"No, there were only the two of us."
Arrian took a sip of tea and laid her napkin on the table. "Were you close to your father?"
Warrick rose and pulled back her chair. "Shall we retire to the salon where we can continue our conversation, Arrian?"
She placed her hand on his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her forward, but she watched him out of the corner of her eye, not quite ready to trust him.
A fire burned brightly in the hearth, and soft candlelight disguised the shabbiness of the salon. There were beautiful and valuable masterpieces on the walls, but the castle had been allowed to fall into disrepair.
Arrian sat beside Warrick on the settee, with her hands folded in her lap.
"Where were we?" he asked, crossing his long legs and resting a hand on his polished boot.
"I had asked about your father."
"My father was a hard man, Arrian, not at all the way you describe your father. He forced my sister to marry Gavin Maclvors against her wishes. Being a proud man, he insisted that she not be shamed by going to the Maclvors without a large dowry. To obtain the funds he sold herds of cattle and flocks of sheep. He took all the money we had and presented it to Gavin Maclvors."
Warrick looked up at a portrait hanging on the wall. "We were fortunate that the estate was entailed, or my father might have stripped Ironworth of its treasures."
She suddenly felt sad for him. "How terrible for you."
"Not for me. For my sister, Gwendolyn. She was young, like you, at the time of her marriage and very frightened of Gavin Maclvors."
"Gavin was Ian's father."
"Yes, and at that time he was your grandfather's heir."
"As Ian is now?"
"That's right. Had my sister and Gavin Maclvors been well suited, and had she found love with him, how different my life might have been." His eyes touched upon her golden head. "Think about it, Arrian, perhaps we would have met one summer at your grandfather's castle and become . . . friends."
"Are you certain your sister died on her wedding night?"
"Yes, quite sure. I attended the wedding and I also witnessed the cruelty inflicted on her by your cousin, Gavin."
"You must have been young then."
"Not so young that I didn't know what was happening. My sister pleaded with me to help her. Mactavish told me later that it was Ian Maclvors who struck me from behind when I went to her aid."
"I can't believe Ian would do that unless he thought his father was in danger."
"His father was in danger—yes, I suppose he was. I would have killed him that night if I could have got my hands on him. If I had, Gwendolyn would be alive."
Arrian didn't want to believe him, but somehow she sensed that he was telling the truth. "What happened then?"
"I knew nothing until the next morning. When I went to see my sister, I was informed that she was dead. It was said she threw herself down the stairs to save herself from Gavin Maclvors. I don't know if we will ever know the real truth of what happened. But even now it haunts me."
"It isn't inconceivable that a young woman could be so distraught from an unwanted marriage that she would throw herself down the stairs. Not if she loved another, as I love Ian. I can only imagine your sister's despair."
Warrick fell silent. It was clear that he didn't like the comparison she had just pointed out to him. His voice was cold when he spoke. "Perhaps you are weary and wish to retire now."
She rose, convinced she had driven her plight home to him by using the love he had for sister. "I will wish you a good night, my lord."
He watched her sweep from the room, knowing he had lost a battle. She was young but clever. She was a wife to be proud of, but she didn't really belong to him. At every opportunity, she reminded him that she belonged to Ian Maclvors.
While Arrian dressed for bed she thought of the young girl whose room she occupied. They had much in common. Poor Gwendolyn, so frightened and alone. Arrian vowed to discover the truth about her death one day.
Warrick was in a dark, brooding mood when he went to his bedchamber. He did not like to be compared to the Maclvors, and yet, was not his sin worse? At least his sister had been given in marriage by her father. But what about Lady Helena—surely she had been forced to marry against her will? No, he had been right to marry Arrian. He would soon see his honor satisfied.
He removed his shirt and draped it over a chair. He sensed that Arrian had begun to trust him tonight. Perhaps he would woo her, make her fall in love with him. It would be easy enough—she was innocent and ripe for a man's touch.
