The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  “Your husband will yell and pound the furniture and then he’ll kill all of us.”

  “I will lie to him and he will know it, but how will he ever guess the truth?”

  “What lie have you planned to tell him to explain your absence and ours?” Alex asked. She held up her hand. “You see, Sinjun, there’s today and then yet another day to deal with, and perhaps even another and another after that. The scheduling of this is difficult, even without the husbands’ interference. Now, what will you tell Colin?”

  “Truth be told, I haven’t the faintest idea now, but with Colin yelling at me, I doubt not that something wonderful will spring to mind. It always does. First things first. Let’s go.” Argyll galloped forward, spewing pebbles in his wake.

  They rode hard and saw very few people. The deeper they rode into the hills, the more difficult the going became. Purple heather sprang up thick from between sharp-edged rocks, giving the landscape a savage beauty.

  “You’re certain this is a shorter route?” Alex asked.

  Sinjun nodded. “Nearly there.”

  Actually, St. Monance Castle, home of the MacPherson clan, was set at the very end of the Pilchy Loch, a narrow body of water that had grown thinner during the past century. There were trees aplenty surrounding the loch, sufficient arable land that Sinjun could see. Unlike Vere Castle, St. Monance looked its age. Because it was summer, there were brilliant flowers about, softening the ravages of time, but there were more weeds than blossoms, and everything looked untended and uncared for. Everything looked weathered and poor. It was what Crocker had told her. The weathered gray stone had crumbled or caved in at many places on the castle walls. Once there had been a moat, but now there were only tall weeds and a swampy area that stank nearly as badly as the Cowal Swamp in the warm morning air.

  “This place desperately needs another heiress, Sinjun.”

  “From what I’ve learned, nearly every Scottish clan needs a huge ration of money, particularly the Highland clans. We’re lucky here in Fife. There is arable land aplenty, so there is no question about sheep being brought up and the people shoved off their land, which is what is happening in the Highlands. Why the MacPhersons are poor, I don’t know. Goodness, I’m starting to babble like you, Alex.” Sinjun drew a deep breath. “I do hope that Robert MacPherson is here. Now, as you know, I told him in my letter that I would be alone, and that I would be here this morning. If he isn’t here, well, then I’ve failed. Keep your fingers crossed. Stay here and keep hidden. With any luck I’ll have him with me very soon. Now, I need the two of you to assure me that a man would just look at me and become cross-eyed with lust.”

  “At least cross-eyed,” Sophie said, and she meant it.

  This was the part of the plan that both Sophie and Alex had serious qualms about, but Sinjun seemed so very sure of herself. “Ostle swore he delivered the letter,” she said. They looked at each other but could think of no more to say. They pulled to a halt in the midst of birch and fir trees and prepared to wait. “If you aren’t back with him within a half hour, we’re coming in to fetch you,” Alex told her.

  Sinjun rode directly to the front of the castle. Chickens and goats and dogs scattered before Argyll. There were perhaps a dozen men and women about outside, and they stopped their tasks to watch the lady ride up.

  She saw two men look at her, then disappear through the great iron-studded front doors. She pulled Argyll to a stop at the bottom stone step and smiled at the people around her.

  To her wondrous relief, Robert MacPherson appeared in the open doorway. He stood there and simply stared at her. Slowly, saying nothing, he strode down the deeply pitted stone steps, stopping when he was on eye level with her.

  “So,” he said, his arms crossed over his chest. “You came. My question, my lady, is why you would come to my lair all alone, and no fear in those beautiful eyes of yours?”

  He was so pretty, she thought, each of his features so finely drawn, from the perfect arch of his fair eyebrows to the thin aristocratic nose. His eyes were just as beautiful as her Sherbrooke blue eyes, surely. She contented herself with simply staring at him for a few moments longer.

  “Come ride with me,” she said.

  Robert MacPherson threw his head back and laughed. “You think me that witless? Doubtless your husband is over there, yon, in the birch trees, waiting with a dozen men to shoot me down.”

