The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  “I’m all sticky and I want to bathe.”

  He stilled himself. Jesus, he could just imagine how wet and sticky she was. He’d spilled his seed in her three times. He sighed, drawing on his control, dampening his guilt, willing his anger at the absurd situation to quiescence. “Just lie still. I’ll get you some water and a cloth.”

  Sinjun didn’t move. She closed her eyes. This was her wedding night and it was a shambles, painful and embarrassing, and then Douglas’s and Ryder’s bursting in. She turned her back to Colin and pulled her legs to her chest. She wished she were the Sinjun she’d been just a month before. Everything had been simple and straightforward to that Sinjun; that Sinjun knew about fun and humor and had dreamed about love. She had looked upon Colin and seen her dream come true. Ah, and what a dream it was to this Sinjun: a mess, a girl who didn’t know a blessed thing. Everything had gone awry.

  She cried, for the first time in three years.

  Colin stood by the bed. He felt like the damned rutting bastard Douglas had accused him of being. He felt helpless. Her sobs weren’t delicate and feminine, they were hoarse and ugly and immensely real.

  “Well, hell,” he said, climbed into the bed, and cupped his body around hers. Her tears lessened. She began to hiccup. He kissed the back of her neck.

  She stiffened. “Please, Colin, don’t hurt me again. Surely I don’t deserve any more of your punishment.”

  He closed his eyes against her words, words she meant, no doubt about that. And it was his fault, because he’d been too rough with her, had moved too quickly, good Lord, he’d taken her three times, and that third time hadn’t been well done of him. The second time was not all that well done, either, but at least that second time was perfectly understandable. But he had punished her with the third, pure and simple. No, he’d not behaved as he should have. “I won’t come inside you again,” he said. “Besides I can’t. I have no more seed to spill in you. Go to sleep.”

  Surprisingly, Sinjun closed her eyes and did just that. She slept long and deep. It was Colin who woke her up the next morning as he turned her on her back. She shivered at the sudden cool air on her skin and opened her eyes. He was standing over her, holding a damp cloth.

  “Hold still and let me bathe you.”

  “Oh no.” She jerked away from him, rolling over until she was on the far side of the mammoth bed. “No, Colin, I will see to myself. Please, go away now.”

  He stood there, frowning at her, holding the cloth in his outstretched hand, feeling like a fool. “Very well,” he said at last. He tossed the cloth to her, hearing it slap against her wrist. “Angus is bringing up buckets of hot water for your bath. Get it done quickly, for I, too, wish to bathe, and you don’t seem at all interested in sharing the tub with me, more’s the pity, though I am now your husband, something you wanted more than anything, if you would be honest with yourself, marriage and my man’s body, but not in that order, not at first.”

  “You’re angry,” she said as she pulled the covers to her nose. She was utterly confused. “This is very odd, Colin, since it is you who hurt me. How can you dare be angry?”

  “I’m angry at this damnable situation.” There was a knock on the door. “Don’t move,” he said over his shoulder. “Keep yourself wrapped in the covers.”

  It was Angus, not her brothers brandishing swords, and he was carrying two steaming buckets of water.

  Once they were poured into the porcelain tub, he looked up and said, “Do you fancy walking naked over here and climbing in?”

  She didn’t fancy it at all. She shook her head. “You may go first.”

  He stripped off his dressing gown, climbed into the tub, leaned back, and let his knees stick up. Sinjun would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so miserable. She didn’t want to get out of the bed. She didn’t want to face her brothers.

  They said not a word. Both Douglas and Ryder seemed determined that there be no more fights, no more arguments with Colin. They actually seemed to understand that they’d embarrassed her to her very toes. It embarrassed her even more to know that they must have discussed the situation and had decided upon a course of behavior. To be talked about, even by her brothers, was almost more than she could bear.

