“Ye must know by the livery that he is my father’s servant, my bodyguard,” Celeste said. “Allan Croft is his name.”
Allan again bowed.
Roderick’s full lips curled in scorn, and his voice held mockery. “Aye, that I do know. Such irony! A misbegotten Highland knave in my darling’s chambers, beholding her unbound hair? He’ll soon rue the day.”
“What nonsense!” Celeste’s attempt at laughter sounded flat. “Roderick, why ever didna ye tell us the date of your arrival? Now Papa is away a fortnight, and ye’ve caught me unawares.” She ran one hand through her braid-kinked locks. “But welcome, dear cousin.” Extending her hands, she tried to smile.
“My love, you look ravishing. How many nights have I lain awake, imagining the glory of your hair? Yet every dream fell short of its resplendent reality.” He brushed past Allan and lifted her hands to his lips. “As I explained once before, those eyeglasses mask the glorious hue of your eyes. For my sake, resume the lorgnette.”
Celeste stared at the curling black hair on his ungloved fingers. A faintly fetid aroma rose from his bowed head, and she saw grime ingrained around his neckcloth. When had the man last bathed?
Giving Allan a sideward glance, Roderick yanked Celeste into a close embrace and buried his face in her neck. “And where is the kiss I’ve dreamed of all these lonely weeks?” Strong arms squeezed her body against his, and hot breath moistened her throat.
Burning with indignation and shame, Celeste pushed at Roderick’s constricting arms. “What kiss is that, cousin? Ye’ve ne’er coaxed one from me! Unhand me ere my bodyguard rends ye limb from limb!” She tried to maintain a teasing tone.
“I’d run him through ere he took two steps in my direction.” Although Roderick released her, his grin resembled a sneer. He patted his sword. “I’ll soon put an end to this farce.”
Celeste trembled in every limb. Sustaining a pleasant expression and tone, she sidled closer to Allan, noting that he gripped his sword hilt. “Enough talk of violence, Roderick. Allow me time to dress and welcome ye properly in the great drawing room.”
Roderick moved in. “Why not send this boor away and welcome me properly right here?” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Ye’ve no need of a bodyguard now that your Roderick has come.” A hint of brogue crept into his cultured voice.
Sensing Allan’s strength at her back, she shook a chiding finger under Roderick’s nose. “Such a thing canna be done, even if I wished it. Papa hired Allan to watch o’er me, and only Papa can order him away.”
Roderick scanned Allan dismissively. “I could knock him over the head and dump him down the garderobe hole if you but say the word. I’d have done it years ago if that rat Ballantyne hadn’t caught wind of the prank and stopped me.” He chuckled. “My own, to see your mane flowing free nigh takes my breath away!” He reached out a trembling hand.
Flinging her hair behind her shoulders, Celeste backed up until her heels bumped Allan’s boot toes. All pretense left her. “Enough, Roderick. Your intimations insult me! Begone. I shall greet ye downstairs within the hour, and we shall pretend this scene ne’er happened.”
Eyes flaming, Roderick appeared to deliberate between challenging Allan upon the spot or biding his time. Caution prevailed. “Within the hour, my own. And leave the churl behind lest I slay it before your tender eyes.” He paused to give an ugly laugh. “Keep in mind, Highlander, that those who lift their eyes too high oft fall to ruin.”
When she heard Roderick’s shoes upon the spiral stairs, Celeste slumped back against Allan. His forearm slid across her back as he released his sword. “What has happened to Roderick? He is a stranger, not the man I thought I–I thought …”
How could she ever have imagined herself in love with Roderick? That dirty, lecherous, shifty-eyed beast! No wonder Papa had objected to the match. She shook her head. Turning, she gave a yelp of pain and nearly fell against Allan. Her hair had tangled on his waistcoat buttons.
“Alas, I appear to be trapped.” She attempted a jest despite her heart’s pounding, but he did not respond. With quaking hands, Celeste unwound her snarled hair, trying not to touch him any more than necessary. Allan’s gloved fists clenched at his sides. His rapid breathing ruffled the curls framing Celeste’s forehead.