  “You weave that notion from cobwebs. You truly believe Colin Kinross so lacking in honor that he would send his own wife to fetch his enemy to him?”

  “No,” MacPherson said slowly, “Colin has too much pride to do that. It’s not a question of honor. It’s an arrogant man you married, my dear, overly proud and vicious. He would come himself, ride up to my door as you have done, and challenge me.”

  “So you are also saying he is fearless?”

  “No, his unbridled vanity leads him into stupidity. He would probably die without understanding how it could happen. Have you come to challenge me?”

  “You have misunderstood my letter, then? My trip here was for naught?”

  “Oh no, I understood your every word, dear lady. I will say that your servant nearly relieved himself in his breeches he was so afraid. But not you. That interests me. But, truth be told, it doesn’t seem plausible to me that you would want to see me. Our last encounter didn’t leave me with the impression that you wished my company again. Indeed, our last encounter made me rather angry with you. It was a long walk.”

  “It was your own fault. You underestimated me because I am a woman. You were, frankly, a boor. You should not have tried to force yourself on me or threaten me. I don’t take kindly to such things. I’m now offering you a chance to improve your manners and gain a new friend, perhaps.”

  “Ah, that is what fascinates me. Why?”

  Sinjun leaned down in her saddle toward him. She said softly, her breath warm on his face, her eyes as blue as the cloudless sky, “You’re too pretty for a man. It has teased me, this prettiness of yours. I want to see if you are a real man beneath those britches of yours, or a pretty boy prancing about in a man’s body.”

  His eyes narrowed in fury. He grabbed her, but she gently raised her hand, the pistol not six inches from his face.

  “I told you I didn’t appreciate boors, sir. Now, will you prove yourself to me? What is it to be—a pretty boy or a man with a man’s desires?”

  Now she saw lust spring to life in his eyes, raw and deep. She’d practiced this so many times during the past day and she’d won, but it was terrifying.

  “How do I know you won’t take me into the woods and shoot me with that pretty little pistol?”

  She smiled at him. “You don’t.”

  He studied her face a moment longer. “You’re a bit pale now. Perhaps you are a bit frightened?”

  “A bit. After all, you could have your men hidden about to shoot me. But it would sorely hurt your reputation were you to kill a woman. On the other hand, who knows? And I have always thought life should be experienced to the fullest and if there are no risks, then why bother? Do you have men hidden about?”

  “No. As you said, you’re only a woman. You’re also an Englishwoman, an earl’s daughter. I’ve never met another woman like you. You fascinate me. Why did you marry Colin if you didn’t want him? You’ve been married two months, isn’t that right?”

  “Perhaps you’ve also heard that of that time, we’ve spent very few days—and nights—together. He remains in Edinburgh and I am stuck here in that moldering castle of his. I’m bored, sir, and you appear to be something out of the ordinary. I knew you were different from Colin the moment I saw you. You are quite pretty, you know.”

  He gave her a brooding look, saying finally, “Come to the stable. I will get my horse and then, my dear, I will take you to this special place and show you that a man can have a pretty face and be endowed with splendid attributes as well.”

  “As splendid as Colin?”

  He stiffened, taut as a poker.<
br />
  “I could say many things about my husband, but the fact is that he is every inch a man. It’s just that he doesn’t care about me, just my money.”

  “He is nothing,” MacPherson said at last. “I will prove it to you shortly.”

  Sinjun sincerely doubted that could be true, but she held her tongue. She wanted him to come with her, not howl with fury and try to knock her from her horse. The last thing she wanted to do was to have to shoot him here on his own lands. It didn’t seem the politic thing to do.

  Ten minutes later Robert MacPherson was surrounded by three ladies on horseback, each of them pointing a pistol at him. He turned to Sinjun. “So, I see I was right.”

  “Not at all. Colin knows nothing about this. You see, Colin has much too much honor just to hunt you down like the wretch you are and do away with you. Thus, sir, we three have decided to remove the burden from his shoulders. I cannot allow you to try to harm him again. You really shouldn’t have tried to kill him in London or in Edinburgh. You really shouldn’t have burned our crofters’ huts and killed our people.

