Jake.
The next, from Madagascar. A diamond as big as her thumb.
Dear Princess,
Crossed the equator. Had to put on extra socks. Won the jewel in a card game. Hate it here. Bugs are worse than Scotland's midges and Texas's mosquitoes combined. Miss you. Love you. Still cold.
Jake.
The third gift arrived from Burma. A miniature tiger carved of ivory with amber eyes.
Dear Princess,
Look at this and think of me. Grrr.... Hate it here. Too much spice in the food—even Chrissy would agree. Miss you. Love you. Colder yet.
Jake.
The fourth package arrived with an Australian postmark. Gillian frowned at the curved wooden stick and wondered just what it was.
Dear Princess,
Enclosed, please find a boomerang. Note that when you throw it, it always comes back. Hate it here. Scooter thinks crocodiles are something to play with. Miss you. Love you. My toes never thaw out.
Jake.
Seashells filled the fifth box. "Tahiti," she murmured, blinking back tears.
Dear Princess,
Here I am. Beautiful beaches, crystalline sea, women who aren't too picky about clothes. Hate it here. I mean, I really hate it. Nothing about this place appeals. Not the beaches. Not the shark infested sea. Definitely not the women. Miss you. Love you. I'm beginning to think I may freeze to death before this nonsense is done.
Jake.
As the months dragged by, Gillian waited for a sixth package to arrive. She began each day filled with anticipation. She ended each day mired in gloom. As time passed, the doubts grew. Why hadn't she heard from him? Had something happened to him? Was he hurt? Did he decide he liked those half-naked Tahitian women, after all?
When finally the sixth gift did arrive from Jake, it came in a most unexpected manner. She was sitting at a table in the kitchen discussing recipes with Mrs. Ferguson when the cook looked up and gasped. The dish she was holding crashed to the floor. Gillian twisted around.
"Hello, lass."
"Nicholas?"
He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a moment. "Gillian, right? Not Flora?"
"Nick!" Joy filled her heart as she flew into his arms.
He put off her questions until the family assembled a short time later in Uncle Angus's bedchamber. The introduction between Nick and Robyn brought a Lump to Gillian's throat. Her big braw brother looked almost frightened of the lass.
Uncle Angus, expert now in manipulating his wheeled chair, rolled up to Gillian's brother, glared into his face, and demanded answers. Nicholas poured a whisky, tossed back a swallow, then said, "A man named Delaney hired a detective to find me. I understand this Delaney fellow now owns Rowanclere?"
"Jake Delaney is my husband, but never mind about him. Where were you, Nicholas? Why did you stay gone so long?"
His lips twisted into a crooked smile. "Actually, lass, when your husband's man found me, I was at a wedding in Fort Worth."
"A wedding?"
"It is a long, ugly story and I do not wish to darken this reunion day. Let's leave it for another time, shall we? How, tell me of our sister. Young Robyn says Flora has bairns?"
With Nick home, the atmosphere around Rowanclere lightened to an extent. Still, Gillian waited for word from Jake. She soothed herself with the knowledge that posts from foreign ports were undependable. She worried herself with the fact she might never hear from him again. Boomerang or not.
Finally, more than a month following Nick's return to Rowanclere, a seventh box arrived. The packaging was plain, with no indications of origin. Her heart pounding, she opened it to find a framed canvas and a painting that literally took her breath away.
It was Rowanclere—but it wasn't. It was Rowanclere in warm, tropical shades of orange, yellow, and red. It was bright and brilliant and oh, so beautiful. "Oh, Jake," she murmured on a sigh. Then, she opened the enclosed note.
Dear Princess,
Adventure isn't external. Adventure is what lives inside a man. I love it here. Everything about this place appeals to me. The people, the pets, even the ghosts. Especially the ghosts. I want to stay forever. Can you finally accept that7 Can you finally believe me? Miss you. Love you. I'm warm again, princess. But I want to sizzle. I really, really want to sizzle. Hurry.
