The Marriage Contract

by Cathy Maxwell

  Cora broke off. She stared hard into space a moment, her eyes suspiciously shiny, but she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t either.

  Anne understood. You couldn’t cry about the way people treated you. If you did, it would hurt worse.

  “I want to raise Marie,” Cora said. “Meg will let me. Marie is in her way as it is now. But I need money to feed and clothe a child. You are my last hope. There is no one else who will hire me.”

  For a second, Anne couldn’t speak. Cora was so pretty, of course Aidan would choose her over Anne.

  Still…their marriage was in name only. She had no right to be jealous. What did it matter what her husband did, as long as she could stay at Kelwin?

  Cora misinterpreted her silence. She retreated a step. “Yes, my lady, I understand. I wouldn’t hire me either.” Before Anne could blink, she turned and started hurrying toward the door.

  Anne went after her. “Wait!” She had to say it again before Cora stopped in the doorway, her head bowed.

  “I will hire you to be my maid.”

  The girl turned. “Why?”

  Anne answered honestly. “Because I know how it feels to be the outcast…to be the one not chosen.”

  “Yes,” Cora said quietly.

  “Back in London, someone wrote something about me in the newspaper once.” Anne had to pause. The pain of the public embarrassment still had the power to hurt. “The person who wrote it was an odious man. He made his living selling gossip. He was completely despicable, although he thought himself clever and witty. He called me a toad eater. Do you know what that is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a female relation with no money, who is dependent upon the members of her family. It is not a flattering description and certainly not anything a single, marriageable lady wants printed publicly about her, because no gentleman wants a poor wife.”

  “It was cruel of him to print such a thing.”

  His column had all but destroyed her socially. She put the pain behind her. “Disagreeable people are often cruel. But we don’t have to abide by their opinions and I’ve managed to survive being refused a voucher to Almack’s. It all seems silly now, when one is this far from London, but at the time it was very serious. I had a friend who was lovely and wealthy. She championed me. She couldn’t obtain entrance to Almack’s exclusive rooms for me, but she did insist that hostesses who wished her to attend their functions must invite me, too. She gave me a chance.”

  “What is Almack’s, my lady?” Cora asked, confused.

  Anne shook her head. “It’s…nothing.” She gave the woman a hard look from toe to head. Her clothing was worn and too tight, but she was clean and presentable. “Don’t disappoint me, Cora. I do not want to regret making the decision to employ you.”

  The girl fell back against the barn door as if her legs could no longer support her weight. “You’ll never be disappointed in me.” This time when tears came, she made no attempt to hold them back.

  “No, I don’t think I will,” Anne said, praying she wasn’t making a heartbreaking mistake. “But I warn you, I expect you to work hard and learn well.”

  “I will, my lady.” Cora even bobbed an awkward curtsey, as if to prove her words.

  “You’ll live in the servants’ quarters.”

  “I didn’t even dare to wish that much. A room of my own?”

  “Yes, unless we hire more servants,” Anne said, but added sternly, “And I expect your conduct to be beyond reproach.”

  “It will be, my lady.”

  “If Norval or any other man—” She didn’t know how to finish, but that was all right, because Cora understood.

  “No men. I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime.”

  “You’ll bring the girl, Marie, to live here, too?”

  Cora drew in a sharp breath. “It is my fondest wish, but it may not be wise, my lady.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because people will talk.” She made a helpless gesture with her hand. “If I bring Marie to live under your roof, people will think she is the laird’s child. She has black curly hair and blue eyes. I had thought to board her with one of the shepherd’s families.”

  Anne had never thought of Aidan having children. She took a thoughtful step before asking, “Is she his?”

  “No! And I know it for a fact. Yes, the laird has a reputation with the ladies, but he is more—?”

  “Circumspect?” Anne supplied hopefully.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Careful of the consequences.”

  “Aye, he was always careful…and gentle.” Cora glanced away. “I shouldn’t have said the last, but not all men care how they treat you.”

  Anne shook her head. “It is all right.” There was a beat of silence between them, and then Anne said with authority, “Go fetch your things while I finish these stalls. And you can bring Marie with you.”

  “I’ll do the stalls,” Cora volunteered eagerly. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re not used to this sort of work.”

  The offer was tempting. But her pride insisted she show Aidan she could do whatever task he set before her. Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t want help. “We’ll do them together.”

  “And have them done in no time,” Cora assured her. The two women set to work.

  On the other side of the wall, Aidan had listened to the entire conversation.

  Anne’s generosity at giving Cora a position humbled him. No other woman in the kirk would have done it. And there was something haunting about the words Anne had used when she’d admitted she’d known what it was like to be an outcast.

  He did, too.

  Had he not left London because he didn’t fit the mold? Society was no place for a romantic medievalist with a traitorous ancestry.

  He listened as Anne and Cora set to work cleaning the stalls. While they mucked and raked, Anne outlined to Cora what she expected of her. Aidan was impressed. Anne did know how to run a household.

  He didn’t worry about having Cora in his employ. The girl had been a momentary distraction and, if the truth be known, he’d crossed paths with too many former lovers to have a care about meeting one more again.