He closed his eyes, remembering the sweetness of her smile. He had promised not to touch her, but he had not promised he wouldn't try to win her affections.
Pain ripped through his heart as he remembered his sister's face as she called out to him for help.
The muscles in his jaw tightened. He would make Arrian beg for his touch. He would use her and then send her back to Ian Maclvors.
12
On reaching the harbor, the Nightingale had been met by a messenger bearing news that Lady Mary's was in Edinburgh. Kassidy stood by her aunt's bed now, shaking with anger, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"And you say this Lord Warrick forced my daughter to marry him against her will?"
"It was not done at sword point, but he forced her all the same. Handsome devil that he is, he could have any woman he wanted—but he wanted Arrian for revenge."
Kassidy felt as if her heart would break, and there was desperation in her voice. "I felt something was wrong. I must go to her at once. Do you think he has done her harm?"
"I have no fear for her, Kassidy. For all he has done, I believe he has a strong code of honor. No, he will not harm her. And I have to say, if what I heard at Iron-worth is true, the young chief had reason for bitterness. He was not treated well by our family."
"I don't care about him, Aunt Mary. I only want to see Arrian and know she's safe. She must be so frightened."
"You would have been proud of the way she conducted herself."
"I must get to her as soon as possible."
"I fear you'll not be allowed in, dearest. The castle is surrounded by Drummonds. You have heard stories of how they protect their own, and I believe it to be true."
"But she's alone and friendless."
"I know. Yesterday I tried to convince Tuttle to go to Ironworth, but the poor woman became so distraught, I had to give her coach fare back to England."
Kassidy rubbed her hands together in thoughtfulness. "I wonder. Your leg is healing nicely and I'm told grandfather will be sending a coach for you, so you don't need me as much as Arrian does."
"What are you thinking?" Aunt Mary asked suspiciously.
Kassidy dipped into a curtsy and imitated a Cockney accent. "M'lady'll be wanting her own maid with her, to be sure. I don't think his lordship'll deny her that small comfort."
Lady Mary shook her head. "No, Kassidy, you wouldn't. I have enough to explain to Raile when he arrives, without having to tell him you also fell into Lord Warrick's hands."
"What concern would I be to Lord Warrick, ducks? I'm just a 'umble serving wench, Tuttle by name. I only live ta do my mistress's bidding, and see ta her wants."
"Lord save me from the DeWinter women. It must be the English side of your blood that makes you behave so rashly. Don't do this, Kassidy."
Kassidy leaned over and kissed her aunt. "Don't fuss, dearest. I'm going after my daughter and I'll not come back without her."
Lady Mary knew there would be no stopping Kassidy. "Lord help the poor man with both of you making his life miserable. He'll get what he deserves."
"I hope Raile doesn't leave London before I have Arrian out of there. It would mean disaster. If he arrives too soon, I'll depend on you to tell him anything but the truth, Aunt Mary. I don't want my husband to become embroiled in a war if I can get Arrian out without him."
"You and Lord Warrick are a matched pair," Lady Mary said. "There'
ll be the devil to pay over this."
Kassidy plumped her aunt's pillow. "You're right about that. If that man's harmed my daughter, he'll rue the day."
Aunt Mary frowned. "Indeed he will. But you should wait for Raile."
"Let's keep Raile out of this if we can, Aunt Mary. I can deal with that young man."
Lady Mary knew when she was defeated. "I'm sure you can, Kassidy. I'd give half a year of my life to be there when you take the earl of Glencarin to task."
Arrian rushed down the stairs with a light heart. She would be free of this dismal room, if only for a few hours. Warrick had invited her to go riding.
When she reached the stable she found Warrick already mounted, and the stable boy led her horse forward.
"I see you located a sidesaddle," she said, pleased.
"It was my sister's and hasn't been used in years. Tam worked on it into the night so it would be ready for you this morning."
She smiled at the redheaded, freckle-faced lad. "Thank you, Tam. It was most thoughtful of you."
