Return to Clan Sinclair

by Karen Ranney

  She was burning up. It was not yet noon yet she was desperately overheated. The sun wasn’t doing that to her. This annoying, arrogant man was kissing her into a fever.

  Desire spread through her body. Joy, anticipation, the sheer delight of being alive made her tremble.

  What was she doing?

  She was allowing a perfect stranger to kiss her. Worse, if he pushed the issue, she might well succumb on the floor of the gazebo.

  With the last of her reason she pulled back. She placed one hand against his chest, feeling his heart beating as fast as hers. Head bowed, she prayed for some type of restraint as well as the ability to speak.

  “Virginia would be miserable worrying about Macrath.”

  “Love does that,” he said. “They love each other very much.”

  She nodded. Should he be talking about love to her? Especially when they stood so close and she still tasted him on her lips.

  She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling like he was a wall of brick or stone, something impenetrable and immobile. He must release her. He must step back and remove temptation from her.

  As if he heard her words, he took two steps back, dropping his arms. He didn’t, however, apologize. Nor would she be such a hypocrite to demand it. She hadn’t been a victim but a willing participant.

  She took a step to the left, then another, making here way to the entrance of the gazebo. Only then did she turn and look at him directly.

  “You will be careful, won’t you?”

  “I’m normally careful,” he said. “Normally.”

  She was being silly, imagining words that hadn’t been said. But as she left the gazebo, careful not to look back, she could have sworn he said, “Except when it comes to you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She placed herself in exile for the next two days, taking her meals on a tray in the lovely sitting room that was part of her suite.

  When Virginia came to see her after breakfast the first morning, she had no other choice but to assure her sister-­in-­law she was fine, just a little tired from the journey.

  “It’s nothing else, Ceana? Is it the children? Have they been a bother?”

  “They could never be a bother. They’re all wonderful and you know it.”

  “Macrath? Has he said something to upset you?”

  She smiled. “No. He’s been Macrath and that’s never upsetting.” She smiled at her sister-­in-­law. “Truly, it’s nothing. I thought being lazy for a day or two might be for the best.”

  Virginia was finally assured of her health and her mood. She didn’t need to know about her confusion or the fact she was perilously close to tears most of the time.

  She missed her girls and she missed Peter, but above all she missed herself.

  Her brothers-­in-­law would have her remain in black, becoming the matriarch of the family. She would be spoken about in whispers. Dear Aunt Ceana, widowed all these years. She never quite survived the death of her beloved husband. Shush, don’t speak so loud. You are in the company of our straight-­laced Aunt Ceana. She is the bulwark of the family, the morality expert. She dictates and passes judgments on others.

  Oh, but she didn’t want to be like Brianag.

  She wanted to live. Dear God, she wanted to feel delight and joy and happiness once again. She wanted to rear her daughters to be strong women. She wanted to show them life was a series of events, some good, some bad, but they could weather them all.

  How did she do that if she retreated into darkness? If she became the black cloud over Iverclaire?

  She wanted passion, and if that single wish and desire tainted her soul, then so be it. She could not forget she was alive. After Bruce’s kiss, how could she? That spike of desire she’d felt had shocked her.

  Perhaps she locked herself in her suite as punishment. Or to hide from temptation.

  Oh, he was a temptation wasn’t he? With his grin and his surprising eyes and his deep and masculine voice. He’d incited her compassion and her tears, yet now all she could think about was how he kissed.

  Would he be a good lover?

  No one had ever told her, prior to her marriage, she might enjoy the physical aspects of love so much. When Peter was taken from her, that was gone as well. Was she so terrible for wanting to feel desire again? Was she a harlot?

  She needed to see a man of God. Peter’s family was Presbyterian, like she’d been reared, but sometimes she wished they were Catholic. How nice it must be to go see a priest and confess all her sins and be given penance for them. As it was, she was the only one to dole out her punishment: being a hermit in her rooms.

  Bruce Preston was still too much on her mind, however.

  On the morning of the third day, she left her suite, slipped down the back stairs, and escaped Drumvagen almost miraculously. Brianag didn’t stop her in the corridor. None of the children saw her. Her only witness was a young maid who smiled brightly as she carried a bucket of cleaning supplies up the stairs.

  She knew, from conversations among the children, there were at least three ways to the village of Kinloch. She took the easiest way, the road leading from the back of the house, hugging the cliffs.

  It was bright, no clouds overhead to mar the promise of a beautiful day. Seabirds called to her as she walked. The incoming tide whispering over the sand sounded like her name: Ceana.

  How many ­people worked at Drumvagen? In addition to the barn and the stables some distance from the house, there were the buildings housing Macrath’s refrigeration machines. She counted five of those, each one closer to the village than the next. Did he own all the land between Drumvagen and Kinloch?

