"And that's all right with you?" She dusted the settee's wooden trim with her thumb. "I will admit I have harbored hopes of winning him, but I do not want him if he doesn't want to stay. I won't have a man filled with regrets."
"Regrets?" Chrissy wrinkled her nose. "No, not Jake. He's not the type. Oh, he may play out the line for a time, run with the bait, but I know my brother. He is well and truly hooked. I am thrilled about it too, Gillian. I think you and I will be the best of friends."
"You should talk to him," Angus announced. "Something is wrong here, I sense it."
"I will not." Gillian folded her arms and frowned. "I have my pride. If he stays, I want it to be his choice, not because of anything I said."
"Not Delaney," Angus said, waving a dismissive hand. "Maclean. Something is off about this entire business. I canna believe he would come to our home and invite you to become his mistress. That's not the David I know."
Gillian steepled her fingers in front of her mouth, tapping her lips as she considered Uncle Angus's suggestion. "I think that is an excellent idea,"
"It's a terrible idea," Chrissy cried. "You cannot knock on a man's front door and accuse him of shooting at you."
"I will not be accusing David of anything," Gillian said, waving away Chrissy's protest. "You're right. Uncle Angus. Something about this situation smells like Scooter when she's wet. I'll talk to David today."
In the end, a trip to David's home wasn't necessary because the answers to all Gillian's questions came knocking at Rowanclere's door.
Annabelle Maclean had come to call, her face wet with tears.
* * *
Gillian showed Annabelle into the crimson salon and rang for tea. Though the other woman tried to launch into conversation immediately, Gillian put her off. From the looks of this, tea might not be enough. They might need to break into the barley-bree before their talk was over.
After Mrs. Ferguson brought a tray, and tea and biscuits were served, Gillian took a sip from her cup, then asked, "Now, Mrs. Maclean. What brings you to Rowanclere today?"
Her teacup rattled its saucer. Annabelle looked at Gillian with weepy brown eyes and said, "God forgive me. I'm the one who shot you."
Gillian choked on a bite of shortbread.
And Annabelle was off "Of course, I didn't actually shoot you because I missed, and I only missed because I didn't truly mean to shoot. If I'd meant to shoot you, I'd have killed you. I'm a very good shot. My father is a wealthy man now but he started out poor and living in the slums of the city. He believes that females should know how to protect themselves, so he taught all his daughters how to shoot. I have two sisters, you see. I'm the oldest girl. I have four older brothers and they helped teach me, too."
She finally paused to take a breath and Gillian grabbed her chance. "Why in the world did you shoot at us?"
"At you. I shot at you. Because, I'm afraid I hate you, Mrs. Delaney. I know all about you. David told me you were lovers. He told me you are the only woman he will ever love. He told me he's asked you to be his mistress! I knew something was wrong the day of your wedding. That's why I paid you a visit. I thought once you married everything would be better, but it's not. It's only natural I should hate you, don't you think?"
"Uh..." Gillian took another sip of tea. How did one answer such a question? For that matter, why should she answer it? Why was she even listening to this American? The woman had shot at her. Shot at her for something she not only didn't do, but had no desire to do.
She needn't have worried. Apparently, an answer was not required because Annabelle kept talking. "That's why I shot at you. I was taking a long walk because it's so very miserable to be home alone, even when the man you love is in the house. And what do I find? The very woman who has caused me so much grief cavorting in the woods with yet another man who is in love with her. By the way, I couldn't help but notice that Mr. Delaney is quite an admirable man. So well built. More so than David, don't you agree. My brothers would say he is hung like a horse."
Gillian spewed out her sip of tea.
"I might just tell David about that if I ever decide to speak to him again. He wouldn't like it. He wouldn't like it one bit. It might feel nice to hurt him. He's hurt me so... sob... so... sob... much—" She broke into tears heavy enough to fill a small loch.
Gillian didn't know what to do. Should she comfort the woman? Ignore her tears? Have her arrested? Lock her in the dungeon?
She chose to hand her a handkerchief. Annabelle sobbed into it.