"It wasn't nothing, m'lady." He led the horse to the mounting block and helped her onto the sidesaddle.
She straightened her jaunty little hat and nodded at Warrick. "I'll race you up the hill."
A bright sun was shining, and a warm wind touched her cheeks. They rode for several moments before Warrick reined in his horse. "I wanted you to see this view. As a boy I would spend hours staring out at the North Sea, wondering what was on the other side of the waters' end." His eyes softened as they fell on her. "How could I have known that the sea would one day bring you to me?"
Arrian turned her face from him and looked at the beautiful spectacle. They were atop a hill where she could see the mountains to the east and the sea to the west. In the far distance she saw the spine of even larger mountains. Their valleys dipped into streams that were full to their banks with melting runoff. Her eyes followed one stream on its path to the sea. Although it was not in her view, she could hear the thundering sound of a waterfall.
Warrick pointed to her left, toward a village where the soft snow powdered the cobbles. Even though most of the ground was covered with a thin layer of snow, there were patches of green peeping through where the sun shone.
Arrian reached over her head, broke an icicle off the branch of a tree, and held the point out to Warrick.
"En guarde, Drummond," she said. "Face your fate at the hands of a DeWinter."
He watched her take a bite of the icicle, then threw back his head and laughed. "I surrender. I have known from the start that I was no match for you."
He dismounted and held his arms up to her. "Arrian, to be precise, you are no longer a DeWinter, you are Lady Arrian Glencarin of Clan Drummond."
She wrinkled her nose as he encircled her waist and swung her to the ground. "My great-grandfather would be in a terrible temper to hear you say that."
He slid his arm around her shoulder and turned her to face the North Sea. "Look there just beyond the breaker, Arrian. There is a cave where my sister and I used to dig for buried treasure. We were certain some marauding Vikings had left their booty in the caves."
She turned to him and her lips brushed accidentally against his cheek. For a long moment she looked into his eyes and felt a tightening in her stomach. She felt she could not breathe.
He suddenly released her and moved to the edge of the hill, his steps leaving deep impressions in the snow. Arrian placed her small foot where he had stepped as an even stranger feeling took possession of her. Before God and man she was Warrick's wife. She felt as if his presence enveloped her, just as his footprints enveloped hers.
"It's rather cold, but would you like to walk beside the sea? The tide won't be in for several hours."
"I'd like to see the cave," she said.
"Come," he replied, holding his hand out to her. "The horses are well trained and will remain here until we return."
She slipped her hand into his and walked beside him down the hill. All the while she was wondering why she no longer resented his touch, but in fact welcomed it.
Arrian was so confused by her new emotions that she pulled her hand free, feeling as if she were betraying Ian.
When they stepped onto the beach, she ran toward the lapping waves that rushed forward in a flurry of creamy foam. She removed her hat and tossed it aside, relishing the piercing cry of the seabirds.
Warrick could only stare at the girl whose golden hair had been ripped from its tight coil to swirl around her face. She was beautiful and high-spirited, and he wanted to be the one to tame her. No—not tame her, he thought, for she should never be tamed. He wanted to be close to her warmth, to bask in her sweet fire, to be loved by her.
That was a sobering thought that brought him up short. He raised his face to the sun, trying to calm his thundering heart.
"We had best explore the caves another day. The wind has shifted, and a pervading southwest wind inevitably brings rain to the Highlands."
She tried to hide her disappointment as they retraced their steps.
Warrick retrieved her hat and placed it on her head. In a move that startled her, he traced the outline of her lips with his gloved hand.
"Your mouth has become a source of fascination for me, but more so now that I've seen you smile."
Arrian had never had such words spoken to her, and it took her breath away. The sunlight glistened on Warrick's midnight-colored hair. She was transfixed by those silver eyes.
At last she found her voice. "There has been little to smile about lately, Warrick."
His lips thinned in a grim line. "Then we shall just have to remedy that. What are some of the things you enjoy?"
