by Jenny Brown
“Adam, you didn’t tell me you owned a castle!”
“How else would my ancestors have defended what was theirs? The Scottish borders were a lawless place. But don’t get your hopes up too much. The castle is more impressive from a distance than it is when you’re huddling in the drawing room in January, desperately trying to keep its stones from sucking out what little warmth remains in your body. I’ve often wished my ancestors had settled in a more peaceful spot where they might have built more for comfort than defense.”
Zoe laughed. “It can’t be any colder than some of the garrets we lived in when my mother was out of funds. You needn’t fear that I’ll be too nice to be your chatelaine.” But that reminded her of something else she hadn’t had the courage to ask him about before. “Does your mother still live here?”
“No. She remarried when I was twelve and went to live with her new husband farther north. Since he didn’t wish to be burdened with another man’s children, she left me here with Charlotte and the servants, and soon after that I was sent off to school.”
How bleak that sounded. But even so, she was glad she wouldn’t have to confront a new mother-in-law immediately. She couldn’t imagine that any mother would welcome an unannounced daughter-in-law with much joy—especially one as basely born as herself.
Adam went on. “My father’s bailiff has stayed on all these years and run things, keeping me informed by post. But the heart goes out of land when the owner isn’t there to keep his eye on it. It will be good to be home again and pick up the reins.”
“Then you don’t plan to return to the Dark Lord’s island in the near future?”
“No. It was my teacher’s wish that we dwell here, and I am more than content to do so.”
“It is beautiful country, though wild, and isolated. Will we live here throughout the year?”
“You’ve spent all your life in the city, haven’t you?” A troubled look filled his face. “Would you hate living so far from town? I’ll take you to London for the season when the year is over, should you wish it. And if that isn’t enough—well, I’ll find you permanent lodgings in Town.”
She recoiled inwardly at his casual mention of their separating forever. But then, it was she who was bespelled into loving, not him. But when she peered more closely at his features, she saw that his lips, which had been set in a warm smile only a moment before, were tight with concern. Perhaps he’d only made this last offer in an attempt to be kind.
Acting on that hunch, she reassured him. “With a garden and dairy to keep me occupied, and some villagers to attend to, I see no reason I couldn’t be very happy here.”
The corners of his mouth relaxed. She had been wrong to think he was already looking for some pretext to send her away.
“Perhaps I might start a Sunday school,” she added, “to teach the crofters’ children their letters. Would that please you?”
“It would, but only if it pleased you. I told the truth when I said I wanted to make you happy in return for the sacrifices I’ve asked of you.”
“It would make me happy to behave in a way that would make me worthy of the rank you’ve conferred on me. I want to be a wife you can be proud of—despite my origins.”
“We shall get on a lot better if we look to the future, not the past,” he said quietly. “I can’t do anything about your origins, but you have my word, I will never reproach you for them. But that reminds me. When we spoke earlier, you said something about your father being a nobleman. Is that true?”
“Yes. A duke.”
“Which one?”
She looked away, ashamed. “I don’t know. My mother told me very little about him—only that he was brave and resourceful, and that he’d loved her dearly before matters of great importance had forced him to leave her behind.”
“She didn’t tell you his name?”
“No. I suppose she was afraid I’d seek him out. Perhaps she’d taken money from him when they parted, with the promise that he’d never be bothered by us again. I can’t say for sure. She told me when I was small that he would never come to see me, but I still used to pray that he would. I worked so hard at school to learn to speak like a lady and master the manners the other girls displayed so effortlessly, because I thought it was he who’d given my mother the money for my education. I hoped that if I proved worthy of it, he would visit.”
“But he never did?”
“No.”
“And then, when I took you to Mrs. Endicott’s, you learned it had been the Dark Lord who had paid your school fees all along. Not your father. How painful that must have been for you.”
She had to look away, not just because of the shame of what she’d just confessed, but because of the sympathy she saw in his deep gray eyes. She mustn’t give in to the temptation to throw herself into his arms and seek comfort there. She couldn’t ask so much of him so soon. She hurried on. “My mother promised she’d tell me who he was when I turned one-and-twenty. So I still have that to look forward to.”
“And when she does, what will you do?”
“Write to beg him to let me meet him. My mother said he never would, but perhaps he’ll change his mind now that I’m Lady Ramsay.”
“If he did, would that console you for having to be my wife?” His tone was quizzical but she was not taken in. It was a serious question about a serious matter.
She gave it a serious answer. “It has always been the deepest wish of my heart to meet him, if only once. So, yes, indeed, it would.”
They turned into a broad avenue lined with tall oaks that cast their shadows across the road. Now that they were closer to the castle, Zoe saw that, as Adam had warned her, the tower was in poor repair. Windows gaped, unglazed, and many stones had fallen from the crenellations that topped it, leaving holes like the gaps in an old man’s smile.