The instinct to offer comfort caused Gillian to reach out and pat the woman's knee. Before she quite realized what was happening, David's wife had thrown herself into Gillian's arms.
"Now this is beyond strange," she murmured as her former lover's wife cried on her shoulder like a babe.
"Now, now, now," she said finally, after Annabelle had begun to hiccup. "It's all right. Everything will be all right."
With the handkerchief soaked, Gillian offered her a napkin from the tea tray. Annabelle blew her nose loudly. "I'm sorry I shot at you. I wasn't thinking. The two of you looked so happy and in love. I am... sob... sob... so mortally ashamed. Oh, Mrs. Delaney. I love my husband so much. David already hates me, but now he'll hate me even more. And I do so love him. I love him very much. For a while, there, I thought he loved me, too." Boo hoo hoo hoo.
Guid fegs, the woman could teach Flora's bairns how to cry. "Now Annabelle, we can keep this to ourselves. David need not know. No law says you must tell your husband everything, you ken, and this would only upset David."
"You won't tell him?"
"I will not." Nor would she tell Jake unless she was forced to do so.
"Oh, Mrs. Delaney!" Annabelle cried even harder. "David is right. You are nice. So much nicer than L"
As the young woman continued to sob, Gillian debated what to do next. She had no experience with women in such a state. She couldn't ever remember being this distraught, not even when she learned David had married this... girl. She was little more than a girl. "How old are you, Annabelle?"
"I... sob... just turned... sob... sob... eighteen. Will I go to jail for what I did? They'll call it attempted murder, even though I promise I didn't aim at you."
They'd been married over a year. Why, the man robbed the cradle. "Annabelle, I said I won't tell. You won't go to jail."
She looked up at Gillian, those round brown eyes filled with hope. She really is a pretty thing. No wonder David chose her.
In that moment, Gillian experienced a revelation. Annabelle clearly worshiped her husband. Knowing David, he undoubtedly preened under such regard. Though Gillian had loved him, she certainly never worshiped at his feet. That sort of attention would be bound to appeal to the man. I bet he loves her, after all. I bet that visit he paid to Rowanclere had more to do with Annabelle than with me. David Maclean is in love with his wife.
Surprisingly, it didn't bother Gillian a bit.
Anxious to prove her supposition true, she inquired, "So tell me about your marriage, Annabelle. You were happy for a time?"
"Yes, we were. I thought we were. At least, until last month."
"And what happened last month?"
She started sobbing again, even louder now, and Gillian lifted her gaze to the ceiling and shook her head, still dumbfounded at the notion that she would be offering marital advice to David's wife.
Annabelle gasped a breath and said, "Last month my... my... mother... came to visit."
Light dawned. A mother-in-law. One of the greatest challenges to any marriage. "Oh. I see. Is she still there?"
"Yes. She doesn't plan to leave for six more months. Mother can be rather difficult. She and David don't get along at all. I'm afraid... I think... he might... sob... leave. He's so angry all the time. Oh, Mrs. Delaney, he hasn't come to my bed in weeks!"
"That is a problem."
"It's a disaster, Mrs. Delaney. Please, you're obviously very happy in your own marriage. Do you have any advice for me? I should be more lik
e you. If I were more like you, maybe I could make David love me. Please, Mrs. Delaney. What can I do?"
Gillian shook her head. "You don't need to be like me. He married you, not me. David fell in love with you. You need not change, it's your living arrangements that need some... well... rearranging."
Pursing her lips, Gillian considered the problem. When an idea flickered to life, she inquired, "What sort of woman is your mother, Annabelle? Is she superstitious at all? Fearful of anything?"
"Oh, yes. She's a terrible scaredy-cat. Papa says she has cold feet no matter how hot the weather."
"Excellent." Gillian grabbed a second napkin from the tea tray and handed it to Annabelle. "Dry up, lass. I'm going to help you."
Hope bloomed like heather in August in the girl's expression. "You are? Oh, that's wonderful, Mrs. Delaney. What are you going to do?"
"Call me Gillian, please. I'm going to help you get rid of your mother."