She shifted her gaze away from him to stare in the distance at the flat gray sea. "As I told you, I like hawking. I'm particularly good at archery. I like to ride and dance."
Warrick and Arrian talked as they walked toward their waiting mounts. "I suppose, Arrian, that you are versed in all the accomplishments befitting a lady of your station."
She smiled and dipped into a curtsy. "I am, my lord. I can embroider and do needlepoint adequately. I play the harp and piano reasonably well. I am proficient in French, Latin, Italian. Alas, I do not speak Gaelic at all, and speak only enough Russian to get myself into trouble, forcing my brother, Michael, to cover for any affronts I utter out of ignorance. I once thought I was telling a Russian noblewoman that she had a lovely gown. Michael quickly apologized to her and begged her to forgive my limited knowledge of her language."
"What had you said to the woman?"
"It seems I said something about her gown being fit only for a swine."
Warrick was finding himself drawn more and more to her intelligence and wit. "I bow to your many accomplishments. Did you attend a school for young ladies in London?"
"No. I refused to leave Ravenworth, so I had tutors."
"Of course."
"What about you, my lord? Since we are learning about each other, tell me of your accomplishments."
"I fear they are far inferior to yours. I play neither the piano nor the harp. I have no knowledge of embroidery or needlepoint. Like you, I know only a few words in Russian, and I know French and Latin, but not Italian. I, of course, am proficient in Gaelic."
"Did you attend a university?"
"Yes. In Edinburgh."
"That's why you speak English with very little accent," she observed. "You must have studied English."
His eyes suddenly hardened. "I would not adopt the language of the Thames Valley by design. If my English is satisfactory, it can be attributed to the Englishman who taught at the Royal School in Edinburgh."
She laid her hand on his. "Surely you can see there is a rift as wide as a river between us, Warrick. We cannot even get through a conversation without a confrontation."
He clasped her hand and drew her slowly toward him. His face was very near, and she could feel his warm breath stir her hair.
"Don't you know, Arrian, bridges are built over riv
ers every day. Shall I build a bridge between us? I could, you know—with very little effort."
She shook her head, her heart too full to speak.
"Shall I show you how easily we could cross a bridge to find each other, Arrian?"
Again she shook her head, but she did not pull away when he lowered his dark head and his lips brushed against her cheek and his arms tightened about her.
"Oh, yes," he murmured, "it would be so easy. You would relent, Arrian."
When his mouth touched hers, she ached to be closer to him. As a sunflower worships the sun, she followed those elusive lips that now brushed against her brow, her ear, her cheek again, trying to entice them back to hers. Arrian could not have known how her provocative move trapped the breath in Warrick's lungs, fanning his desire.
Warrick stared into confused blue eyes and saw something that pleased him—the awakening of desire. He did not have to be told that this was a new emotion for Arrian, he knew it instinctively. There was a prickle of remorse as his lips settled firmly on hers. He knew, with his experience, he could easily take advantage of her innocence.
Against her will, Arrian melted against him, her arms gliding around his waist.
Warrick applied pressure to her lips and positioned her closer to his body. She felt his hands moving across her back, caressing, circling. A burst of sensation exploded within her as he traced her lips with his tongue. Like churning tides in a storm, a wild yearning rippled through her body.
Suddenly frightened, she pulled away from him, staring at him with new eyes.
"I . . . don't know why that happened. I'm so ashamed that I betrayed Ian."
His quicksilver eyes reflected anger, not passion. "Did Ian Maclvors ever kiss you like that?"
She hoped he hadn't noticed how her hands trembled. She welcomed the cool breeze on her cheeks. "No. Not like that. He would never have taken such liberties." She turned her back to him, her emotions now under control. "Ian is a gentleman, my lord."
He reached for her, swung her onto her horse, and handed her the reins. "I'm not a gentleman, Arrian, and it's best you remember that about me."
Highland Love Song (DeWinter's Song 2) Page 12