  A surge of pride made her smile. Macrath had achieved everything he’d wanted as a boy in Edinburgh. Nor had he been stingy with his good fortune. Look how intent he’d been to ensure she had a chance at a bright future, too. If he hadn’t paid for and accompanied her during her London season, she would never have met Peter. Macrath, in turn, would never have met Virginia.

  Fate had a large hand in their romantic destinies.

  “You shouldn’t be on the road alone.”

  She jerked, startled and turned to face Bruce.

  “I’m only going to Kinloch,” she said. “No farther.”

  “Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be alone.”

  “This Henderson person doesn’t want me. I doubt if he even knows I exist.”

  “I’m not willing to take that chance,” he said. “I don’t want any harm to come to you.” He reached out his hand, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheek.

  She took a step back. “I have to go to the village.”

  “Then fine, I’ll accompany you.”

  “That wouldn’t be acceptable. I’m going to see the minister. I’ve been told that Kinloch has a lovely church.”

  “Are you feeling the need of spiritual guidance?”

  She only shook her head.

  “You’re going to go ask him if it’s all right if you continue living.”

  How did he know that?

  “Go back to Drumvagen, Bruce,” she said, beginning to walk again.

  “Are you going to ask for expiation for that, too? For calling me Bruce as opposed to Mr. Preston? How improper you can be, Ceana.”

  She stopped in the middle of the road, folded her arms and glared at him.

  “Are you going to follow me all the way to Kinloch?”

  “Yes. I have your safety to consider as well as the rest of the family. Besides, I can give you as much spiritual guidance as your minister.”

  She ignored him and continued walking.

  “You may call me Reverend Preston.”

  “Don’t be sacrilegious.”

  His grin was too captivating. She simply couldn’t look in his direction.

  “I would say to you, Ceana Mead, there’s n
othing wrong with wanting to live, even after such a disastrous loss.”

  He was speaking from personal experience, which made it difficult to discount his words.

  “I’m living,” she said.

  “You’re breathing and you’re moving, but are you really living?”

  She stopped again.

  “Who are you to judge me?”

  “The man who kissed you.”

  She stared at him wide eyed.

  “Has no other man kissed you but Peter?”

  Surely she wasn’t supposed to answer that?

  He moved closer to her. Even though they were standing in the middle of a paved road, it seemed too intimate. She wanted to put her hand on his chest and push him away. No, she mustn’t touch him.

  “It took years for me to realize that short of doing myself in, I was going to live. I would spare you some of that wasted time.”

  “Did you never think of doing yourself in?” The idea had never occurred to her because of her daughters. But for him, the situation was different. He had lost his children in addition to his wife.

  “No,” he said. “There was a time when I tried to kill myself with whiskey, but I began to loathe the taste of it, not to mention what it made me feel like in the morning.”

  She turned and began to walk again, but slower now.

  “If I take a case of someone who needs protection,” Bruce said, “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure they’re safe.”

  “There’s no need for kisses, though,” she said, not looking at him.

  “Oh, no, that was just for me.”

  He showed no signs of dropping back. Would he walk all the way to Kinloch with her, sit outside the church while she spoke to the minister? What on earth would she say?

  There’s this man who troubles me, Reverend. He’s too handsome for my peace of mind. When he grins at me I lose my train of thought. When he kissed me, I almost fainted with desire.

  That wouldn’t do, would it?

  She stole a glance at him. He was smiling at her.

  Against such an implacable will, what choice did she have?

  She shook her head, turned on her heel and began walking back to the house.

  “Very well,” she said. “I’ll go back to Drumvagen and be a hermit there. But I have to return to Ireland soon. You can’t think of stopping me.”

  “I only ask that you not leave until we find Henderson. I can’t guarantee your safety otherwise.”

  “Then do hurry up and find the idiotic man,” she said.

  Did he realize that he was one of the reasons why she was thinking of leaving so soon?

  They walked together. To her surprise, he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words.

  “Tell me about your home,” she said a few minutes later.

  “I have a house near Boston,” he said. “It’s close enough to the city that I don’t feel isolated, but it sits on a bluff overlooking the ocean.”

  “Have you always lived there?”

  Did he realize what she was asking? From his smile, it seemed as if he did.

  “Only for the last five years,” he said.

  So there weren’t memories in every room, around every corner, unlike her situation in Ireland.

  Iverclaire was a grand castle, more than adequate for the four brothers and their wives, with room left over for a dozen more family members.

  She’d found refuge from memories by moving into one of the abandoned gardener’s cottages on the estate. It boasted three rooms, adequate space for her and the girls. The kitchen was ample, opening up into a large sitting room. The girls had one bedroom and she the other. More than anything else, it offered privacy and silence, blessed silence.

  “Macrath and I grew up in Edinburgh, and I’m surprised he chose to live here.”

  “While I greet the Atlantic each day. The ocean appears angry most of the time, unlike here.”

  “My daughters would like the beach,” she said. “And the grotto.”

