His Miracle Bride

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I’ll go back to bed as soon as the tablets work,’ she said. ‘Go back to your plans.’

  He did. He focused on his work with absolute attention. After a bit he seemed to forget she was there, which suited her. She could watch him surreptitiously, taking stock.

  He really was the strangest mix.

  He was about as different from Mike as it was possible for a man to be. Mike would have jumped her by now, she thought. Despite the pigs.

  Pierce seemed totally oblivious.

  Which was just as well, she thought, if she had to spend the next couple of weeks with him…

  She shouldn’t go to the beach. He wouldn’t need her at the castle.

  ‘I will need you,’ he said, and she blinked. He was writing on the side of the plans. His hand didn’t pause. How could he know what she was thinking?

  ‘Why will you need me?’

  ‘Because Donald trusts you.’

  ‘Donald?’

  ‘He’s a strange kid. He’s been watching me for a year now, and yet I don’t think he trusts me. He’s waiting for me to ditch them or something. He tries to take care of them all himself, and he tries to pretend they don’t need me. But in one fell swoop he’s figured that you’re okay.’

  ‘Clyde was good for something.’

  ‘I guess he was.’ He sighed. ‘Poor old man.’

  ‘Clyde, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s quiet as a baby tonight. I put him in the girls’ paddock. It’s a bit early for joining, but I thought a bit of sex might take his mind off his trauma.’

  ‘You worry about them all,’ she said softly. ‘Even Clyde.’

  ‘Yeah. Some bachelor,’ he said grimly, and went back to his drawings.

  The pills were kicking in a little. Or maybe it was the warmth and the cocoa and the company. She felt sleepy and warm, and like she didn’t want to move for a hundred years.

  ‘You’re not a bachelor,’ she said sleepily. ‘You’re a widower.’

  There was a pause. ‘So I am,’ he said, cautious.

  ‘“Widower”’ is much sexier than “bachelor”.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘It’s true,’ she said, labouring a point that suddenly felt important. ‘A widower is very, very sexy.’

  ‘Widower with five kids?’

  ‘Hmm.’ She thought about that. ‘It’s a hitch,’ she said. ‘But I’m prepared to overlook it.’

  There was a long, drawn out silence. She was watching the flames. They were forming shapes. ‘I can see a bull in there,’ she said.

  ‘A bull…’

  ‘A sort of bull in the inferno. A little something from Dante. I think I might paint it.’

  ‘What’s in those pills?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He grinned and rose, joining her in the lovely warm haze radiated by the stove. ‘Bedtime.’

  ‘I want to stay here.’

  ‘I can see that you do. But I have work to do, and you’re distracting me.’

  ‘You’re distracting yourself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said gravely. ‘Is your shoulder still hurting?’

  ‘My shoulder’s lovely.’

  ‘Then it’s bedtime for you, princess,’ he said, and he bent and lifted her with the effortless ease he’d used before.

  She should take umbrage. She should…

  She wound her arms round his neck and held on. ‘Nice.’

  ‘So Ruby tells me.’

  ‘Ruby’s right. She says you’re the nice one. You’re certainly the one with the sexiest pyjamas.’

  ‘Have you been on the whisky?’

  She thought about that. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Should I have? Can we have one?’

  ‘If I give you a whisky you’ll be out for the count,’ he told her. ‘I have a feeling you don’t take painkillers too often.’

  ‘Pain?’

  ‘That’s what I mean, sweetheart.’ He was climbing the stairs. She was cradled against him. He had the nicest pyjamas, she thought hazily. They were made of the same soft fabric as her pink pigs. She put her cheek on his shoulder and it felt really, really soft…

  ‘Do you mind?’ he asked in a voice that was none too steady.

  ‘Do I mind what?’

  ‘Not taking any more of those damned pills,’ he said. ‘I’m having a word with the doctor tomorrow.’

  ‘The doctor was really, really sorry.’

  ‘Was he?’

  ‘Yes, cos he thought the children were yours and he thought you should have got them inoculated. But I told him you were a hero.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘It’s true.’ They’d reached the girls’ bedroom. He pushed the door wide with his foot and strode across to the last bed in the row. The empty bed. Her bed.