  After a second cup of coffee, Ryder said, “Douglas and I are leaving this morning, Sinjun. We’re both sorry that we’ve intruded and made you uncomfortable. However, should you ever need us, you need but write or send a messenger to Douglas or to me. We will come to you immediately. We will do anything you wish us to do.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Suddenly she wished they wouldn’t leave her, wouldn’t promise not to interfere again. They always had. They loved her. Even last night—it was because they loved her.

  When they took their leave an hour later, she felt hollow inside. She felt utterly alone and, for the first time, truly afraid of what she’d done. She threw herself into Douglas’s arms, hugging him tight. “Please take care. Give my love to Alex.”

  “I will.”

  “And to the twins. They are destroying Ryder’s home with their exuberance, he told me. It must be wonderful. I miss all the children so much.”

  “Yes, I know, love. I miss them, too. It’s fortunate both Ryder and Sophie adore children, even those who are destructive little heathens. I’ve closed up the London house. Alex and the boys will be at Northcliffe Hall when I return. Don’t worry about Mother. I will see to it that when she writes you, it will be pleasant, and not endless carping.”

  When Ryder gathered her against him, he said, “Yes, I shall kiss Sophie for you and hug and pet all the little heathens. And I’ll miss you like the very devil, Sinjun.”

  “Don’t forget Grayson, Ryder. He’s so beautiful, and I miss him dreadfully.”

  “He’s the picture of Sophie, only with Sherbrooke blue eyes and the Sherbrooke stubborn-as-hell chin.”

  “Yes, and I love him dearly.”

  “Shush. Don’t cry, love. I understand a bit how you must feel, for Sophie had to leave her home in Jamaica to come to England, and I know she was sometimes heartsick. At the very least she was cold here. But Colin is your husband and he will take care of you.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  But she didn’t sound like she knew it, Ryder thought. Oh hell, what were they to do? She was married to the man. Ah, but to leave her here alone . . . he didn’t like it. But Douglas had insisted that they’d interfered enough. “Sometimes at the beginning of a marriage, things aren’t quite as straightforward as one would wish them to be.” She just looked at him, her expression remote, and he floundered on. “That is, occasionally there are slight problems. But any problems are resolved with time, Sinjun. You must be patient, that’s all.”

  He had no idea if what he’d said made any sense to her situation, but the pain in her eyes smote him. He didn’t want to leave her in this damned foreign land with this damned husband she’d only just met.

  Colin stood apart from the three of them, watching and frowning. He felt jealous, oddly enough, and he recognized it for what it was. The three of them were so very close. He and his older brother, Malcolm, had always been at each other’s throats. And their father had just laughed and sided with his brother, because he’d been the future laird, the future earl, and it was his opinion that counted, his words that were believed, his wishes that were important, his never-ending gambling debts and wenching expenses that must be paid. Then Colin had refused to join with Napoléon, knowing that his father was skirting disaster with his damnable beliefs, beliefs that weren’t really all that strongly held; no, they were beliefs that it amused his father to hold, nothing more. And his brother shared the beliefs as well, to taunt him, to try to make him leave Scotland, but he wouldn’t go. He wanted a commission in the English army, but naturally his father refused to buy it for him. No, his father had other plans for him. He’d been used to end the feud with the MacPhersons. He’d wedded Fiona Dahling MacPherson when he was twenty years old. It had ended the feud—until a month a
go. Until something had happened that had set Robert MacPherson off.

  “Is something wrong, Colin?”

  It was Douglas speaking, and Colin quickly brought himself away from his miserable memories. “No, certainly not. I will take care of your sister. Don’t worry.”

  “You will also bring her to visit her family early next fall. Is it possible, do you think?”

  Colin thought for a moment, then nodded. “You have now given me the means to recover myself, my home, and my lands. There is much for me to do. However, all should be in good order by the fall.”

  “All the money was rightfully Sinjun’s, not mine. I’m glad it will be put to good use. I personally hate to see an estate fall into ruin.”

