Except that Juliana didn’t have the coldness of porcelain—she was warm flesh, breath, and life.
She watched him with blue eyes that reminded him of cornflowers, or maybe the sky in springtime. Only the women of Scotland had eyes that color. Juliana was of this place, Elliot’s home.
“Elliot,” Juliana said. Her sweet voice rushed at him. “Rona has come for the rings.”
Rings. Elliot looked at his left hand, which sported a thick gold band. He remembered pushing Juliana’s ring onto her hand, telling her he plighted her his troth. His truth, his fidelity.
As though he could conceive of touching any woman but her. Ever. For any reason.
“I presume,” Ainsley broke in, still speaking in that overly cheerful sickroom voice, “that you thought to order rings for yourself.”
He had. He now remembered telling Mahindar, before going into the church to wait for Juliana, to send to the family’s jewelers for rings to be made. Remembered Patrick, his kindhearted brother, pulling Elliot aside and closing into his hand two cool rings, which had not left the fingers of Patrick and Rona since their marriage thirty years ago.
“It’s taken care of,” Elliot said. He tugged the wedding band from his finger, went to Rona, dropped it into her hand, and pressed her fingers closed around it. “Thank you.”
Rona’s eyes shone with brief tears, then she tucked the ring into a little pouch. It clinked against another, and Elliot saw that Juliana’s finger was already bare.
“We thank you,” Juliana said, pouring out a fourth cup of tea. “It was kind of you.”
“Entirely logical,” Rona said, pretending the tears had never manifested. “Nothing else to be done. Elliot, what are you going to do with this awful house?”
Elliot watched Juliana pour his tea, her hands competently balancing the cup on the saucer, steadying it perfectly under the stream of hot liquid. She set the fat teapot back on the tray without wincing from its weight and lifted the dainty silver tongs from the sugar bowl.
Here she faltered—a woman ought to know what her husband took in his tea, but Juliana and Elliot had never had tea together. At least, not since they’d both been fourteen.
Rona leaned forward and whispered, “One lump, dear.”
“Actually, I prefer it with no sugar at all now.” Elliot reached for the cup in Juliana’s hand.
She held the saucer so daintily that his big fingers were in no danger of touching hers. He changed that by folding his hand over hers and slipping the cup and saucer out of her grasp.
Juliana’s lips parted, and heat swam in her eyes. It matched what was in his blood. The entirety of last night was returning with a vengeance.
Elliot needed to sit down—next to her. But Juliana was perched on the front edge of a narrow armchair, her bustle filling the rest of the seat. There was a perfectly good love seat in the room, but that was occupied by Rona and Ainsley, sitting side by side. Two more chairs and an ottoman completed the circle around the tea table, the rest of the furniture in the room covered with dust sheets.
Elliot hooked his leather-shod foot around the ottoman and dragged it close to Juliana’s chair. He sat down on it, settling his kilt, his knee firmly pressing Juliana’s, and balanced the delicate cup and saucer in his big hand.
Ainsley and Rona watched him intently, but Elliot was only aware of Juliana, her warmth, her nearness, the rightness of her.
“Where did you dig these up?” Elliot said, lifting his cup to study it. The porcelain was fine and almost paper-thin, the flowers painted on it with a skilled hand. These teacups had been turned out in some factory in England or Germany at great expense. “They were never in Uncle McGregor’s crockery cupboard.”
“A wedding gift,” Juliana said. “Lovely pieces, do you not think?”
Elliot took a sip of tea, which wasn’t bad, but it needed more whiskey. He turned his head so he could see Juliana, nothing else. “I thought you were returning the gifts.”
“She is,” Ainsley said. “But this is a wedding gift from me, so it’s entirely relevant. And you have no need to worry about the others, Juliana. Rona and I and your stepmama are taking care of sending back the gifts with necessary letters of explanation. No need for you to hie back to Edinburgh for that.”
“But I ought,” Juliana said. “It’s kind of you, but I should truly be there to help, not to mention pack the rest of my things. Gemma must be going mad with it all. If you stay the night here, I can take the train back with you tomorrow.”