  ‘It’s a very, very good thing you’re not sleeping in Maureen’s big bed,’ he said, setting her down on the pillows. Then, as she clung, he reached up and carefully unentwined her fingers from behind his neck.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It just is. Shanni, let me go.’

  She let him go. Just.

  ‘Widowers are very, very sexy,’ she whispered.

  ‘So are artists in pyjamas with pink pigs.’ He smiled, that magic smile that warmed places within her she hadn’t realized were cold.

  ‘Goodnight, Shanni,’ he said. He placed a finger on her lips.

  ‘Goodnight yourself,’ she whispered. She lifted her hand to his finger and held it where it was, trapped against her lips.

  ‘Shanni…’

  ‘Very, very sexy,’ she whispered. ‘Are you going to kiss me goodnight?’

  He nearly didn’t. She saw him retreat, just a little. But he couldn’t resist. She knew it with the same cosy certainty that said the night was safe, and life was good, and this house was the most splendid house she’d ever stayed in, and this was the most comfortable bed and…

  He kissed her. It was meant to be a feather kiss, over before she knew it, but she wasn’t interested in a feather kiss. She put her arms around his neck and tugged him close, finding his mouth, kissing him long and languorously and wonderfully. It felt so right-an extension of the warmth and the wonder of the night. He felt…hers. Her man. She held him close and kissed and kissed, and felt him respond as she knew he must…

  Pierce…

  But he was pulling away. Unlooping her arms. Forcing her back onto the pillows and moving back.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘What did I tell you? Sexy as hell.’

  He was backing to the door.

  ‘Kiss me again?’ she pleaded, and he shook his head. He smiled but his smile was strained.

  ‘You need to sleep.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  He grinned then. ‘Yes you do, princess,’ he murmured. She could still see his face. He hadn’t turned the light on, so the only light was the moon, but she could see his features. He didn’t want to leave as much as she didn’t want him to go.

  ‘Pierce?’

  His smile faded. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, and he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE drive to the castle took three hours, and Shanni blushed the whole way.

  Part of the problem was she had too much time to think. She was driving her father’s car, unwilling to join the mob in Maureen’s wagon and be trapped with no transport at a place she didn’t know. Pierce had fretted about her driving with her bad shoulder but she’d ignored him. Her shoulder was better, she’d decreed.

  Donald elected to go with her. Pierce was driving Maureen’s wagon, and she and Donald followed.

  She was never touching those blue pills again.

  If the pills had made her act out of character, the least they could do was erase the memory so she didn’t know what a fool she’d made of herself the next morning.

  Stupid pills.

  She’d forced him to kiss her.

  And
there was the hub of the problem. The kiss was replaying in her head, over and over. Donald was no help. Her small companion hummed a tuneless little ditty over and over, refusing to talk, refusing to help her divert herself.

  So she blushed and she gave herself lectures and she blushed again.

  She was supposed to be following Pierce, but even seeing the back of his car did her head in. So she fell back, so far that she ended up in Dolphin Bay with Pierce’s car nowhere to be seen. She had to stop and ask directions.

  The lady at the post office was working on a garish piece of macramé. Macramé followed her everywhere, Shanni thought despondently. What, was there a world resurgence?

  But as soon as she asked for directions the postmistress set aside her macramé and beamed.

  ‘How many kiddies this time?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Oh, my dear. Oh, you’re all going to have a wonderful time. I can’t tell you…’

  It was a positive note. Shanni returned to the car and headed off again, vaguely worried that Pierce would be worried. She rounded the first bend out of town and there was Pierce, parked in a lay-by. Yes, he was looking worried. But then…

  She saw the castle.

  She eased off the accelerator and pulled to a stop, astounded.

  Donald’s small jaw dropped open, and Shanni’s jaw dropped in consensus.

  ‘Wow,’ said Donald.

  ‘Wow is right,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s a real castle,’ Donald said.

  ‘I’m scared,’ said Shanni.