  “You will pay for your crimes and it will give me vast relief to have you long gone from here. Incidentally, my husband didn’t kill your sister. If he wouldn’t kill a vermin like you, why then, how can you possibly believe that he would ever harm a woman who was his wife?”

  “She bored him. He was tired of her.”

  “Perhaps you have a point. After all, after only two meetings, you bore me quite beyond reason. However, even though I am tempted to toss you off a cliff, I won’t, even though in addition to being a boor, you’re a bully and a sneak and a man who knows no honor. I understand from Colin that your father is a good man and I wouldn’t want to distress him overly. Enough of this. Alex, Sophie, I’ve said my piece. Shall we tie him to his horse?”

  Colin was at first utterly confused, then so furious he wanted to spit and curse at the same time, something that wasn’t easily accomplished.

  He stood in front of his son and said in a voice so angry it sounded calm, far too calm, “You are telling me that your stepmother and your two aunts are out wandering about the estate?”

  “That’s what Sinjun told me, Papa. She said she felt wonderful and wanted to show them around. I asked her where you were and . . . she didn’t tell me the truth, I guess.”

  “You bloody well mean she lied! Damn her eyes, I’ll beat her, I’ll lock her in my bedchamber, I’ll—”

  “My lord,” Dr. Childress said, touching his age-spotted hand to Colin’s sleeve. “What is amiss here? The countess isn’t ill after all?”

  “My wife,” Colin said between his teeth, “pretended to be very ill, all to get me out of the way. Damnation! What is she up to?”

  He was silent for several moments, then slapped his palm to his forehead. “How could I be so stupid?”

  He turned on his heel and raced for Gulliver, who was chomping contentedly on some of Aunt Arleth’s white roses beside the front steps.

  Philip said to the doctor, “I fear my mother has enraged my father. I’d best go after him and protect her. Forgive us, sir.” And Philip raced after his father.

  Dr. Childress stood alone, bemused, listening to the boy’s footsteps echo off the entrance hall stones. He’d known Colin since the moment he’d slipped from his mother’s womb. He’d watched him grow straight and tall and proud. He’d watched his father and his older brother try to kill the spirit in him, and fail, thank the good Lord. He said aloud, his voice pensive, “I fear the young lady has unleashed a tiger.”

  The tiger pulled to a stop in the cover of some fir trees and stared toward St. Monance Castle. Gulliver was blowing hard, and as Colin watched the castle he gently patted his stallion’s neck. “You’re a good old fellow, aren’t you, Gull? Well, you’re in a damn sight better position than my wife, who isn’t going to like the way her day proceeds after I get my hands on her. Another thing,” he continued to his horse, “Ostle is gone, supposedly ill and back in his bed. I don’t think that sounds at all believable. Another thing, that fool wife of mine had the gall to take Argyll.” He shuddered even as he said those words to his horse. Gulliver paid no heed, just shook his head to get the flies off.

  Colin couldn’t make out anything unusual at St. Monance Castle. MacPherson folk were going about their tasks. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, no massing of men, no shouting, nothing at all unusual.

  What had Joan and the wives planned to do? That stymied him. What was she plotting? Had she indeed come here?

  He realized after another ten minutes of quite boring observations that he was wasting his time. Unless he intended to ride up to the big iron-studded doors of St. Monance and demand to know where his wife was, then sitting here like a blind fool would gain him naught. His fear and fury at his wife had made him act without thinking.

  Where the devil was Joan? Where were the wives?

  He drew a deep breath, turned Gulliver, and stared at his son, who was sitting there astride his pony, quiet as could be. Colin said nothing. He hadn’t even heard Philip ride up. He was in bad shape. He shook his head. Together, father and son rode thoughtfully back to Vere Castle.

  He supposed he wasn’t overly surprised to see all three horses returned to the stables, in their stalls, eating their heads off. It was obvious to the meanest eye that they’d been ridden hard. Damn her eyes. Argyll looked up at him and stared, as if to say, “She really did it this time, my good man.”