“No.” The word was so loud that the three women froze, teacups raised, three pairs of feminine eyes widening at the masculine power of Elliot’s voice.
Elliot moved his hand to Juliana’s thigh, closing over it and clamping down before he could stop himself. “Juliana can’t leave.”
“What?” Ainsley asked, the lightness in her voice forced. “Never?”
Chapter 7
Elliot tried to soften his grip on Juliana and couldn’t. “No,” he said.
Juliana’s gaze was for Elliot alone, but she didn’t look at him in fear. More in surprise, and with a sparkle in her eyes that might be defiance.
“Elliot has a point,” Juliana said to Ainsley. “There is much to be done in the house. I certainly wish to be here for the work, if you take my meaning.”
Both his sister and sister-in-law nodded, still watching Elliot, as though they reached for lines they’d rehearsed. “Quite understandable,” Rona said. “There must be someone with sense to organize it all.”
Ainsley’s eyes twinkled. “I believe there is a bit more to it than that, Rona. Remember what it was to be a newlywed?”
“Ah yes.” Prim Rona softened into a smile. She and Patrick had always doted on each other, and Ainsley and Cameron were very attached to each other. So much so that even through Elliot’s fog, he wondered why Ainsley was out of Cameron’s sight now, and why Rona had left her beloved Patrick behind.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Where have you left your husbands? In the village?”
Rona flushed, though Ainsley, very good at dissembling, only took another sip of tea. “They’re at the pub,” Ainsley said. “You know gentlemen.”
“I know my sisters,” Elliot growled. “You weren’t certain what you were going to find, and you came to smooth the way. You weren’t sure I was fit to be seen.”
“Well,” Rona said, her voice gentle in the same way Ainsley’s had been bright. “You must admit that you’ve been unwell, Elliot. We did try to call earlier, but your man couldn’t wake you.”
“I was tired,” Elliot said in a hard voice. “Remember what it was to be a newlywed?”
Juliana’s face went bright pink, which made her eyes starry. “No matter,” she said quickly. “We were somewhat at sixes and sevens earlier today. Best to let Elliot sleep anyway.”
Elliot felt the snarl in his throat. “Don’t try, Juliana.” He let his gaze skewer his sister then sister-in-law, who both looked guilty. “Coddling doesn’t help, Ainsley. Leaving me the hell alone is best.”
“Is it?” Ainsley said, her let us comfort my poor, sick brother tone vanishing. “Is that why you bought this house in the middle of nowhere? Helping Uncle McGregor is your excuse, but if you bury yourself here, you will never get better. There’s many a fine house to be had in Edinburgh, or even London, for a man of fortune. Which I know you have. A fortune, I mean.”
“I like the countryside.”
“A countryside difficult to reach, no matter how determined your family.”
“A countryside where a man can find a little peace and quiet.” His voice went up in volume.
“But now you’ve dragged Juliana up here,” Ainsley said. “Is it fair to her to pull her into your prison with you?”
Juliana leaned forward to set her cup on the tea table, her movement decisive. The angle made her brush Elliot’s broad shoulder, her reaching arm letting that shoulder contact her breast. She wore stays, but even the stiff touch of them was intimate.<
br />
Elliot would have Channan make Juliana a sari, so he could wrap her in silks and nothing else. Then he could touch her without undressing her, his hands sliding over the fabric warmed by her body.
“Elliot is my husband now,” Juliana said, with the slightest emphasis on my. “And this is our home.” Again a slight emphasis, this time on our.
Ainsley and Rona looked at her, blinking a little as they rearranged their ideas.
What had they expected? That Elliot had run off with a struggling Juliana over his shoulder to ravish her in a castle in the woods? To keep her prisoner here, the poor, naive beauty who hadn’t the faintest idea how to handle Elliot the beast?
They did think that. Dear God. Their faces made that plain enough. Elliot’s temper rose, but Juliana’s quiet, clear tones cut through.