Allan stood like a statue, enduring the exquisite inferno caused by Celeste’s touch. As soon as her hair was free, he stepped back. “I shall call Beryl to help ye dress.” He scarcely recognized his own voice.
“No need. I’m here.” Beryl waited beside the bedchamber doorway, staring daggers into his heart.
Beryl knew. She had always known.
Celeste turned and dashed into her room. When Beryl would have followed, Allan caught her attention with a wave. She closed the door and approached him, her eyes hooded.
“D’ye wish my lady harm?” he whispered.
Beryl lowered her gaze and shook her head.
“Will ye aid us?”
A slow nod.
His tension lightened, and he whispered directions into her ear. “Can ye do this for me? For her?”
“Beryl?” Celeste opened her door and peeked out.
Allan stepped back, met Beryl’s gaze, and received another nod. Beryl entered her mistress’s chamber. The door closed, and another chunk of plaster hit the floor.
The next morning, Beryl did not appear in Celeste’s chamber. Celeste dressed herself and wound her nighttime braid into a fat bun. Her eyes burned and her stomach ached. Evidence continued to mount that Allan did not return her growing attraction to him. He was impervious to her feminine allure, if she possessed such a thing. Slipping on her spectacles, she studied her reflection in the mirror.
Roderick was right—the glasses did hide her eyes. Not that her eye color could compare with Beryl’s anyway. Her simple gown matched her eyes, but its gray-blue shade seemed to lend her cheeks a deathly cast, and her mouth puckered in a distinct pout.
Placing her hands on her hips, she twisted from side to side to examine her figure. Even without a corset, her waist appeared trim. The lace ruffles of her chemise peeped above the morning gown’s low neckline and fringed its elbow-length sleeves. A ruffled cap topped her brown hair, its lappets dangling at the back of her neck.
How was a woman to know whether a man preferred willowy grace or plump curves? Celeste was uncertain which description suited her best—probably neither. Did Allan admire a petite woman or a lady of elegant height? Celeste’s gloom deepened. Her height was somewhere in between.
She clasped her hands, bowed her head, and squeezed her eyes shut.
Dearest Jesus, my Friend, please help me! Keep Allan here to protect me and teach me about You. Beryl does not love him as a wife should, so please do not let them marry. Keep him safe, and do not allow Roderick to mock him today. And keep Roderick from touching me. I fear Allan will feel obliged to kill Roderick, and that would cause such trouble for him. For Allan, I mean. Amen.
Even while praying, she remembered Allan and Beryl with their heads close together, his gloved hand brushing ruddy curls from Beryl’s ear. Had he reconsidered his objection to marrying a cousin? Had Beryl and Allan run off together? Did Allan believe his duty ended now that Roderick had arrived?
Lifting her chin and throwing back her shoulders, Celeste opened her chamber door and stepped into the antechamber.
Allan rose from an armchair and laid aside his book. “My lady.” He bowed.
Celeste’s face crumpled, and tears began to pour down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands. Sobs lurched her body.
“My lady.” His breath tickled her forehead. “Are ye ill? Have I failed ye in any fashion?” Distress colored his voice. “Come and be seated. Shall I send for wine?”
She shook her head.
He grasped her upper arm. “Please, come and sit. Can ye tell what ails ye?”
She allowed him to seat her in his chair. He pressed a handkerchief into her hands. “Where,” she gasped while dabbing at her ey
es, “is … Beryl?”
He went down on one knee and peered into her face. His thick brows met in the middle of his forehead, and his gray eyes looked dark with concern. “Beryl has gone, but I shall care for ye as best I can. Shall I summon a physic? D’ye hurt anywhere, my lady?”
She nodded and pressed one fist to the center of her chest beneath her bosom.
“Here.”
He started to reach toward her, clenched his hand, then returned it to his upraised knee. “Is it something ye ate? Is the pain constant, or does it throb?”
“Both.” She tried to draw a deep breath, but another sob snatched it away. “I–I was so afraid!”
She saw his eyes flicker back and forth as he studied her face, which must look dreadful after her bout of weeping. “What did ye fear, my lady?”