* * *
Walking beside the small stream near the picnic site, their gazes intent upon the ground, Jake and Cole searched for clues. Comfortable with the familiarity of such a task, they conversed while they went about their search. "Your missus has spunk," Cole observed. "She reminds me of Christina."
"In a way, I guess. She's ornery like Bug. You should have seen her play the Wraith of Rowanclere."
"The what?"
"Never mind." They had reached the spot where earlier Jake had found signs of a snoop. The two men hunkered down on either side of the footprint faintly visible in the soft dirt. Cole measured the depth of the indentation with his finger. "Look how shallow. Small, too. A full-grown man would have left a bigger print. Unless this Maclean fella is a tiny man, looks like your voyeur was a youngster, Jake. Probably a proud-and-primed boy from the village who was too busy recalling the look of your lady's, uh, charms, to pay attention to the gun in his hand."
"You're probably right. Otherwise, we'd have found something suspicious. I just wish I'd caught sight of whoever fired the gun. He could have hurt Gillian. He did hurt her by spying on us." After a moment's pause, he added, "Youngster needs his ass whipped."
"I can't argue with that." Cole stood and stretched. " 'Course, some might say a man who uses the great outdoors for a bedroom ought to expect less than total privacy."
"Considering how I stumbled across you this morning, you're one to talk."
Cole grinned. "So, do we let this go or do you want to keep looking for the shooter?"
"Nah, I'll let it go, for now anyway. If anything else happens, I'll reconsider."
"Fair enough." Cole nodded. "So, on to more interesting subjects. What's with this marriage of yours? Is it for real or not?"
Jake's gaze went to the pleasant picnic spot beside the stream, or burn, as Gillian called it. The memory of her needy, passionate cries that had filled the air not long ago reverberated through his mind. "Oh, it's real enough. Signed sealed and delivered. Or, at least it will be if, as I suspect, you brought word from my grandfather."
"You mean this?"
Cole reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. He handed it to Jake, who opened it, removed the folded paper, and quickly skimmed the page. The funds had been released, his draft honored. Rowanclere was his. "It's done."
"What's done, Jake?"
"Mother knows the whole story. Didn't she tell you any of it?"
Cole folded his arms and leaned against a tree. "Elizabeth didn't say much of anything—not that Christina gave her the chance. She was ready to head for Scotland the minute your grandfather read the letter announcing your marriage. To say your sister was anxious to meet your bride is like saying she flirts a little."
Jake snorted. "My sister is the biggest flirt in Texas."
"You gotta add Great Britain in there, too. Marriage hasn't changed that. Not enough to suit me, anyway. You're lucky your wife isn't like Christina in that regard."
"No, my wife doesn't flirt with other men." Silently, he added, she beds 'em.
Damned if that didn't stick in his craw.
"If Chrissy came up here expecting to find me getting all domestic, she's bound for disappointment." Jake returned the paper to the envelope and slapped it against his hand as he spoke. He elaborated on how he'd ruined Gillian's plans when he failed in his haunting of Harrington. He mentioned his guilt and the proposition he'd put to his mother and the proposal of a proposal she'd made in turn. "So, I married her. I bought it. The funds have now been transferred. Cole, my friend, you are looking at the new owner of Rowanclere Castle. And I don't know what the hell to do next. I don't know if my wife intends to travel with me. She dodges the question every time I bring it up. Guess I'll have to hang around until this party, anyway, and now with this bullet business, I wouldn't think of going until I have some answers there."
Cole was looking at him strangely.
"What?"
"Back this wagon on up a bit. Back to this ghost business. You haunted Harrington?"
"I told you about that when I was in England."
"But you didn't say... you dressed up like a dead Scotsman?"
"What else? We're in Scotland, not San Antonio."
"But you... you did it... in a skirt, Delaney? You actually put on a skirt? That wasn't all talk?"
"Gillian calls it a feileadh mor."
Cole's mouth gaped open. "Surely not."
"Watch it there, Morgan. Don't be calling me Shirley just because I dressed like a Scotsman. I have to admit that once I got used to the draft, it was kinda comfortable."