  “Perhaps,” Colin said slowly, looking toward the two magnificent Arabian stallions who were blowing and snorting, one held by Angus and the other by a clearly frightened stable lad, “you would wish to come and visit us sometime in the future. After, of course, Vere Castle has been refurbished a bit. The drive to the castle is very beautiful, all tree-lined, and now, in the early summer, the leaves form a canopy overhead.”

  “No doubt we would be pleased to,” Douglas said. “Ryder can bring all the children.”

  “I like children,” Colin said. “Vere Castle is a large place, surely there are enough rooms to house all of you.”

  Then Douglas and Ryder were gone, with one last wave, riding down the cobblestoned street, their great coats billowing out behind them.

  Sinjun stood there on the street, watching them, feeling more miserable than she could remember. She wouldn’t allow that misery to remain clogged in her heart and in her mind; no matter this sex business, she was married to Colin. Ryder was right. She must be patient. After all, she adored her husband, despite what he’d done to her. She would deal with it. There was much to be done. She wasn’t one to lie down and moan her distress. Of course, in the past there never had been much distress to consider moaning about.

  She turned then and smiled at her husband, not really much of a smile, but an honest effort at one. “I should like another cup of tea. Would you?”

  “Yes, Joan, I believe I would.” He fell into step beside her. “I like your brothers.”

  She was silent a moment, then said with desperate cheerfulness, “Yes, I rather do, too.”

  “I know you will miss them. We’ll see them soon, I promise you.”

  “Yes, you promise.”

  He gave her a quick look but said nothing.

  CHAPTER

  8

  THE DOCK ON the Firth of Forth was a nasty place, smelling of fish in all stages of rot, unwashed bodies of yelling stevedores, and other odors she couldn’t, thankfully, identify. It was filled with so many carts and drays and boats of every size in the water that it was difficult to see why they hadn’t all crashed into each other. In that moment, two drays did collide, tipping an oak barrel off the end of one of the drays. It bounced hard on the cobblestones and then rolled, picking up more speed, until it slammed into an iron railing, cracking wide open. Rich dark ale spilled out, filling the air with its pungent smell. Sinjun smiled and sniffed. She supposed the London docks were much the same, but she’d never been to see them. Colin took her elbow, saying nothing, and directed her to a ferry that looked to be on its last legs, had it been a horse. It was a long, narrow barge with unpainted wooden railings, and its name was Forth Star, surely an ambitious title for such a scrawny boat. The horses were already on board, standing very close to the people, and not happy about it. The ferry was owned by an old man who had the foulest mouth Sinjun had ever heard. He cursed at the people, at the animals, at all the valises and trunks. He even yelled at the opposite bank of the Forth. Sinjun regretted that she could only understand just a bit of what he said. She did see Colin wince several times when the old man got bitten in the shoulder by a horse and yelled his displeasure to all within three miles.

  When the ferry got under way, Sinjun watched with horrified eyes, knowing it had to run into other boats. One ship from Holland came within scraping distance. Another from Spain was so close the sailors were leaning over the sides with long poles to push any boat away that came too close. Nothing seemed to bother Colin—natural, she supposed, because he was, after all, a Scot, and none of this was new to him. Even the horses started blowing loudly in the salty clean air. Thank God it was a beautiful day, warm and balmy, the sun high in a cloud-strewn sky. As they neared the other side of the Forth, she saw that the Fife Peninsula seemed from here to look every bit as English as Sussex. The green was soft and pure and deep, and the hills were rolling and gentle. It was lovely, and Sinjun felt a stirring of enthusiasm. At that moment, the Forth Star hit another small barge. The two captains howled at each other, the horses whinnied, and the people shook their fists. Sinjun tried not to laugh as she yelled at the other captain herself.

  The ferry crossed at the narrowest point, called the Queensferry Narrows, not a beautiful spot, for the water looked thick and dirty and swirled about the barge. Ah, but looking toward the east, to the North Sea, was beautiful.