Jake.
The note fluttered from Gillian's hand. "He's not cold anymore? He's warm? He's... here! Oh, dear God, he's finally come home!"
She knew immediately where to look for him. She dashed from the drawing room and darted through the corridors of Rowanclere to the staircase leading up to Maiden's Tower. Picking up her skirts, she ran up the stairs and burst into the chamber room.
He wore the feileadh mor with no shirt beneath. He looked tanned and a bit tired. Nervous, perhaps. "Hello, princess."
"Jake!" Tears of happiness spilled from her eyes as she flew into his arms. "Oh, Jake. You're back. You're finally back."
"Finally is right." He sighed and buried his face in her hair. "Damn, Gillian. I have ached to hold you for so long."
She closed her eyes and absorbed this long anticipated moment. Jake had come home to her, just like he'd promised. Elation warmed her heart and joy filled her soul as she smiled up at him and asked, "How were your adventures?"
"Lonely. I see you got the carpet."
"Yes. And the diamond and tiger and shells and the boomerang. They were wonderful. And Nick, he's a gift, too. And the painting today. It took my breath away."
Jake nodded. "I have another present. Well, it's not really a present. Something I picked up on one of the islands."
"Is it catching?"
He scowled. "I was faithful to our vows, Mrs. Delaney. Now, do you want to see it or not?"
She shrugged. Looking at gifts wasn't at all what she wanted at the moment, but since it seemed to matter... "That would be nice."
"Well, I was sharing a bottle of whisky with an old Scots sailor in a bar in Australia, when somebody heard his burr and made a snickering comment about what Scotsmen wear beneath their kilts. One thing sort of led to another, and we ended up in a major debate about what Texans should wear beneath a feileadh mor. So here's what we decided." He yanked up the tartan to his waist.
Gillian blinked. "Um, that's impressive, Jake, as always. But you had that when you left home. I know. I remember quite clearly."
"Not that." He frowned at her, angled his hip toward her, then pointed at a spot of color on his buttock. "This."
She blinked again. "What is that?"
"It's my tattoo. It's a castle. It's Rowanclere—or what's supposed to be Rowanclere, anyway."
"You had Rowanclere tattooed on your behouchie? Why?"
"Well, some of the 'why' of it was lost in the whisky fog, but from what I recall, the conversation centered around a man's pride and how what he most valued hung between his legs, hence beneath the kilt. What I do remember distinctly is why I chose the picture that I did. Rowanclere and the flame."
"Flame?" She stared a lithe closer. Yes there was some sort of yellow blob hovering above a tower.
"I know it looks more like an upside down turkey wattle, but it's supposed to be a flame. I remember the Brodie coat of arms and motto displayed on so many things here at Rowanclere, so I figured since the castle changed hands, it needed a new one. This is the Delaney coat of arms, Gillian. The motto is on the banner below the castle."
"Motto?"
"It's small, hard to read because it's long."
Actually, she could probably read it if she took her gaze off his "pride" long enough. But one did have one's priorities, after all, and he had been away a long time. "What does it say?"
"It's in Latin, but the translation is 'I came, I saw, I loved, I stayed forever.'"
"And the flame?"
He allowed the feileadh mor to drop back into place as he put his hands on Gillian's waist and held her. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he spoke with simple sincerity as he said, "It's the symbol of my love for yo
u, and my burning desire to live out my life at Rowanclere. You see, princess, this is the lesson I learned in my travels. No matter where I am—the Sahara Desert, crossing the equator at sea, or traipsing through the Burmese jungle—this world is a cold, cold place whenever I'm not with you. Let me stay and never send me away again. Be my warmth, Gillian. Be my home."
Love flowed between them, warm and sweet and free of any doubt. Smiling, Gillian pulled his lips down to hers. "Welcome to Rowanclere, Texas. Welcome home."
Later, after the first impatient rush of passion and a second more leisurely loving, Jake sat up and said, "Princess, about the gifts?"