Slowly, Cole shook his head, "No wonder you're confused about what to do about your castle. That skirt-wearing has probably put girl-thoughts in your head. That'll screw up your thinking but good."
"Tell me about it. I'm as mixed-up as a fly in a butter churn." He scooped a handful of stones off the ground, then pinged one off the side of a boulder a short distance away. So much had been packed into this day. Life had gone round and round like a lariat in a cowherd's hand and left him dizzy. "I can't wait to go, but I don't want to leave Rowanclere. I want her, Cole. I want Gillian."
"That's handy. Considering you're married to her and you own her home."
He threw a pebble hard. "But I don't want to want her."
Cole simply arched a brow and watched him, waiting.
Jake snarled at him. "You know how long I've waited to take off, Cole. I loved the freedom I had as a youth—hell, I'd still be a cowboy driving cattle north if I could. I was loath to give it all up, but I did because that's what was expected of me. Doing all that living up to the Delaney name and Delaney responsibilities was damned difficult, but I did it. I read law like my father wanted, because he wanted it. I gave my time to social clubs and political issues and one boring dinner party after another because I was J. B. Delaney's son. Yet, through all of it, I managed not to get caught. I stood firm against the not inconsiderable pressure placed upon me by my parents to marry a worthy young woman and settle in San Antone and raise the next generation of Delaney puppets."
"Delaney puppets?" Cole drawled, folding his arms.
"That's taking it a little far, don't you think? Christina has never been anybody's puppet."
"True. But Chrissy had an excuse. She's female."
"And I thank God for that every day," Cole solemnly replied.
Jake rolled his eyes. "I did what I was supposed to do, and I did it gladly. I'm proud of how I took care of Mother and Chrissy after my father died. It makes me feel good to know I was the kind of son he wanted me to be. But now I've fulfilled those commitments and I don't want any more. I want to see the Orient. I want to swim in an ocean that is bath-water warm. And I can do that now. Nothing is stopping me. Chrissy is married. Mother is... well... I don't want to go into that other than to say she no longer needs me around to support her. I am free. Finally, I am free."
"Hmm..." Cole rubbed the back of his neck. "Let me see if I have this straight. You are a free man. But you are married. And you have just bought a rather l
arge house. And Gillian could already be carrying your child. That sounds like freedom to me."
Jake made an obscene hand gesture, and Cole's lips twisted into a grin. "Okay, maybe not freedom. How about something else? Love. That's it, Jake, my man. Sounds to me like you are in love,"
"Love?" A noose slipped around his neck. "I don't want to be in love."
"Why not? I have to tell you, Jake, I really like being in love with your sister And for more reasons than the obvious."
"Don't talk about sex. I don't want to think about you and Bug and sex."
"No, that's private. Spectacular, but private." Ignoring Jake's groan, he pressed on. "Pare this down to the nut, Jake. Why did you marry Gillian?"
"Because I owed her, and marrying her was the way to pay her back."
"That's bullshit. Why did you marry her, Jake?"
The sharp edges of rocks bit into his hand as he made a fist. "Because I walked into Rowanclere and that damned Maclean sonofabitch was asking her to be his paramour."
Cole walked toward him, looked into his eyes. "Try again, idiot. Why did you marry Gillian Ross?"
"Because I wanted to. I needed to."
"Because you...?"
"Love her, dammit. I love her!" He wound back his arm and hurled the remaining pebbles. They crashed and pinged into the trees. "I love her and it has turned my world upside down. I don't want to love her. I don't want to have here. I'm cold here. I don't want to be stuck living here in perpetual winter raising children who've never seen a longhorn cow!"
"Actually, they have some longhorn cattle in Scotland. Shaggy things. Don't you remember? Bennet had some stuffed ones in his country house."
"Forget the damned cows. What about Gillian? Grandfather released the money. The sale is completed. So, unless I find out this nonsense here today was something more sinister than we think, I can leave. I can head out right after this party Angus is throwing. But what the hell am I going to do about Gillian?"
"Nothing." Gillian's voice was the second bullet that had streaked from those trees this day. She stepped into sight and stared straight at her husband. "Cole, could you excuse us, please?"
Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 23
