“Did you strike my children?”
She stared at him, and he was beautiful and her pulse speeded up just at the mere sight of him, but now he seemed a stranger, a beautiful stranger, and she wanted to hit him.
“Did you, Joan?”
It was absurd, ridiculous. She had to stop it and stop it now. She quickly walked to him, laced her fingers behind his neck, and rose to her tiptoes. “I missed you dreadfully,” she said, and kissed him. His lips were firm and warm. He didn’t open his mouth.
He grasped her arms in his hands and drew them down. “I have been gone for nearly three weeks. I came back only to see you, to assure myself that you were safe, that the damned MacPhersons hadn’t tried anything. I couldn’t find that damned Robbie MacPherson in Edinburgh. He’s avoiding me, curse his coward’s hide. Of course, I would have been told if something had happened, but I wanted to come myself and see for myself. You are quite the queen of the castle, aren’t you? You have made yourself quickly in charge and done whatever it was you wished to do. You had no care for my opinions. You ignored my wishes. You ignored me.”
She felt his words wash over her. She wasn’t used to words that hurt so very much. She looked at him now and said simply, “I have done what I believed best.”
“You are too young, then, to be trusted to know.”
“It’s absurd and you know it, Colin. Ah, here is Serena, doubtless here to kiss you again. Do you wish to continue your sermon with Serena present? I can call the children and Aunt Arleth again if you like. Perhaps they can harmonize in a chorus, singing of my sins to you. No? Very well then, if you wish, you may come to your tower room. You might as well relieve yourself of all your bile now.”
She turned on her heel and strode away, just like a young man, he thought, his jaw tightening, almost no female sway to those hips of hers, yet he knew the feel of her, and his hands fisted at his sides. He followed her, saying, “It would have been nice had you made an effort to befriend my children. I see they still think you’re an interloper. I see that you dislike them as much as they dislike you.”
She didn’t turn about to face him, merely said over her shoulder, “Louder, Colin. Children tend to behave in the ways of their parents, you know.”
He shut his mouth. He kept on her heels all the way to the north tower. He could smell the beeswax and the lemon here and knew that she’d had the gall to do as she pleased to his room—the only room that was truly his and only his—as well as to the rest of the castle. He speeded up. When he saw the repaired tower stairs, he said, “I didn’t wish to have them repaired in this way. What the devil have you done?”
She was three steps above him when she turned. “Oh, what would you have authorized, Colin? Perhaps you wished to have the stairs placed diagonally? Or perhaps skipping every other stair, with a dungeon below for those who were not careful walkers?”
“You had no right to interfere with what is mine. I told you not to.”
He said nothing more, pressing past her on the narrow stairs. He opened the brass-studded door of his tower room, and the fresh smells that assailed him were more than he could bear. He stopped in the middle of the circular room, staring at the vase of summer roses set on his desk. Roses, for God’s sake, his mother’s favorite flower, and the smell mingled with the tart scent of lemon.
He closed his eyes a moment. “You have overstepped yourself, madam.”
“Oh? You prefer filth, then? You prefer that your books continue to rot? They were quite close to it, you know. Naturally, the shelves upon which they sat had worm rot and beetles and God knows what else. It was a close thing.”
He turned then to face her, furious and feeling utterly impotent. She was right, damn her, he was being a dog in the manger, but he’d wanted to oversee things, it was his home, his rags and his tatters, his responsibility. But no, she’d set herself up as the arbitrator of everything, and done just as she’d wished to do and without any direction or permission from him. He could not forgive it. He’d exiled himself to protect her, and she’d done him in, taken over, all without a by-your-leave. He continued to wax eloquent in his mind, then blurted out, a new outrage coming to the fore, “I despise lemon and beeswax! The smell of roses makes me want to puke.”
“But Mrs. Seton said your mother—”
“Don’t you dare speak about my mother!”
“Very well, I won’t.”
“You came into my room, the only private room in this entire pile of rubble that has belonged to me since I was bloody well born. You came in here and you changed it to suit you.”