  But he was concerned about what he would say to Anne. He eased out the side door and leaned against the limestone wall.

  He shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It had opened her up to him and exposed her vulnerability. She would not be happy if she learned of it.

  Hugh found him deep in thought.

  “Are you afraid it will fall down?” he teased.

  “What will fall down?” Aidan asked.

  “The wall. You act as if you are holding it up.” Seeing Aidan wasn’t in the mood for joking, he stated his business. “The Reverend Oliphant is here from Thurso. He had the chance to come early and is ready to hold the funeral so he can take himself home again.”

  Aidan nodded. “Is the grave dug?”

  “Thomas and I finished it an hour ago,” he answered.

  “Then let us gather in the chapel.”

  “I’ll tell the others.”

  Aidan stopped Hugh before he walked away. “Tell my wife, too, will you? She’s in the barn.”

  If Hugh thought it strange Aidan didn’t want to inform Anne himself when he stood mere feet away from her, he didn’t comment. Instead, he did as bidden.

  Aidan waited, listening to Anne’s response. She told Hugh she had one stall to finish and then she and Cora would come.

  Thoughtfully, Aidan trudged his way to the chapel. Deacon fell into step beside him. “It’s a stroke of brilliance!” he practically crowed.

  “What are you talking about?” Aidan asked, irritated.

  “Having the English lass clean the stables. You are a genius, Tiebauld. A strategic genius. With you in our rebellion, the English will never be able to outfox us.”

  “Deacon?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Sod off.” Aidan went into the chapel. It held less than twenty-five people. The
inside had a pulpit, several rows of chairs, and not much more. The coachman was laid out in a hastily built casket in front of the pulpit. Several members of his clan drifted in.

  A few minutes later, Anne arrived. He sensed her presence before he saw her. The very air seemed to vibrate and churn with her unique energy. Turning toward the door, he smiled. She’d taken a moment to tidy her hair.

  Ever the proper Englishwoman, he thought with a touch of admiration.

  And being such, she walked the short distance up the aisle to where he stood. She slipped into the chair beside his, but she was careful not to touch him in any way.

  The Reverend Oliphant began the service. Aidan wasn’t listening to the words of comfort and a promise of a hereafter. Instead, he thought about hair pins. Anne had said in the stall she wished for some. It was such a small thing, but the sort of item women liked and men never thought of.

  It wouldn’t take him a bit of time to ride to Wick and buy her a few. Might cheer her a bit.

  Through the ceremony and the subsequent burial, he was aware of her genuine grief. She’d liked the coachman. He hovered close, in case she became emotional. But Anne didn’t break down. She had too much pride. Her strength pleased him—until the ceremony was over and she turned on her heel and walked away, out the opposite side of the small row of chairs, without so much as a glance in his direction. Marching up to the Reverend Oliphant, she asked him to join them for lunch, an invitation heartily accepted, and then she left the chapel, heading for the kitchen.

  Aidan hurried to catch up. “Anne?”

  She stopped, her shoulders stiff. “Yes?”

  He slowed. He had nothing else to say. He groped for words. “Are you all right?”

  She softened then. “I’ll be fine. Todd was a nice man. It was a sad passing. So sudden.”

  “A funeral is always sobering.”

  Her head nodded agreement. “It reminds us of how fragile life is.”

  Now it was his turn to nod.

  “Well, I’d best talk to Mary about lunch,” she murmured.

  He let her leave. Usually glib around women, he hadn’t been able to think of a single sensible word to detain her longer. Her eyes were what tied his tongue. Their gaze was so honest, so direct and forthright, they made him feel like a royal bastard. Why did he choose today, knowing the Reverend Oliphant could arrive, to prove his point and order her to clean the stables?

  During lunch, Aidan felt left out of the conversation. The Reverend Oliphant liked Anne. The two of them actually had much to discuss. Of course, the topic was mainly religion. Aidan had nothing to add. The last time he’d set foot in a church for a Sunday service had been in London.

  “I pray to see you in chapel, my lady,” the Reverend Oliphant said.

  “Of course, I will be there,” she answered.

  The Reverend Oliphant’s smile was cunning as he said, “And perhaps you can get your obstinate husband to come say a few words to the Lord.”

  Anne didn’t even look at Aidan as she answered, “I may try.”

  “I wish you success,” the Reverend Oliphant answered.

  Aidan hated being discussed as if he wasn’t present. Still, that afternoon, he rode to Wick for hair pins.

  Chapter 9

  Anne spent the afternoon detailing to Cora what would be expected of her and seeing the young woman and her niece settled in the servants’ quarters, a wing of rooms off the great hall and close to the kitchen. If anyone was surprised at the Whiskey Girl’s change of status, they didn’t comment.

  She even liked Cora’s niece, Marie, a silent child who at the age of seven was old enough to know what traffic her mother and aunts dealt in. Cora had been right to move her.

  Norval took to the child immediately. “I’ve not had family of my own,” he explained. “It’s been rather lonely here.”

