Mystic Mountains

by Tricia McGill

  "I have no wish to trap you." Isabella drew herself up straight and walked over to stand a pace from him. She saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed hard. In that moment she hated him. "Dougal is willing to marry me. He knows who fathered this child, yet he's willing to take on another man's bastard. And seeing as you're my master I need your permission to wed. So, do I have it?"

  Indecision flashed briefly across his eyes, but was soon replaced by steely intent. "So Dougal's willing to play the fool, is he? Well then, let him have you, and to hell with you both." He turned away abruptly, plunging his hands into his pockets.

  "Tiger, don't let them do this," Thelma pleaded, her voice breaking. "You know it's your child. They'll end up as miserable as can be, for she's made no bones of her feelings for him."

  He stared at Isabella as if he could see right through her. The coldness in his eyes made her want to flinch, but she stood firm and still, holding his gaze.

  "I know no such thing, Thelma. You have my blessing, and may you get all you deserve." With that he turned on his heel and walked out.

  "Oh Bella, you poor child," Thelma cried, going to where Isabella had slumped into a chair, her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with sobs.

  "'Tis his and we all know it. He does too, but he's so stubborn he'll not admit it in this life. Dougal is a good man, he'll do well by you, have no fear."

  "That's what worries me more than anything, Thelma. He's too good for me. He'll regret it, I know he will."

  "There now," Thelma crooned. "He'll be happier than a dog with two tails, you'll see. And in a while you'll come to see that 'tis all for the best."

  "Best for who?" Isabella saw the truth in Thelma's eyes despite her soothing words.

  If she wed Dougal the marriage would be doomed to failure, and they both knew it.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Her wedding day. Like a ball rolling down a hill, once the momentum began it was impossible to halt the progress of the preparations. Like a woman in a trance she'd drifted through the days leading up to this one.

  Quietly opening the door Isabella stepped out into the yard. The sun was a tiny glimmer on the horizon, sending rays of pink and grey sweeping into the sky. It was blessedly cool after a long sultry night.

  She'd tossed and turned in the wider bed Tiger surprised her by purchasing for her and Dougal. The cramped bedroom was more stifling than ever and her night had been plagued with the realization that from this day onwards she would share it with her husband.

  Suppressing a sob she made her way to the water barrel. Sticky and uncomfortable, she'd decided to bathe before the others began to stir, in the small alcove beside the barrel, where the men usually washed. Thelma and Isabella normally carried water inside, but this morning, probably because of the overpowering feeling of being stifled all night, she had an urge to be in the fresh air.

  A flash of white caught her eye as she rounded the side of the house. Isabella pulled up short, her drying cloth clutched to her chest when she realized with a shock it was Tiger. She turned to retreat, but he called, "Who's there? Is that you Dougal?" She stood rigid as a statue. Her hope he wouldn't notice her, so she could slip away, was foolish, for of course he saw her.

  "Bella, what the hell are you doing out here?" There was an uneven edge to his soft question, and she blinked as he faced her. He was naked, except for a piece of toweling held in front of him to shield his private parts.

  Turning to flee, she tripped, then was brought up short by his hand on her wrist. With a jerk he pulled her round to face him. The towel had fallen and her own cloth dropped from her fingers. He seemed unworried by the nakedness which was doing strange things to her insides.

  "I thought to bathe out here. It's so lovely and cool, and it's been so hot all night." She refused to meet his stare, instead gazing at the golden hair arrowing down his broad chest to circle his navel.

  "Aye, it's been hot," he murmured. There was a strange note in his voice and she lifted her chin to look him in the eye, then wished she hadn't when she saw the heat there. "Find it hard to sleep, did you? I must say I haven't been sleeping too well myself lately. What do you suppose it is keeping us awake, eh, Bella?"

  "Let me go," she pleaded.

  While talking he'd stepped closer. So close she could feel the heat coming off his body. Pain sliced through her when she recalled how it had felt pressed against her own softer flesh. How he had murmured words of encouragement when she'd tentatively reached out to touch it, to run her fingers through that springy hair now beneath her captured hand.