Gillian stretched sensuously. "Mmm... hmm?"
"I did bring more home."
"More?"
"More." He wore a wicked grin, and his eyes sparkled with devilment. Gesturing toward a sea chest sitting against the wall, he winked at her and said, "Wait till you see the toys I picked up in Tangier."
The End
Page Forward for more by Geralyn Dawson
Excerpt from
The Bad Luck Wedding Night
Bad Luck Abroad
Book Three
by
Geralyn Dawson
© 2001, 2011 by Geralyn Dawson Williams
It's bad luck to marry in May, on Friday, or on an odd-numbered day, especially the Thirteenth.
Chapter 1
Friday, May 13
Fort Worth, Texas 1877
In the two-room honeymoon suite at the Blackstone Hotel, Sarah Ross extended her left arm, wiggled her fingers, and smiled with delight as the lamplight glistened off the shiny gold band. "Mrs. Nicholas Ross," she murmured with a sigh. "Sarah Ross. Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Ross."
Happiness bubbled up inside her as she clutched her ring hand to her chest and twirled around. Her wedding gown billowed in a cloud of satin and lace, and she laughed aloud. She was gleefully, joyously, jubilantly in love with being in love. "Oh, Abby. Wasn't the wedding wonderful?"
Sarah's best friend, Abigail Reese, smiled dreamily and nodded. "It was a fairy tale. Everything about it. Your wedding was without a doubt the most spectacular this town has ever seen."
"That's sweet of you to say."
"It's true, though. The flowers especially were divine. Whatever gave you the idea to give miniature rose bouquets to all the little girls in the congregation?"
"They were perfect, weren't they?" Beaming, Sarah kicked off a slipper. "I believe now more than ever that a wedding should be enjoyed by both family and guests. The perfect wedding should create warm memories that will linger in the minds of all who attend—not just the bride and groom. The bouquets were part of my effort to make those memories."
"You accomplished that." Abby brought her own bridesmaid bouquet up to her face and inhaled the sweet scent of roses. "Did you hear all the squeals?"
"I did."
"And so did the girls' parents and the other guests. Sarah, those sounds of delight were as much a part of the wedding music as the songs the organist played." Abby sighed and set down her bouquet. "Plus they perfumed the church and enhanced its beauty."
"St. Paul's is lovely, but a bit dark. All that yellow helped make it bright and cheerful inside, but more important, the flowers made each girl feel like a bridesmaid. They'll have fond memories of my wedding for years to come. Now the boys might have preferred something other than the little wish boxes we passed out, but I think they'll put them to good use. Tommy Wilson said he wished his way out of church during the ceremony."
She smiled slyly as she kicked off her second shoe and added, "While the girls dreamed of their own wedding day, the boys wished themselves far away."
Abby laughed. "But they were quiet."
"They were quiet." Sarah wiggled her toes. "And their parents enjoyed the ceremony."
"You have a special talent," Abby said, staring wistfully into the future. "I hope someday you'll help me plan my wedding."
"Of course I'll help. I'll be honored to do so." She clasped her friend's hands and gave them a squeeze. "And I hope that stubborn Jerry Johnson quits piddling around and asks for your hand soon. Wouldn't it be lovely to do a Christmas season wedding? I have lovely ideas about poinsettias."
"Christmas! Maybe Christmas two years from now. My papa is different from your mother, Sarah. He thinks sixteen is too young to marry."
Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I never told you this, but my mama tried to convince us to delay the wedding until I turn seventeen in August, but Nick and I didn't want to wait. May weather is so much more pleasant for wedding festivities, and besides, I can't wait to move into the house Nick has built for us. I can't wait to put all our beautiful wedding gifts to use. Did you see the silver service the Washingtons sent?"
"I did. I love the curlicues on the end of the handles."
"I do, too. I intend to display it atop the teacart my aunt and uncle gave us."