“I prayed that God would keep ye here….” Her body jerked with leftover sobs. “That ye wouldna leave … me, but I feared ye’d gone … gone away with Beryl.”
“As ye see, I am here. Aught else?”
“Roderick … he frightens me. I–I dinna think I can con–control him long, and Papa … Papa willna return for many days!”
He switched knees and rested one elbow on the upraised leg. The tip of his sword scabbard rapped the floor. “My lady, in honesty I canna tell ye that your fears are groundless.”
“Ye do intend to wed Beryl?”
A smile twitched his lips. “Nay, I willna marry my cousin, and I believe she now accepts it. Her temper is as fiery as her hair, and she indulges in unseemly fantasies, yet her heart is tender toward you, my lady. Against fearful odds, ye’ve won her loyalty by being a friend to a servant maid. I pray the Lord will reach her heart through your love.”
His eyes narrowed. “I believe you intended, at one time, to wed the viscount.”
Celeste squirmed. “I believed it myself until I met him again. He had convinced me of his sincerity, and he claimed to love me despite unpleasant family secrets. I now wonder if the tales he related held any truth.” Her breathing gradually became more even. “I had even begun to wonder if you, Beryl, and Dougal intended to kill me.” She tried to chuckle.
“D’ye trust me now?”
She met his gaze. “Entirely.”
He thumped his hand upon his knee and arose. “Pray that good will prevail o’er evil, obey my every command, and dinna allow your cousin to touch ye. Can ye do this?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll escort ye downstairs when ye’re ready, my lady.”
Chapter 6
Pacing back and forth across the library, Celeste glanced toward her cousin and wished for the hundredth time that he had never come. The three days since his arrival had seemed endless. Roderick divided much of his time between secretive meetings with the ailing Mr. Ballantyne and intrusive encounters with Celeste. His dark eyes held mysteries that seemed to give him great amusement and satisfaction. Only when he looked at Allan did his face harden and his self-assurance waver.
Roderick’s nose was deep in a book, but Celeste suspected him of feigning interest.
“Where did ye go this morn, Roderick?”
“On an errand. Be seated. You make me dizzy.”
Celeste sat and picked up her needlework. The first stitch jabbed her finger. “Did ye go to o’ersee the harvest? Is it true that the villagers are unhappy because this recent wet weather spoiled much of the harvest?”
He gave her a disbelieving look and flung one elegant leg over the arm of his chair. “Why would I care? They’ll pay rent out of their own lazy hides, if need be. If you must know, I was researching records at a nearby kirk. An ill-favored edifice. I prefer a fine cathedral or even Kennerith’s wee chapel.”
“People matter more than the building. Vaulted ceilings and intricate woodcarvings canna substitute for fellowship with other believers. I’ve learned to enjoy the simple services at the village kirk. I understand much more than e’er before, and understanding brings me joy.” Celeste glanced toward Allan, who stared through one of the tall windows as rain drizzled down its panes.
“Some people would benefit from greater understanding, but others would only come to realize what they had lost.” Roderick aimed the remark at Allan’s back.
“There is hope for a man’s repentance so long as he draws breath,” Celeste said.
“If such belief comforts you, I’m glad of it.”
Celeste blinked. “Either a thing is true or it is not.”
“Aye, but some will believe it true and others will not.”
“I believe Jesus is the Savior of the world, as He claimed.”
“How charmingly archaic of you, my love. Religion is good for a woman as long as she doesn’t let it harden her.” Roderick closed the book over his finger and yawned, patting his lips. “Anything taken too far is a fault, including religion.”
“But Jesus is not a religion—He is the Son of God.”
Roderick rolled his eyes. “Women are more agreeable when their mouths are closed. Do you not agree, Highland scum? Especially that wench you plan to wed—the one with manly arms and womanly charms. A fitting bride for a weakling knave who would allow his wife to run the house. Do you know his origins, cousin? It seems our uncle took a passing fancy to—”
“Be still!” Celeste cried, standing up and rounding on her cousin with a swirl of skirts. “You take every opportunity to mock him. Canna ye see that he turns the cheek as Christ commands? My Allan could slay a feeble gentleman like you in an instant, but he is above senseless killing.”