  "I am. Letting you go, I mean. I'm letting Dougal have what should rightfully have been mine."

  She hated the sneer in his voice. "I was never yours." She tried to sound defiant but was ashamed of the huskiness in her voice.

  "Oh yes you were, dear heart, you were mine before you were anyone else's. And don't forget it."

  "I've forgotten it long ago."

  His laugh was bitter as he pressed her to his body. With a small cry she struggled against him, but it only served to arouse him more.

  "You'll never forget it as long as you live. Never forget the taste of me or the smell of me, as I'll never forget the experience."

  Like a summer breeze his warm breath drifted over her face.

  "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. "You seem to forget that you rejected me. Spurned me, drove me away."

  Tiger swore, then bent his head until his lips hovered above her mouth. "Bella," he said on a sigh.

  If she didn’t know better she would have said his tone was one of regret.

  "I didn't reject you. I just let you know where we stood. You come from the same background as me. 'Tis stupid to think we could ever make a success of marriage. I'm too selfish and I have a clear idea of what I want. Top of the list of priorities is a wife with a title or good standing. 'Tis the only way I'll ever be accepted truly by the nobs here in the colony."

  "So, we're back to where we began. I'm good enough to bed but not good enough to wed."

  Tiger knew he should let her go. Knew he was behaving like a debaucher of the worst kind. But with her slim soft body so close he found he wanted nothing more than to lay her down here on the dusty ground and cover her body with his, to bury himself deep inside her. He stifled her small sob with his lips, devouring her.

  She wrenched free. "Stop this. Let me be. Damn you to hell and back. Let me go, Tiger Carstairs!"

  He stood back a pace. She prepared for flight, but he pulled her close again, his hands moving to her hips.

  "Don't," she whispered as he deliberately lifted her nightgown. Then with a swift movement he slid it up and over her head, letting it drop to the ground. Staring down at her white body he trailed his fingers where his eyes wandered, from her breasts to her hips then lower. With an instinctive gesture of preservation Isabella covered her breasts, but he pushed her arms down to her sides.

  "You're a slut, a whore. So why would you mind me sampling your wares?"

  Before Isabella could utter a word he kissed her again with such ferocity the breath left her lungs.

  "Tiger," she heard herself whisper.

  But his breathing was harsh now and she had the impression that though he'd heard her he had disconnected himself; was in another place where only his senses ruled.

  Tiger knew he should stop, but was powerless. This woman aroused such a wave of emotions in him; passions that frightened him. Many women had evoked his desire, his lust, but never anything so close to . . . Love? The word hovered at the edge of his consciousness, but he forced it back. No, he knew nothing of such deep emotions.

  How he wished . . . No, no sense in wishful thinking. She'd made her choice, and so had he. Oh, but how he longed for just one more chance . . . "Bella," he murmured, only then realizing she had gone soft and yielding, had wrapped her arms about his waist, was pressing her cheek to his chest. He dragged in a shuddering breath as her fingertips skimmed over the flesh of
his back and down to his buttocks.

  What happened next was inexplicable. Without thought of why or how, they were on the ground, in each other's arms, tasting, touching, kissing as if they'd always been lovers, always shared each other thus. He'd never felt like this before, filled with such an overwhelming mix of feelings. Lust overran tenderness, yet there was nothing lustful about the way they came together; it was as if it was ordained, had always been meant to happen.

  "Tiger," he heard her say in a dreamy voice that seemed to come from far away, as he entered her, possessing her body as she possessed his soul. Only then did it hit him like a blow to the gut what he was doing. The woman was due to wed Dougal this very day and he'd spurned her because he didn't trust her.

  Ah, but she was so sweet, so giving, everything a man could desire in a woman. He shouted her name as he found his release, and as she whispered his name over and over like a chant he felt a pain as sharp as a knife wound in his chest.

  Rolling away from her he covered his eyes with an arm. Disgust and shame filled him, revolted him.

  "Tiger." Tentatively she touched his shoulder.