"It'll be beautiful. Just like the wedding and just like the bride." Abby beamed a teasing smile Sarah's way and added, "Nick looked poleaxed when you started down the aisle on your uncle's arm."
Dreamily, Sarah recalled the moment. "He was the one who looked beautiful. That thick dark hair and those brilliant blue eyes. Oh, Abby, when he smiles at me I feel a flutter all the way to my toes."
"Sometimes when he smiles at you, his eyes get a wicked gleam in them. I'll never forget how at your piano recital last month he slouched against the wall with his arms folded. He never once looked away from you, and when you finished your piece, he straightened up and clapped real slow."
Sarah sighed breathlessly. "Then he winked at me."
"And you blushed pink as your dress. Wilhemina Peters leaned over to my mama and said, 'John Simpson must be rolling over in his grave at the notion of his little girl with that boy. Nicholas Ross is a devil in denim.' "
Sarah sniffed. "My papa would have liked Nick. He's no devil. He may look a little dangerous since he's so tall and broad for a man of eighteen, but he's really sweet and kind and gentle."
"Maybe she meant devil in a good way," Abby reassured her. "But it's good that he's gentle with you. That will make tonight easier."
Both girls' gazes traveled toward the tall poster bed partially visible through the half-opened doorway into the suite's second room. Sarah's stomach took a nervous roll.
Tonight. The bedding. Though she'd managed to avoid dwelling on it during the festivities, the subject had hovered at the edge of her mind all day. She couldn't ignore it any longer. Not since her mother had sent her up to the room to prepare for her new husband's arrival.
Sarah sank into a chair and shut her eyes. She loved Nick. She really, truly did. But all in all, she'd rather crawl under the bed and hide than crawl into it with Nick.
Abby cleared her throat. "Did your mama have a talk with you about it? Did she tell you what to expect? I've been dying to know, Sarah."
Sarah swallowed a little moan. "Yes, she spoke with me, although I almost wish she hadn't. You know this isn't the first time we've discussed it. I've told you what she said in the past. What she had to add today was... well... just a little more detailed."
Eyes going round and wide, Abby sat on the sofa across from Sarah. "You mean she didn't take it back? All the previous talk was true? She didn't say it to scare you off from acting loose?"
"It's all true," Sarah said glumly. "And I hate to tell you, but according to the new information she told me today... well... It is even worse than we thought."
"No! You mean the part about the tongue is true?"
Sarah felt the warmth of a blush steal up her throat. "Uh, actually, I know about that myself. That part is kinda nice."
If possible, Abby's eyes went even rounder. "Why, Sarah Simpson. Or, I should say, Sarah Ross. You let Nick use his tongue? Before you were married?"
"Technically, it was a kiss. Mama always said kisses were allowed with a fiancé. Besides, sometimes he gets all het up and the Scot comes out in his voice. The sound of it makes me go
all soft and... willing."
"But still..." Abby leaned forward, her eyes bright "His tongue? And you liked it?"
Embarrassed now, Sarah nodded.
Abby waited. When her friend failed to elaborate, she said, "Well. Maybe you'll like the rest of it, too." After a moment's pause, she asked, "What is the rest?"
Sarah wasn't certain how much she should say. Mama told her a lady didn't discuss the private side of marriage, not even with her husband, except to prepare her own daughter when the time came. But she and Abby had always shared secrets, and if Abby learned the truth now she'd have enough time to get used to the idea before she herself married.
Sarah thought that would be a good thing. She certainly wished she'd had more than one day to prepare herself. She might not be so scared in that case.
She cleared her throat. "Remember last year she told me how men sometimes want to pinch and pull at women's bosoms?"
"Yes, and I know that's true because one time not long ago my papa wasn't paying attention, and he took a wrong turn on the way home from church and we drove through Hell's Half Acre. I saw a man with his hands on a painted lady's breasts."
"Well," Sarah said, wincing, "according to what Mama told me this morning, men like to do more than touch. Mama says that sometimes men act like babies and suck on them."
Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 29