A newer building stretched beside the castle tower—Jacobean, judging from the tall, mullioned windows and the domed turrets—but it didn’t look to be in good repair, either. They came to a halt in a courtyard of tamped earth, in front of an elaborate doorway crowned by a flattened arch. After asking her to await him in the chaise, Adam alighted, walked up to the oaken door, and pounded on it with the end of his serpent-headed cane.
There was a long wait until the door creaked open and an older man, whose long white hair was tied in a queue, peered out at her new husband for a moment, before rushing toward him and embracing him with the agility of a much younger man. The two conferred intently for a few moments, then Adam returned to the carriage.
“That’s my bailiff, MacAlpin,” he said when he rejoined her. “He’s gone to assemble our retainers for a formal welcome. He’s a man of the old school, and it would pain him deeply if Strathrimmon’s new lady weren’t to be greeted properly. I hope you don’t mind the wait.”
“Of course not. It isn’t every day that one is welcomed as the lady of a manor. I intend to enjoy every moment of my reception. But how will they expect me to behave?”
“The servants will line up on either side of the entry. You need only smile and nod your head as we pass through. I’ll introduce you to those I remember, but it’s been so long since I was last here, there may not be many. Don’t worry about remembering their names. There will be time to learn them later. For now all you need to do is give the people a chance to show their respect.”
“But my dress! It is hardly what they will expect of a baroness.” She looked down at the drab garment that was much the worse for having been worn every day of their journey.
“You’re dressed like a lady. It will be enough.”
And sure enough, as his servants straggled out of the castle and the tenants in from the fields, her concerns about her wardrobe vanished, in view of the rags that clothed them. Compared to the rough, ill-cut garments that enveloped the women who came to meet them, her gown was indeed luxurious. And the men! They seemed to all be wearing smocks of some rough fabric that, no matter what color it might have once been, was now the unifo
rm tan of the soil. Both men and women wore their hair long and matted, and few of them wore shoes. Adam had not been exaggerating when he warned her that his estate might be in poor condition—not if the condition of the people who labored for him was anything to go by.
When the men and women of the estate had lined up in two ragged rows, Adam reached for her hand to lead her out of the carriage. The feeling of his long fingers against her palm made her feel suddenly breathless. As they walked together through the line of servants, Zoe smiled as graciously as possible. Adam, for his part, had again assumed the look of cool authority she was so used to seeing on his features.
Now that she’d seen the vast acres he had been born to rule, that air of authority made more sense. But she also noted how as he greeted the people of his estate, he seemed to freeze back into a kind of wooden formality, which would leave a stranger thinking he was haughty, as she had done when first they’d met. But she knew him well enough by now to sense it was his inner uneasiness that had deepened his reserve. This delayed homecoming was hard for him. Very hard. It was taking everything he had to get through it.
When, at last, all the servants and villagers had been greeted, he took her hand and led her toward the formal entryway, framed in oak so old it had turned nearly black. As one of the servants sprang forward to open the door, Zoe got a hazy impression of the dark wood and musty hangings awaiting them inside. Then, before she had time to realize what he intended, Adam bent over and placed one strong arm beneath her knees, and after wrapping the other around her shoulders, picked her up and carried her over the threshold.
There was a scatter of applause from the servants, and several of them raised a cheer. She was glad the denizens of the manor couldn’t see her face. It must be the color of a well-boiled beet. Until this moment, her wedding and all it entailed had been something private, shared only with strangers who would never see them again, meaningful only to her and her new husband, and fragile because, despite his reassurances, she feared he would eventually set it aside.
But with this simple, traditional gesture her husband had made it public. He’d acknowledged her as his bride before his people. He’d told them this was to be her new home. Perhaps he really did want her to remain his wife.
Still holding her in his arms, he carried her to the center of the large, paneled reception room and set her down on her feet once again, but even then he didn’t let her go. “They will expect this, too.”
He leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips—a long and lingering kiss that made her go limp in his arms. Only when the last echo of the kiss had finished resonating through the most distant reaches of her body did he release her and stand back. Then he turned to face his dependents. His features betrayed only the slightest tinge of the distant, haughty look that had filled them earlier.
His eyes were warm and glowing as he said, in that rich, resonant voice of his that totally undid her, “Welcome to Strathrimmon, my dearest bride.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. After their things were brought in, the servants saw to it that Zoe was made comfortable and given a chance to rest after the tiring journey. She napped while Adam reacquainted himself with his bailiff and his affairs. When she awakened hours later, it was to find that her dinner had been brought up to her on a tray.
She stayed awake, hoping to see her husband when he was done with his many new responsibilities, but Adam didn’t come to her bed that night, though she lay awake for a long time, hoping to see him. It was only after the moon had set and all lay still in the night around her that she conceded that she was to spend her first night as the lady of the manor still a virgin.
She wondered. Despite the public way he’d claimed her, had Adam had second thoughts, after seeing her here in his childhood home?
She told herself to stop seeing trouble where there was none. They’d made a hard journey today, traveling faster than usual, and her leg, which had felt almost normal in the morning, had started to ache. He’d noticed her limping as she’d mounted the main staircase and had commented upon it. Perhaps it was chivalry that kept him from coming to her bed, out of a fear of hurting her.