  She felt her cheeks warm at the mention of the grotto and wished she hadn’t said anything. He would think she was recalling the first time she saw him, and of course she was doing no such thing. That the image of him on the beach was seared into her mind was something she needed to remedy.

  At the base of the back stairs she turned to face him.

  He held out his hand and she placed hers in it.

  “I want you safe, Ceana.”

  By his words he meant for her to stay close to Drumvagen. Did he also mean to avoid him? She had a feeling she should do both.

  She nodded, pulled her hand free and began to mount the steps, forcing herself not to look back at him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’m really worried about her,” Virginia said, slipping into bed beside her husband.

  Macrath gathered her up in his arms and addressed the ceiling. “We have a plethora of females in our household, so you could mean any one of them. Fiona? One of the maids? Brianag?”

  She slapped his chest. “You know I mean Ceana. She isn’t herself.”

  “At least she’s not hiding in her room.”

  She raised up and stared at him in the darkness, wishing she hadn’t extinguished the lamp.

  “She was fatigued.”

  “She was malingering,” he said. “Ceana often retreats when she doesn’t know how to handle a situation or she’s avoiding it.”

  “What situation is she avoiding?” she asked, dropping back onto the mattress.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe the decision to move home. Maybe Bruce.”

  “Bruce?”

  He chuckled and tightened his arm around her. “Haven’t you seen the looks they give each other? Part animosity, part interest. They’re just like Mairi and Logan were. Bruce couldn’t stop looking at Ceana and she studiously avoided looking anywhere in his direction.”

  She had noticed, but thought Ceana didn’t like the American. A pity, since she truly liked Bruce Preston. So did Macrath.

  “I think we should invite Marie and Logan here. And Finella as well.”

  “A reunion would be nice,” she said.

  He shook his head. “No, not simply a reunion Perhaps all of us can convince her to remain in Scotland.”

  “I don’t think there’s any problem with that,” Virginia said. “Ceana needs a place to stay. Granted, she can go and live in Edinburgh, but wouldn’t it be lovely to have her here? I have missed her so.”

  “You think she would move to Drumvagen?”

  “I do, but the decision must be hers.”

  She wouldn’t pressure Ceana, unlike her Irish relatives.

  Cuddling closer to her husband, she was thankful, in this relationship at least, there was no confusion as to emotions. She adored Macrath and knew he felt the same about her.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Ceana would fall in love again? Once, she herself had felt the same way, never thinking love would come to her again. She’d needed a certain measure of fearlessness, a courage she’d never thought to possess, but she’d won Macrath in the end.

  The question was: did Ceana want to fall in love? Or was her heart buried with Peter?

  Ceana stood at the window of her sitting room, staring out over black moonless sky. From here you couldn’t tell there was an ocean only a short distance away. The darkness, the blackness, was absolute.

  Not unlike her life these past three years.

  She wanted to be kissed again. She wanted to be loved. Without thinking, without passing judgment, without even allowing herself to wonder about what she was doing, she opened her door and stood there, listening to the sounds of night at Drumvagen.

  The wind whistled around the house but there were no drafts in the corridor. Macrath had built a solid home for his clan. A dozen feet away was the do
or to another guest suite. A dozen feet, that’s all.

  She held the wrapper tight against her body, turned and closed her door, then measured the steps she took down the corridor. The faint light from the wall sconce at the end of the hall illuminated the carving on the door as well as the brass handle.

  Softly, she rapped on the door, giving herself a test. If he didn’t answer at the faint sound, she would turn, retreat to her room, and counsel herself against any further foolishness.

  The door opened so suddenly she wondered if he’d been waiting for her.

  He didn’t say a word, merely extended his hand, palm up. She swallowed, placed her hand atop his and allowed him to draw her inside. He reached behind her to close the door, the latch a snick of sound in the silence.

  He didn’t say a word, either welcoming or condemning, only drew her farther into the sitting room. The lit lamp on the table beside the settee was the only illumination, but it seemed as bright as a summer sun.

  In the middle of the room, he faced her.

  He was still dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, but her mind held the picture of what he’d looked like naked. Unless he sent her away or her own conscience banished her from the room, she would see him naked again.

  She’d be able to touch him.

  Her hands were at her sides, her wrapper held fast by a single button at her neck. Her nightwear was black as well, her mourning attire complete. Even at night she was not supposed to forget she was a widow.

  He bent his head, his attention focused on the single button. When it was undone, he slipped the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

  “I’ve never known any woman as beautiful in black as you, Ceana.”

  She closed her eyes.

  Don’t let him question me. Don’t let him ask me why I’m here. Don’t let him make me say the words.

  He bent his head, placed an almost chaste kiss at her temple. Her blood raced.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Her nightgown was nearly sheer, not nearly as proper as her cotton gowns. An instant later it didn’t matter because it, too, was on the floor.