“Your Allan? What talk is this? I will not have it!” Roderick leaped from his seat and grasped her arm with iron fingers. “Remove those spectacles and use the lorgnette I bought you.” He grabbed for her face, but Celeste twisted away. Spouting imprecations, he spun her back to face him. “You’re mine alone, as will be this castle, the title, and all!”
A squawk of pain escaped before she realized what was happening. She heard the ring of steel and felt Roderick’s body stiffen. A sword point hovered near the cleft in her cousin’s chin. Roderick stared down the shimmering length of the saber. With Celeste pressed against him, his own sword was out of his reach.
“Release the lady.”
Roderick swallowed hard. “She is my intended.” His voice wavered.
“I am charged with her protection. Unhand the lady. Now.”
Roderick let go and backed away. Celeste had thought he might draw his own sword, but he kept his hands lifted. “You’ll regret this. I’ll neither forget nor forgive.” Once out of reach, he regained insolence. “When I am earl, all MacMurrays will die painfully or be deported. I swear it!”
He bumped into the door, turned, and made a hasty retreat. Allan sheathed his sword.
Celeste let her questions spill over. “How does he know you’re a MacMurray? What mean these threats he shouts? Has he gone mad?”
Allan frowned. “The viscount spent much of his childhood here. He and I are auld acquaintances. He might ha’ learned my true identity almost anywhere. The secret is no real secret.”
He turned away and stood with arms folded across his chest, his jacket pulled taut across his shoulders. “As for his threats, I darena’ leave your side long enough to discern their significance. The serving staff whispers, yet none will speak openly. Dougal disappeared the morning his lairdship left the castle, and now Beryl is gone.”
Celeste shivered despite the fire’s warmth. “I wish Papa hadna gone away. E’er since Roderick’s arrival, I’ve had a sense of impending doom. Something dreadful will happen, I ken.”
When Allan did not respond, Celeste sank into a chair, remembering conversations she had overheard concerning the indolent tendencies of her uncle Alastair and the disagreeable repute of his son. Alastair had lived off his eldest brother, Robert’s, reluctant largesse most of his ill-spent life, leaving Roderick to run wild.
“Papa has never cared for Roderick,” she said. “Until this past spring, I had seen my cousin only twice before, an
d then I was a small child. When he came to pay me court, he seemed agreeable. I thought Papa was mistaken.” The memory that Roderick’s attentions originated immediately after Celeste inherited a small fortune obtruded itself once again.
“Allan, did he truly nigh stuff ye down the garderobe? I should think the holes too small.” The idea made her shudder. In her mind, the shaft beneath the castle’s antiquated latrine terminated somewhere near the center of the earth.
“He might ha’ succeeded but for Mr. Ballantyne’s intervention. I was a wee lad of ten; the viscount was fifteen.” Allan’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“How despicable!” Celeste whispered. “This castle would frighten me if you werena here. Almost I expect to become lost someday and happen upon a skeleton in a dungeon. Where is this chapel Roderick spoke of?”
“Ye’ve not seen the chapel?” Allan turned.
Celeste shook her head. “Will ye take me there?”
“With pleasure.” A smile flickered across his lips. “At your leisure, my lady.”
She hopped up and followed him from the library and down the main staircase. When he opened the front door, she asked, “Shall I need a bonnet?”
“Nay. ’Tisna far, and the rain has ceased.”
He led the way down the castle’s front steps and turned left. Then up another set of broad stone steps and along a covered walk beside the partially crumbled curtain wall. “Take my arm, my lady. Many flagstones are broken or missing.”
Celeste gladly laid her hand upon his forearm. “It has a musty, moldy smell, this walkway.” Large gaps in the sidewall revealed the castle courtyard and outbuildings. A cat stared at them, wide-eyed, then drifted up the wall and out a window like a gray mist.
“I suspect it supports a thriving population of mice, hence the cats.” With that comment, he hauled open a wooden door. “The priest’s entrance in days of old.”
British Brides Collection Page 49