  Donald cast her a doubtful look. ‘I don’t think it’s scary.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘It’s just big and pointy, and like Abby’s storybooks. There probably aren’t any ghosts. Abby will like this place.’

  What wasn’t to like? Shanni thought, stunned. The place seemed straight out of a gothic novel. The castle itself was set high on the cliffs above the sea, with purple-hazed mountains ringing the rear. Built of gleaming white stone, it was all turrets and battlements and vast stone walls. Flags flew from the battlements. Any minute now, she’d see warriors with spears and tubs of hot tar preparing to see them off.

  Her car door was tugged open. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Pierce demanded, and she jumped about a foot.

  ‘Don’t-don’t do that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You scared me.’

  ‘And you scared me. I was imagining car accidents.’

  ‘Just because I drive sedately when I have children in the car,’ she managed, prim. And then she gazed at the castle again. ‘You’ve seen this before?’

  ‘I helped with the renovations. Isn’t it great?’

  ‘I…It’s unbelievable. What’s a castle doing on the coast of New South Wales?’

  ‘The original Loganaich Castle was in Scotland. It got bombed in the Second Word War. The last earl had been wounded in the war. He’d suffered a gutful of midges and fog and he craved sun, so he rebuilt here. Isn’t it fantastic?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ she said cautiously. ‘As an architect…’

  ‘Oh, I disapprove,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Talk about an environmental white elephant…But now it’s built I’m just as gobsmacked as the next man, and helping with the renovations was great. Talk about preserving kitsch. It’s fantastic.’ He peered in to Donald. ‘What do you reckon, Donald?’

  ‘Shanni says it’s scary,’ Donald said.

  ‘What’s to be scared of? There aren’t any dungeons. The old earl thought they could safely be left in Scotland.’ He pointed to the highest turret. ‘That turret contains the kids’ bedrooms. You want to sleep in a turret?’

  ‘With…’ Donald gulped. ‘With Wendy and everyone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Donald cast an uncertain glance at Shanni. ‘And with Shanni?’

  ‘Yes,’ Shanni said before Pierce could respond. ‘It’s an excellent idea of Donald’s that I sleep with the kids. Thank you for inviting me, Donald.’

  ‘Still scared?’ Pierce teased and grinned, and she knew he wasn’t referring to a few ghosts.

  ‘I was on pills last night,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

  ‘So you’ve told me five times today already. You want to come into the castle?’

  He had to stop smiling, she thought desperately. He must. She was falling, falling, falling, and here was a crazy medieval castle looming before her, telling her she should leave reality outside and indulge in make-believe.

  Yeah, right. Fairy tale or not, she had to keep her feet firmly on the ground.

  ‘Forget last night, and yes please,’ she managed.

  The owners and the staff of Loganaich Castle were as stunning as the castle itself. Shanni had expected some sort of institution. There’d be kindly staff, she’d thought, efficient but ordered. Here though there seemed to be chaos. It hit from the moment they drove into the castle foregate.

  There were three small girls sitting on the front step, twin girls aged about six and a toddler between them. They were concentrating on very large, pink ice-cream cones.

  At their feet was a dog. A weird dog. The dog was brown, white and furry, with long floppy ears, a stretched-out body about the size of a cocker spaniel, a tail that added another two feet in length and legs that were about six inches long. The dog was looking at the girls, adoration mixed with the intense concentration of a dog expecting a dropped ice-cream at any minute.

  Pierce pulled up first and Shanni pulled up behind. They emerged from the cars, and the three girls on the steps waved their ice-creams. Dangerously.

  ‘Hi,’ said one of the two twins. ‘Are you Mr MacLachlan?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pierce.

  ‘Susie said there was a daddy but not a mummy,’ the other twin said, and she looked at Shanni as if she’d been sold a pup. ‘She said the mummy died.’

  ‘I’m Shanni,’ Shanni offered. ‘I’m the…housekeeper. Is there anyone…?’

  ‘Hello.’ As if on cue, a woman came flying out the front door, looking flustered. She was dressed in soil-coated overalls and she was covered in mud. She flew down the steps, beaming, holding out her hands in greeting. ‘Pierce. And Ruby’s Shanni. Welcome.’ Then, as Pierce took an instinctive step back, she looked down at her hands and winced. ‘Whoops. I should have washed. Sorry. I’ve been digging spuds.’

