With a gentlemanly desire to avoid damaging his wife, he gave the ball a soft toss. For his pains he was forced to duck swiftly when Kit blasted the ball to the far end of the garden. Four runs were scored before Davin Penrose managed to catch the ball and hurl it back.

  Lady Elinor Fairchild, two years old and blond as a sunbeam, gave a crow of delight and headed for her mother with impressive speed. As dark as she was blond, Kenrick Davies, Viscount Tregar, set out after her. At two and a half, he was in the throes of his first love affair, with Elinor the object of his adoration.

  Scenting excitement, Louis the Lazy lurched to his feet and went galumphing after the children. The ball flew over his head. To the shock of everyone present, he uncharacteristically leaped into the air, ears flying, and caught the speeding cricket ball. Amid general laughter, it was agreed that it was time to take a break and sample the refreshments that were being laid out on tables. As Rafe pointed out, it would give the ball time to dry out.

  Clare rose and went to collect her husband and son, who were rolling around in the grass together. There couldn't be another earl in England as easygoing as Nicholas. Catherine was delighted to have her son named after him. Living across the valley from Clare and Nicholas was one of the loveliest benefits of her marriage.

  Michael abandoned his fielding position and went against the hungry crowd to join Catherine, who had stayed lazily in her chair, her baby in her lap. She watched her husband approach with pure pleasure. Even after a year of marriage, she was not tired of admiring his face, or the powerful body that she knew so well. The thought made her face warm.

  Michael grinned. "Having unsaintly thoughts, my dear?"

  She glanced around. Luckily no one else was within earshot. "You know me too well."

  "Never that." He dropped a kiss on her forehead, then on their son's, before settling on the grass beside her chair. "Your suggestion of having the christening here was brilliant. Skoal is a perfect place for a spring holiday."

  "A pity that Kenneth couldn't come, but it's lovely that so many of your other friends are here." Catherine's gaze went to dark Rafe and golden Margot, who were retrieving their nine-month-old son. The infant marquess, as dark as his father, waved his hands and gurgled cheerfully when his mother scooped him up.

  "You Fallen Angels have a very handsome lot of babies," she observed. "I wonder if the children will be as good friends as their fathers are."

  Michael smiled at the sight of Kenrick and Elinor, who were stickily sharing an ice under the indulgent supervision of their mothers. "I'm sure the next generation will be friends, but they won't need each other as much as their fathers did."

  She stroked her hand through her husband's hair. Thank God for the Fallen Angels, and for the friendship that had helped them become the remarkable men they were. Most of all, thank God for Michael, who gave her more love and tenderness than she had known existed. "Do you remember our first evening on Skoal, when you woke me up to go down to dinner?"

  He gave her a wicked glance. "How could I forget? It was all I could do to prevent myself from making a meal of you."

  Her cheeks burned again. "You woke me out of the most wonderful dream."

  Michael made an encouraging noise.

  "I dreamed that I was normal, that you were my husband, and that we were expecting our first child." She bent forward and kissed Michael with the love that grew greater with every day they spent together. "Who says that dreams can't come true?"

  Historical Note

  Experiments in blood transfusion date from the seventeenth century. Many involved transfusion from animals to humans, on the theory that since men ate roast beef, they could perfectly well accept the blood of calves. It didn't work, of course. Subsequent human-to-human experiments had results that were erratic, to say the least. Practical transfusion had to wait until Karl Landsteiner's discovery of blood groups in 1901.

  Nonetheless, in 1873 a study was done of 243 transfusions from the previous half century. According to the data, forty percent resulted in complete recovery. Obviously there was a high degree of blind luck involved (I described the techniques used to a hematologist and a vascular surgeon, both of whom were horrified), but in at least some cases transfusions probably did save lives. (Michael is AB positive, a universal recipient, for those of you who were wondering.)

  Michael's 105th Regiment was fictional. However, the remarkable courage of the men who held their ground and died at Waterloo was not.

  The island of Skoal is also fictional, but many of its characteristics are modeled on the Channel Island of Sark, which claims to be the last feudal enclave in the world.

  Louis the Lazy was real. Who could possibly dream up such a basset hound?

  Also Coming in February

  "So, the day of reckoning has finally arrived." A wicked glint brightened Lady Sophia Tremayne's sharp old eyes. "You have danced to your own tune for thirty
years, my lad, but the time has come to pay the piper."

  Jared Neville Tremayne, eighth Duke of Montford, Marquess of Brynhaven, and various other titles too numerous to mention, raised his quizzing glass and stared down his elegant nose at the crusty old woman. Lady Sophia was both his aunt and his godmother, and one of the few people in all of England rash enough to address him with such a lack of deference.

  "If there is a point to that obscure statement, Lady Sophia, please make it and be done with it," he said stiffly. In truth, he knew all too well what her point was; it was the very reason he had given up his morning to this duty call on the two old tabbies who inhabited this stuffy, over-furnished town house in Grosvenor Square. More to the point, it was what had afforded him countless sleepless nights during the past month and soured his outlook on every aspect of his formerly pleasant existence.

  Lady Sophia matched her godson's haughty stare with one of her own, and the temperature in the small salon chilled at least ten degrees. "My point is, Your Grace, I remember a promise you made your dying grandfather some ten years ago, and I feel it my duty to inquire how and when you intend to honor it." She raised a questioning eyebrow. "You do remember the promise of which I speak?"

  "Of course he does, Sophie. The dear boy has a memory every bit as retentive as your own. I'm the only one in the family so dreadfully forgetful." Lady Cloris Tremayne, lace cap askew and ribbons flying, fluttered through the open doorway like a small, bright-colored moth to perch on the rose velvet settee next to her austerely gowned sister. "What is it he is supposed to remember?"

  "That today is his thirtieth birthday, of course, and-"

  "Thirty years! I simply cannot credit it. Why, it seems only yesterday I was listening to him recite his sums." She fixed her nephew with her usual vague, sweet smile. "I suppose, my dear, I must try to remember to address you as 'Your Grace' from now on."