  "Go prepare for your wedding," he groaned.

  "But . . ."

  "No buts." His head rolled from side to side in the dirt. "You will wed Dougal. The man is willing to take you. You'd break his heart if you refuse him now. Nothing's changed between us, Bella, can't you see."

  "Oh, yes." Reaching for her nightgown she pulled it over her head. A great lump was settling like a rock somewhere in her middle. Shivering as if about to freeze with the ice invading her soul she sneered, "Nothing's changed. I'm still a whore, good enough to sate your body on, but not good enough to be a wife to you. Well, let me tell you, I would rather wed a kind and gentle man like Dougal who treats me with respect, than shackle myself to you. And if you lay a finger on me again, ever, so help me God, I'll kill you."

  She ran then, across the garden, through the gate, across the home paddock, then in and out of the fruit trees.

  Tiger stood and watched her until she was a white blur at the far side of the orchard. Vaguely he wondered if she would return this time. Running a hand over his head he gave a convulsive shudder. Never mind about her killing him, he felt capable of killing himself. He was the lowest of the low, no better than the scum she'd often named him. Sweet Jesus. If Thelma ever suspected he'd ravaged her she would likely lay a rolling pin to his head. He was no better than Malloy.

  He returned to his bathing, but all the water in the world couldn't wash her sweet scent from his body. It lingered in his nostrils, enticing, enthralling him. He suspected it always would.

  * * *

  In childish daydreams Isabella had imagined being wed in a great church such as one she'd been inside in London long ago. A huge vaulted place where footsteps echoed on the stone floor and the priest stood before the bride and her man in a flowing white and purple robe. There had never been a clear picture of the man who would stand by her side swearing to honor and love her until his dying day. But in the darkest corner of her mind she now knew he would be tall and straight with hair and eyes of gold.

  She gave Dougal a diffident smile. It was unbearably hot in the small chapel and she feared at any moment she would have to run outside to bring up her breakfast.

  Dougal looked uncomfortable and nervous in the new trousers and shirt Tiger had bought him for this occasion. There had been something different about him all day. Over breakfast he'd kept throwing odd looks that she could only interpret as anger. It was very strange and for a while she'd had the feeling he was about to tell her he couldn't go through with the ceremony. That thought dismayed her, even as she'd hoped it would be true. Then her stupid imagination had Tiger stepping in and taking his place.

  Fool! When would she learn?

  No, she was standing beside Dougal in a gown of pink muslin, also provided by Tiger. For all she cared it could have been sackcloth. Inside, a little voice cried out for him to step forward, to shout the priest down, to insist this farce of a marriage be stopped, for the woman standing before the altar was carrying his child and so should be marrying him.

  But things like that only happened in dreams, and the time for such nonsense was over. With bemused eyes she watched as Dougal pushed the gold band onto her wedding finger. She wanted to clench her fist, to refuse to accept it. Dougal's eyes held a look of disbelief. Perhaps he was having second thoughts. But as the priest joined their hands and pronounced she was his wife she knew it was a certainty; she and Dougal were wed. For better or worse.

  Thelma came to give them both a hug. "Bless the two of you. Be happy," she said to Isabella. But the look in her eyes said she had little hope for such an eventuality.

  Gillie cleared his throat. "Lord, but I only hope you'll be half as happy as Thelma and me," he said, also hugging Isabella awkwardly, before shaking Dougal's hand as if working the pump.

  Tiger wordlessly thumped Dougal on the back before he too shook his hand. Then he stood before Isabella, his hands cupping her shoulders. She refused to meet his eyes. Every part of her body trembled, and she knew if they didn't get out into the sunshine soon she would make a fool of herself and vomit among the pews.

  "Let's get out of here," Tiger said, frowning as she swallowed hard. "I think Bella's about to be sick."

  "Thank you, sir," Dougal turned to say to the priest, then he took Isabella's arm and led her outside into the sunshine.

  Tiger had already taken care of the reverend's fee. In fact Tiger had covered all the expenses. Isabella knew this stuck in Dougal's craw, but there was nothing to be done about it. He was her owner, so presumed to take the place of her father, assuming all responsibility.