  Colin grinned, but it wasn’t an amused grin. He was ready to kill. What the devil had she done? And she’d ridden that damned horse, curse her eyes.

  He strode to the house, his riding crop slashing against his thigh in rhythm to his walk.

  He didn’t say anything to anyone. He shook his head at Philip when he would say something, and took the stairs two and three at a time.

  “Remember, Papa,” Philip shouted after him. “Remember she’s been ill!”

  “She’ll pray for a fever before I’m through with her,” Colin shouted back over his shoulder.

  He saw Aunt Arleth. She, in turn, saw his rage and smiled. It was obvious to Colin that she was devoutly praying that he would murder his wife. It was a thought, but he preferred torture and slow strangulation. Emma was coming out of one of the wives’ bedchambers. She saw the earl and quickly dashed back inside.

  “Smart of you,” he said under his breath. He wanted to crash into the laird’s bedchamber and start yelling. At the last minute he forced himself to calm. These ladies had to be handled carefully. They were used to men who yelled; yelling wouldn’t yield the desired effect of making them fall in a faint and stutter and plead and stammer out the truth.

  Very gently, his fingers nearly cramping with the effort to contain his ire, Colin opened the bedchamber door. Odd, but he wasn’t at all surprised to see the two wives gowned as gloriously as society ladies all set for tea. They looked elegant, fresh, and beautiful; his wife was lying in bed, her hair soft and curling around her face, wearing a lovely lace-covered peignoir. She looked very young and elegant and innocent as a lamb. She was holding a book in her hand. All looked tranquil. It could have been an English drawing room in Putnam Square. There wasn’t a hair out of place on any of their heads. There wasn’t a wrinkle in any of their gowns. They were giving him inquiring looks, as if to say, “Goodness, a gentleman is here. How very strange. He came without an invitation. What should we do with him?”

  Sinjun called out, her voice as sweet and innocent as her damned face, “Oh, Colin. I’m delighted you’re back. Do forgive me for sending you on that quite useless errand to Dr. Childress, but I felt much better nearly the exact moment after you’d left. Strange, isn’t it? I tried to call you back but you left too quickly. I’m just fine now, as you can see. Aren’t you pleased?”

  “What I see,” Colin said mildly as he walked into the room, “is a quite perfect stage setting. My God, it would do any Drury Lane theater proud. The three of you are really quite good. I’v
e always known that Joan could move quickly—indeed, accomplish incredible tasks in very little time, just witness our elopement—and now I see that you two aren’t to be left in the dust. Even the color of your gowns and her peignoir complement each other. Remarkable. I applaud you.”

  Sinjun said nothing. The wives were silent, blank smiles firmly affixed to their faces, their hands steady in their laps.

  He walked to Sinjun and sat beside her on the bed. He very lightly traced his fingertips over her cheek. She looked suddenly flushed as a very ripe apple. He was so furious he wanted to strangle her. He looked at her white neck wistfully. Her hair was soft and lovely, so very thick and curly. He ran his fingers through several strands. He remained silent, just looking at her, touching her face and hair.

  Sinjun had believed he would storm into their bedchamber and yell and rant. But he hadn’t and now she wasn’t so sure. She waited, keeping quiet. There wasn’t a word in her head in any case.

  “How very lovely you look,” he said after another few moments of silence. “Lovely and clean and there’s not even a hint of horse smell on you.”

  “We only rode for a very little while. I did tire quickly.”

  “Yes, I imagine you did. Poor darling, are you certain you’re better? I don’t have to fear another relapse?”

  “Oh no, Colin, I feel just grand. It’s kind of you to be concerned for me.”

  “Yes, isn’t it? Actually, what I want from you, Joan, what I want this very instant, is the truth. If you lie to me, I will know it and I will punish you.”

  “Punish me? Really, sir, such a threat isn’t at all civilized.”

  “At this moment I’m not feeling at all civilized. I’m feeling quite savage. Speak to me, Joan. Now.” His voice was so low and calm and quiet, yet his words . . . Oh dear, he couldn’t be any more dangerous than Douglas or Ryder at their best, could he?