  Colin said unexpectedly, “At this point the Forth is a long tidal estuary. The river itself begins nearly all the way to the western sea. It’s a mighty river there, deep and so blue it makes you want to cry. Then it narrows and meanders over a flat peaty wilderness to Stirling.”

  Sinjun breathed in deeply. She nodded at his offering, then turned back to lean her elbows on the railing. She was afraid of missing something. She also didn’t particularly wish to speak to her husband.

  “If you turn about you can see the Castle. It is clear today and the view is rather spectacular.”

  Sinjun obligingly turned and looked. “I thought it more mysterious, more ethereal perhaps, last evening, when it was shrouded halfway up in fog. Every once in a while you could hear the soldiers yelling and it seemed like ghost voices coming out of the gray mist. Wonderfully gothic.”

  Colin grunted at that and turned back to look down at the swirling waters. “You will have to accustom yourself to the mists. Even in summer we can go weeks at a time without the sun. But it is warm and it stays light enough to read even at midnight.”

  Sinjun brightened at that. “You have a well-stocked library, Colin, at Vere Castle?”

  “The library is a mess, as is most everything else. My brother didn’t particularly care, and since his death I haven’t had time to see to things. You will have to go through it and see if there is anything that interests you. I also have a library of sorts in my tower room.”

  “Perhaps you have some novels?” Her hopeful voice made him smile.

  “Very few, I’m afraid,” he said. “Remember, you’re deep in Presbyterian country. Hellfire would surely await anyone so ill-advised as to read a novel. Try to imagine John Knox enjoying a Mrs. Radcliffe novel. It boggles the mind.”

  “Well, hopefully Alex will send me all my books when she sends us our trunks.”

  “If your brother didn’t order all our things burned first.”

  “A possibility,” Sinjun said. “When Douglas is angry, he can do the most awesome things.”

  Sinjun hoped the trunks would arrive soon. She was perilously close to having very little to wear. Even her blue riding habit, of which she was inordinately fond, was looking sadly distressed. She swiped the dust off her sleeve as she looked at her fellow passengers. Most were country people, dressed in rough homespun woolens of dull colors, and clogs and open leather vests. There was one aristocratic fellow with very high shirt points who looked a bit green from the swaying of the barge. There was another man who looked to be a prosperous merchant, who kept spitting over the side of the barge, his teeth as brown as his spittle. And the speech, it wasn’t English, even though Sinjun could understand most of it. It was filled with slurring and lilting sounds that were melodic and coarse all at the same time.

  Sinjun didn’t say anything else to her husband. At least he was trying to be pleasant, as was she. But she didn’t want to b
e pleasant. She wanted to hit him. She looked at his profile, drawn to look at him really, because he was so beautiful. His black hair was blowing in the gentle breeze. His chin was up and his eyes were closed in that moment, as if he were reaffirming that he was a Scot and he was home. A sea gull flew perilously close, squawking in his face. He threw back his head and laughed deeply.

  She wasn’t home. She stuck her chin up as high as his was. She breathed in the sea air, the nearly overpowering smell of fish and people and horses. She looked at the terns and the gulls and the oystercatchers. They were all putting on a grand show, hoping for scraps from the passengers.

  “We will ride to Vere Castle today,” Colin said. “It will take us about three hours, no more. The sun is shining and thus it will be pleasant. Ah, do you think you will be able to do it?”

  “Certainly. It’s strange you would ask. You know I’m an excellent rider.”

  “Yes, but that was before. I mean, you’re not too sore, are you?”

  She turned slowly to face him. “You sound very pleased with yourself. How odd.”

  “I’m not at all pleased. I’m concerned. You’re obviously hearing what you want to hear, not what’s there.”

  “There is a wealth of conceit in your tone. All right, Colin, what if I said I was too sore? What would you do? Hire a litter, perhaps? Put a sign around my neck reading that I was unable to ride because I’d been plowed too much—like an overused barley field?”