“I quite understand.” She poured more tea, every movement connecting with Elliot’s body in some way. She dropped in two lumps of sugar and topped the tea with a dollop of cream, her arm, side, or bosom touching him at any given moment. “You are concerned for your brother, and our marriage was very hasty.” She gave them a little smile. “Well, it was hasty on Elliot’s part. I was for marriage, obviously, no matter which groom turned up.”
Ainsley raised her teacup in salute. “Bravo, Juliana. May Mr. Barclay’s wedding bed be filled to the brim with bedbugs.”
“Ainsley,” Rona said, though it was apparent she agreed. “For shame.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Barclay is the one who should be ashamed,” Ainsley said. “How lucky that Elliot turned up to save the day.”
“Not luck,” Elliot rumbled. “Mahindar and whiskey.”
“Then thank heavens for Mahindar and whiskey,” Ainsley said.
“My point is that everything has turned out for the best,” Juliana broke in. “Elliot and I live here now. Pity us if you like, but there it is.”
The two ladies blinked again. Ainsley and Rona had come rushing out here, like fairy godmothers to Cinderella, to rescue the fair maiden, only to find the fair maiden sitting before them, her back straight, primly telling them to go away. Juliana faced his sister and sister-in-law like a terrier confronting bloodhounds, and the bloodhounds weren’t quite certain what to do.
Elliot stood up. He didn’t want to, because he liked the warmth of Juliana against him, but this circle of femininity had gone on long enough.
“Fetch your husbands,” he said, “and either stay for a proper visit or scuttle back home. I will remain here, Juliana with me.”
Ainsley gave him a look of exasperation, while Rona merely raised her brows.
Elliot saw from their expressions that their next strategy would have been to bring Patrick and Cameron in on the matter. Elliot isn’t well, they’d say, and shouldn’t be left up here on his own. Do talk to him.
“But only if Patrick and Cam want to play billiards, shoot, or drink. I don’t need to be mollycoddled by the men of the family either.”
“Did you want us to leave on the moment, dear brother?” Ainsley asked. “I haven’t finished my tea.”
Elliot growled. The windows had been opened to let in the breeze, but he could feel nothing of it. The indoors sometimes pressed in on him, and it started to press in on him now.
They could never understand—and Elliot couldn’t make them understand—the little piece of darkness that gnawed away in the back of his brain and never went away. It had started while he was buried underground, in a place where time was nothing, where hunger and thirst were the only indication he was still alive. In a place where the strongest of men became raving lunatics, the darkness crouched, waiting to drag him back down to it.
I am not there. I am here.
Mahindar had taught him to say that when the darkness started to come. Elliot repeated it silently now, his jaw clenched, while the three ladies stared at him in consternation.
He had to leave. Now.
Elliot realized he still held his untouched teacup. He thrust it at Juliana, who took it quickly, before he strode out of the room.
He knew the ladies would put their heads together after he was gone and discuss what had just happened. Juliana’s defense of him warmed him a little—she’d been eager to go back to Edinburgh with Ainsley, but she’d changed her intent the moment she’d realized that Elliot wasn’t ready for her absence.
Elliot knew, logically, that they couldn’t stay at Castle McGregor forever, but he could make decisions about that later. Much later.
For now, he only wanted to walk.
As Elliot entered the kitchen, Hamish jerked up from where he was pumping water into the sink, blue eyes widening. Mahindar was busily going through the pantry, making disparaging noises, and Channan sat quietly at the table, cutting up vegetables and plopping them into a bowl.
“Rest easy, Hamish, lad,” Elliot said. “I don’t have any knives. But I want a gun.”
Any other time, he might laugh at the way Hamish first relaxed then went ramrod straight with fear again. But he didn’t have the patience.
Mahindar backed out of the pantry. “Memsahib took it from Sahib McGregor and had me lock it away,” he said.
“Then unlock it.” To Hamish’s continued stare, Elliot went on, “For rabbit, or game birds. There’s not much to eat, and my brother and brother-in-law might be joining us for supper.”
“Supper for six?” Mahindar rubbed his bearded chin as he always did when agitated. “That is much to ask, sahib.”