  ‘Spuds?’

  ‘Isn’t that right? I’m American, but I’m learning.’ She wiped her hands on her overalls, collecting as much mud as she was discarding. ‘I’m Susie, Lady of Loganaich. Isn’t that a weird title? It makes me think I should be wandering the halls, moaning and clanking chains. Hamish has gone into town for supplies, so I’m the reception committee, but we’re having a bit of a disaster with the pumpkin patch. It’s too wet and we’ve rot. Rot this early spells ruin. I’m building it up with pea straw. Jodie’s making beds and Kirsty’s helping. She shouldn’t be, but she’s insisting. Which of you has the chicken pox?’

  ‘Bessy,’ Pierce said, sounding dazed, motioning into the car where Bessy sat in her baby seat, gazing out with interest. ‘She was miserable before the spots came out, but only three spots appeared and now she’s cheered up.’

  ‘But you’ve all had them,’ Susie said as the kids started piling out of the car. ‘You guys deserve a medal. Did it really itch?’

  ‘It was horrible,’ Abby said, tucking in behind Pierce and regarding the muddy Susie with caution.

  ‘Pierce said we were making him itch just to look at us,’ Wendy added.

  ‘Well, you guys have come to the right spot here for post-itch therapy,’ Susie declared. ‘This is the best place in the world for getting rid of any recalcitrant itch. You lie in the surf and soak for hours. You guys ever been to the beach?’

  ‘N…no,’ Wendy said, gripping Abby’s hand.

  ‘Hardly any kids have seen the beach when they come to us.’ A rangy young man dressed in work overalls and bearing a crowbar emerged from a side gate. Susie tur
ned to him and waved. ‘Nick, the poxy tribe are here and they’ve never seen the beach. Shall we show them immediately?’ She glanced at the twins and the toddler, who was coated in pink. ‘After you’ve been armed with ice-creams, of course.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Nick said, dropping his crowbar. ‘Hey, Jodie,’ he yelled, up to an open turret window. ‘Kirsty. The poxy tribe are here. We’re going to the beach.’

  ‘Not without us,’ a woman’s voice yelled in response from an open window above them.

  ‘Anyone who wants to do something boring like go to the bathroom or tote luggage gets to stay behind and come down with Jodie and Kirsty,’ Susie said. ‘Kirsty’s really pregnant, and she’s as slow as a snail. The rest of us…Let’s collect our ice-creams and hit the waves.’

  Shanni and Pierce were left staring at each other, stunned. The kids, Susie, Nick and Jodie, and Taffy the dog, with a very pregnant Kirsty bringing up the rear, could be heard descending the track to the beach.

  ‘Bessy doesn’t go to strangers,’ Wendy was explaining to Susie.

  ‘I’m not a stranger,’ Susie was saying. ‘I’m Susie. I’m Rose’s mum. Bessy, you like me, don’t you? Nick, are you carrying Rose?’

  ‘Sure,’ Nick called from behind. He sounded as American as Susie. ‘Me and the twins and Donald are guarding your backs.’

  ‘What’s the set-up here?’ Shanni asked, dazed, though Pierce looked as dazed as she felt.

  ‘This place is geared up to give kids holidays,’ he told her. They were standing in a now deserted castle forecourt. The action was all over the road and down the cliff path.

  ‘But what’s its story? Who’s Susie? Is she really a…lady?’

  ‘The new Earl of Loganaich-Hamish-was a New York financier before he inherited the castle. Hamish is married to Susie. Hamish’s ex-secretary is Jodie. Jodie’s husband, Nick, is a social worker they invited to come out from America to help them set this place up. Susie’s twin, Kirsty, and her husband are local doctors in Dolphin Bay. The twins are theirs-Susie’s nieces. Rose-the toddler-is Susie’s.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t look like that. It’ll become clearer. I came here to do renovation plans, and for the opening, but I’m still trying to match dogs and kids to grown ups. It’s chaos, but it’s great chaos.’