  Dougal helped Isabella into the wagon, beating Tiger to it when he offered her aid. Once they were seated though, Dougal dropped her hand as if it was a hot cinder.

  It was a quiet ride home in the wagon, fraught with tension. Thelma had decorated the pony's bridle with ribbons and flowers, but apart from that and the small posy Isabella held no one would suspect it was a wedding party. Gillie drove so that Dougal could sit in the back with Isabella, but from the few words passed between them Dougal might as well have sat up the front.

  Isabella suspected shyness accounted for Dougal's withdrawn look and uncomfortable silence. If she didn’t know better she would have thought him sullen, but Dougal was never moody.

  "Well, how does it feel to be a married man?" Gillie asked, reaching behind him to slap Dougal's shoulder.

  Dougal gave Isabella a sidelong glance before answering, "I must say I didn't ever think this day would come. Never reckoned I'd be the one to win Bella's hand, Gillie. I'm a happy man this day."

  But something about his manner didn't proclaim happiness. In fact Isabella had the odd feeling he was as miserable as her.

  How odd men were. Dougal knew she didn't love him. Knew she carried another man's child. Likely guessed she would probably love Tiger forever despite the way he'd treated her. Yet here he was, still prepared to be her husband. Instead of instilling love and pride in her, it did the opposite. She had never felt scorn or disdain for him, but those feelings were uppermost in her now, just behind the disgust she held for herself.

  When they reached home, Gillie said, "We'll get changed and head off back to the flock," as they all climbed from the wagon.

  Tiger said, "Time for a glass or two to toast the happy couple. Let's get inside now. I'll unhitch the pony later, Dougal."

  As far as Isabella could tell his face and voice were devoid of any emotion. Dougal nodded but didn't look at Tiger as he took Isabella's elbow and led her inside in a proprietary way that set her teeth on edge. It hit Isabella then that Dougal hadn't spared Tiger a glance all day.

  They trooped inside and Tiger took down a flagon of rum from the dresser. Pouring a generous portion into five goblets he handed one to each of them.

  "To the happy pair. May they be blessed with many pleasurable years together. Good health and happ
iness." Tiger watched Isabella over the rim of his goblet as he put it to his lips.

  "Good health and happiness," Thelma and Gillie echoed, swallowing their drink.

  "You're not drinking, Bella," Tiger said softly, lifting his golden brows.

  "I don't think it would be good for the babe." She tossed her head defiantly.

  "Ah, yes, the baby. We must take care of the little fellow, mustn't we, eh?" His lips curved in a mirthless smile. She felt like slapping it off his cruel mouth.

  "I must," she agreed, returning his stare arrogantly.

  "Ah well, I'll just nip and get changed," Dougal said, rather loudly, putting his empty goblet down and wiping a hand across his mouth. Throwing a scowl Tiger's way, he gave Isabella such a puzzling look she reared back. Perhaps she was imagining things but he seemed angry enough to burst. Which was so unlike Dougal, she frowned after him as he left the room.

  "I'll change too," Thelma said, following Gillie out.

  "Alone at last," Tiger said softly.

  "I'm going to take off this fancy gown and get into my plain work clothes," Isabella told him, edging around the table. He took a step closer, blocking her path.

  "It's tradition to kiss the bride. You haven't yet given me a kiss, my sweet."

  "I told you. Touch me and I'll kill you."

  "Come now, Bella, don't you wish to thank me for your delightful gown and the fine clothes I bought for your husband?" Reaching out he ran a finger down the front of the bodice, lingering on a ribbon that fell just above her breast.

  Isabella flinched. "Thank you? The words would choke me. I never asked you for anything and only take them because I have no other choice. After all, you own me." She shoved his hand away.

  "And don't you forget it. Now, give the man who owns you a kiss of thanks."

  He moved swiftly, and before Isabella could make her escape, had her clasped in his arms, one hand at her spine, the other behind her head, positioning her for his kiss.