“Send to the pub for the meal then.” Elliot waited, and Mahindar hurried to a cupboard, unlocked it, and lifted out the shotgun and a box of shells. Elliot tucked shells into his sporran, checked the barrels and mechanism, laid the unloaded gun over his arm, and walked out the back door.
No one followed him, thank God. The wind was brisk, the sun high, clouds gathering above the towering mountains. Rain would come later, but not now. Wild country was what he needed. To be alone in it, what he wanted.
A small, muddy figure darted at him as he passed the garden gate. “Come!” Priti held up dirty hands to him, an eager smile on her face.
Something inside Elliot untwisted, and the darkness receded a little, snarling in frustration.
He reached down and scooped up the little girl, settling her on his shoulder, keeping her well away from the gun.
Priti balanced herself without worry, happily holding on to Elliot as they started up the path to the hills.
This child had never known fear. Elliot swore with everything within him that she never would.
When the ladies finished their tea and rose to leave, Juliana said, “I think you should return to Edinburgh. Today, I mean. Without dining with us.”
“Nonsense,” Rona said briskly, but Ainsley, with eyes so like Elliot’s, gave her a nod.
“I think I understand.” Ainsley came to Juliana, took her hands, and kissed her cheek. “He’s my brother, but he’s your husband now, and you need to learn the lay of the land. But if you ever need us, you telegraph. And I promise we will come for a nice long visit once you have settled.” She gave Juliana a grin. “You’ve married into a very large family, and this house, unfortunately for you, is big enough for all of them.”
More kisses, and a stout hug from Rona. “Look after my lad,” she said. “And make certain he looks after you.”
Juliana said a few more reassuring things then walked with her guests out the enormous front door and down the overgrown walk. The two ladies had come on foot, the skies so fair, though Juliana cast a wary glance at the thunderheads on the horizon. The weather could change quickly in the Highlands.
She waved her guests away at the gate then turned alone to her new home, pausing to take it in.
The castle and grounds truly were beautiful. Sunlight touched the pile of house, rendering it golden and hiding the gaps in the stone. Behind the house rose the mountains, liquid light shimmering in their folds, and to the east lay the slice of sparkling sea.
Time to make the place livable. Juliana had kept
house for her father since the tender age of eight, when she’d realized that her flibbertigibbet mother, who preferred shopping, gossiping, and dosing herself with laudanum to running a household, would never be able to cope. Juliana had learned much from the butler and housekeeper, who’d become her friends, and after Mrs. St. John’s death when Juliana had been fourteen, Juliana officially ran the household. Gemma married Mr. St. John right after Juliana’s twentieth birthday, but Gemma had been wise enough to let Juliana carry on, never ousting her from doing what she loved.
The McGregor house would be more of a challenge, certainly, than her father’s elegant town house and small manor house near Stirling, but Juliana could do it, she thought. It was all a matter of organizing, and Juliana was most excellent at organizing.
She’d already begun making lists of things they needed to do, subdividing those lists into what must be purchased, what jobs could be left to ordinary laborers, and what jobs would take an expert’s skill, such as the bell system, which was in a complete disarray. To repair it, they’d have to find every rope in every pipe behind the walls and untangle the lot. But no matter—on the list the task went.
Juliana’s bravado flagged slightly as she walked back into the castle’s dusty interior. Hamish had tracked another layer of muddy boot prints in since the day before, but otherwise, all was as it had been yesterday—which meant a chaotic mess.
Because of the broken bell system, Juliana either had to shout for the staff when she needed something or go in search of them. As she reentered the morning room, she decided to do neither this time but carry the tea tray back to the kitchens herself. The empty things weren’t heavy, and Mahindar and his family had so much to do already.
She gathered up the cups and saucers, piling them neatly on the tray. If she fingered Elliot’s cup a little longer than the others, there was no one to see, was there?
When she entered the big kitchen with her tray, she was assailed by pungent aromas of food she couldn’t identify, the scents odd but somehow mouthwatering. A pot simmered on the stove, Mahindar tending it, and Channan sat on her heels next to a large clay pot in the fireplace, poking at something inside.
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