  Anne nodded. She understood loneliness, and if Cora and Marie’s presence did a little something toward keeping him sober in the evening, then that would be a good thing, too.

  Of course, moving the ale kegs from the courtyard and great hall and putting them in the kitchen where they belonged would also be a first step in the right direction. However, considering Aidan’s fondness for ale, she didn’t dare attempt such a thing—yet.

  Later, Anne hurried to Aidan’s bedroom to dress for dinner. She hung the periwinkle dress in the wardrobe to air and put on a simple ivory muslin trimmed in green ribbons. The ivory wasn’t as richly detailed as the periwinkle dress, but she thought she looked rather fine after she finished her toilette.

  It would be nice to pin her hair up, but a bright red ribbon gathering it at the nape served the purpose as well. Especially since she wasn’t planning to muck out stalls that evening. She was almost to the point where she could laugh about the whole experience—almost.

  Grabbing her Kashmir shawl, she left the room and stopped. Deacon waited for her in the hallway.

  She was tempted to walk right past him but he must have read her mind. He pushed away from the wall where he had been lounging and placed himself in her path.

  “I hear you hired one of the Whiskey Girls as a household servant.”

  “I did.”

  He sneered. “What do you hope to prove by hiring one of the village whores as a maid?”

  “I don’t have to prove anything,” she replied calmly, although inside she was shaking. Deacon would love to discredit her.

  “I suppose not,” he answered. “However, I think it is an accommodating wife who places her husband’s dolly close by for his convenience. A Scottish wife wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  For a moment, Anne couldn’t speak. His barb struck the heart of her insecurities. But she’d never let Deacon see that.

  “Well, I’m not Scottish,” she said tightly, “as you so often remind me. I am one of the dreaded English, those creatures who strike fear in you.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Is that true? Then why does my simple womanly presence bother you so much? If Aidan wishes to send me away, he can.”

  “He’s been trying to, lass, you’re too stubborn to recognize it.”

  Anne took a step back, suddenly unable to breathe.

  Deacon pressed on. “They are all laughing at you, every one of them. Even the women like Bonnie Mowat and Kathleen Keith. Go home, Englishwoman. Go back to where you belong.” He turned and walked away.

  Anne leaned back against the wall, her palms flat on the stone surface. She feared if she took a step in any direction the floor would disappear beneath her feet.

  And here she had started to congratulate herself that all was going well.

  She struggled for composure. She couldn’t give Deacon the satisfaction of seeing how crippling his words had been. She stood up straight, twisted her neck to loosen the tightening in her shoulders, and with head high, went down for dinner.

  Downstairs, Aidan and Hugh looked up as she entered the room. They stood by the fire drinking from polished tankards. Deacon had already taken his seat at the table.

  “I was thinking, Anne,” Aidan said without preamble, “the floors are cold without my mat of rushes.”

  She didn’t pause, but walked straight to her seat at the table, which was on the opposite end from Deacon’s. “Are you going to lay down fresh rushes?”

  Her husband frowned. “No, I was thinking of one of those Indian carpets, something with a design in gold and blue.”

  She tensely smiled her assent. But the décor of the room was no longer of interest. She started to sit when she noticed a small package beside her plate. She glanced around the table. No one else had such a package. “What is this?” she asked, picking it up.

  Deacon frowned, not even deigning to answer. Aidan and Hugh acted as if they hadn’t seen it before.

  Anne opened the paper wrapping. Inside were twenty silver hair pins. A dozen thoughts hit her mind all at once. She looked up and caught her husband watching her closely.

  Aidan di
dn’t approve of the way she’d been wearing her hair. She knew he’d given her pins.

  “What’s in the package?” Hugh asked.

  “Nothing important,” Anne answered, closing her fist around the pins. She took her seat.

  What was his game now? To embarrass her into returning to London? She tossed her hair defiantly and immediately wished she could crawl under the table and hide.

  Aidan and Hugh took their places at the table just as Norval and Fenella started to serve. Fenella wasn’t expected to serve, but even in her uneasy state, Anne noticed she favored Hugh by moving to him first.

  Bitterly she wished the girl well. She herself had enough of love. Cupid’s dart stung.

  “Anne, are you feeling well?” her husband asked in a low voice.

  She glanced up at him sitting beside her, their elbows inches from each other. He seemed genuinely concerned for her health, while uncaring for her feelings. The pain of his rejection was so sharp, it hurt to look at him. She lowered her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re so quiet. And you haven’t touched anything on your plate.”

  Anne picked up her fork. The dinner was peas and stuffed grouse. She made a pretense of eating.

  She thought it would be enough, that he would leave her alone. He didn’t.

  “I haven’t done something to offend you, have I?”

  “No, nothing at all,” she answered. “You’ve treated me like a crown princess.”

  Aidan leaned back, stung by her scorn. “What have I done to made you angry?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, stabbing a pea so viciously with her fork, it split the poor thing in half.

  He checked on Deacon and Hugh to ensure they hadn’t overheard anything. Hugh was too preoccupied watching the sway of Fenella’s hips as she carried the serving bowl out of the room to have noticed a herd of elephants if they’d marched into the room.