Or perhaps there was some old Scottish custom to be followed here, too—village maidens decking her out in traditional bridal robes while aged retainers muttered hoary Scots blessings. It was all so new to her. She must resist jumping to conclusions. She should be glad to have a bit of time to get some rest, alone, without the disturbing presence of her new husband to send her all aflutter.
But an untroubled rest was the last thing she wanted, for everything was so unsettled! Once he’d taken that last, irrevocable step that would make her fully his wife, perhaps her life would sink back into some kind of regular pattern. She would settle into her new role as mistress of Strathrimmon—as strange as it seemed now—and move on. But she couldn’t relax now, not stuck as she was here, on the threshold, wife and not wife, her future still so uncertain.
But for tonight, she had no choice. Whatever his reasons, her new husband had left her alone with her thoughts, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Chapter 12
Zoe was awakened the next morning by a rap on her door. Her heart lifted. Adam had come at last. But a moment later she realized it couldn’t be her husband. He would have come through the adjoining door that led to his bedchamber, but whoever was knocking was outside in the hallway. It must be a servant.
She called out a sleepy “Come in.” At her command, the door cracked open and a small, wizened old woman entered and, without waiting for an invitation, made her way slowly toward the bed. Only when she was so close that Zoe could have touched the faded blue wool of her gown did she come to a halt and peer into Zoe’s face with eyes almost as faded.
“So you are the puir wee lassie he has brought back with him.” The woman shook her head. “Puir bairn.”
“Who are you?” And what gives you the right to speak so frankly with your mistress?
“Annie MacTavish,” the crone replied with an air that suggested there should be no need for her to explain something so obvious. “I was their nurse, the twa bairns, so many years ago.” She leaned so close that Zoe could smell her unwashed body. “Who were ye before he made ye his?”
Zoe’s insides constricted. Aside from the woman’s rudeness, hers was not an unnatural question to ask, and they must all of them here be wondering the same thing. She must take care to answer it in a way that wouldn’t lower her standing with the servants.
“I was the Laird of Iskeny’s ward.”
“Iskeny? Aye, that explains it then. Who else would marry one who bore such a curse as our maister?” The woman turned her head and spat over her shoulder, making a strange gesture with the fingers on one hand.
A chill ran through Zoe at the old woman’s words. Adam had called himself accursed more than once, but she’d assumed he meant it figuratively. Still, the Scots were steeped in old traditions—superstitions, Mrs. Endicott would have called them. She must make allowances. But before she could demand an explanation, the door to her husband’s chamber burst open and Adam entered. Upon seeing him, the old woman made a deep curtsy.
“Annie!” Adam cried when he recognized her. “No need to stand on ceremony with me.” He came over and gently enfolded her in an embrace. “Auld Annie was my nurse,” he explained before turning back to the old woman. “It’s been so long since I last saw you. Too long.”
“Ye had yer reasons and at least ye did come home, not like yer father afore ye. Anyroad, I’m still the same,” the old woman shrugged. “I came to see yer bride. She’s a bonny lass, though she could use some fattening up. She’ll nae make it through the cold winter with so little meat on her bones.”
He smiled. “I’ll speak to Cook directly. I wouldn’t want to lose her through such carelessness.”
“Nae, I ween you wudna,” the old woman agreed with no hint of a smile. “There’s troubles enough awaitin’ the puir lassie without that. But I’ll
be on my way, then, Adam, though I s’pose you being all grown I must call you my lord.” Then without giving him any chance to reply she curtseyed again, very slowly, as if her joints pained her, and as she turned away Zoe thought she saw her again make that gesture with her fingers.
When Auld Annie was gone, Zoe said, “What a strange woman! Was she really your nurse?”
He nodded.
“She was quite rude. Is that the custom among servants here in Scotland?”
“No. But it’s Auld Annie’s custom, and she’s been here too long to cure her of it.”
“She seems to be full of superstition, too. Has she become that way with age?”
“No, she was always like that. She always liked to while away the long winter nights frightening young children with tales of the faerie folk and goblins who steal bad children. It kept us on our best behavior. When she tended us, I spent many a night with my eyes wide open, cowering in my bed fearing they’d soon be coming for me.”
She was tempted to ask him if the curse that the old woman had mentioned was just such a fairy tale, told to keep her master’s new bride out of mischief, but thought better of it. There had been something about the way the old woman had spoken of it that made her want to learn more before she confronted him about it.
He walked over to the bed. He was dressed, as usual, in a clean white homespun shirt open at the collar and in breeches of the old-fashioned sort, buttoned at the knee, which showed off the firm muscles of his long calves. The morning sun brought out the red highlights in his russet hair while deepening the hue of his gold-flecked gray eyes to a color not much different from that of the slates that covered the roof outside her window.
How handsome he was! She fought down the desire to run her fingers through his hair and explore the tempting arch of his high cheekbone. But she reined it in. It was for him to make that kind of move. She was his wife, not a woman to be taken for pleasure.