“I changed nothing, if you would but cease being an unreasonable boor and look about you. The roses, yes, but nothing else, and they’re not a change, just a mere temporary addition. You think you would prefer that the tapestries your great-great-grandmother wove lose all their magnificent colors in years upon years of filth and fray until they turn to dust? And the stones, Colin, you could have easily broken your leg had they not been replaced and reset. I did nothing differently. You will even notice that the damned stones match. And the carpet, dear God, that beautiful Aubusson carpet, at least now you can see the vibrant colors in it.”
“It was up to me to have it done.”
He was dogged, she’d give him that. Once the bone was in his mouth, he wasn’t about to let go of it. She drew on her depleted control. “Well, it cost little to replace the stones. Why didn’t you do it, then?”
“What I did or didn’t do is my affair. I don’t have to explain any of my actions to you. This is my house, my castle. What you have done is wrong.”
“I am your wife. Vere Castle is also my home. It’s my responsibility.”
“You are only what I allow you to be.”
“By all that’s fair, you’re being an idiot! I’ve waited and waited for you to return home. Nearly three weeks and not a single bloody word from you. Well, my lord, you seem to forget that you also have responsibilities—such as your children.”
“My children! They appear to dislike you as much as they did when you first met them, and there’s probably an excellent reason for it. You did raise your hand to them, didn’t you? You probably saw yourself as taking my place—what with you having all the damned money—and you decided that a man would stride about and give everyone orders and buffet children who didn’t immediately conform to what it was you wanted.”
Sinjun was careful not to touch the first-edition Shakespeare. She chose instead a thick tome written by some obscure sixteenth-century churchman and hurled it at him.
It struck him solidly in the chest. He grunted, stepping back. He stared at her, not believing that she would hurl a book at him. Had she had a sword available to her, she probably would have tried to run him through.
He’d looked forward to coming home, be it just for a day or two, had looked forward to seeing his bride, and she’d thrown a book at him. He’d seen himself seated at the grand dining table, she as his bride in her place, his children well scrubbed—doubtless by her own soft hands—smiling and laughing, happy as little clams with their new stepmother. He rubbed his palm over his chest, staring at her still. His pleasant fantasy vanished. Damn her, but he was in the right of it. Because she was the heiress, she’d thrust herself into his role and made herself the master of his home. He wouldn’t tolerate it.
“I believe I’ll lock you in the laird’s bedchamber. You can cause no more discord there.”
She stared at him. The day was warm and his beautiful black hair was windblown. His face was tanned, his eyes such a deep blue, a treacherous blue, she thought, hard now with his anger and his dislike for her. She said slowly, “Just because I’ve tried to become a Kinross you would punish me?”
“A true Kinross wife wouldn’t force everyone to obey her commands. She would be sensitive to others’ feelings. She would obey her husband. Just because you’re the heiress, you cannot behave as if you are also the laird. I won’t have it.”
She walked away from him quickly, s
aying nothing more. He started forward, only to stop. She went through the narrow open door and he heard her light step going quickly down the circular stairs, the newly repaired circular stairs.
“Well, damn,” he said.
Sinjun walked straight to the stables. She wished desperately that Fanny were here, but nothing had yet arrived from Northcliffe Hall, not her trunks or her mare. Murdock the Stunted was there. When he saw her face, pale and set, her eyes wide with something he didn’t understand, he quickly saddled the mare she’d been riding, a rawboned bay whose name was Carrot.
Sinjun wasn’t wearing a riding habit. She didn’t care. She saw that Murdock hadn’t put a sidesaddle on the mare. She didn’t care about that, either. She grabbed a shock of the horse’s mane and swung herself up. Her skirts were at her knees, showing her white silk stockings and her black slippers.
She was out of sight of the castle quickly.
“Good. She’s gone.”
Colin stared at Aunt Arleth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean she rode away from here and the hussy wasn’t even wearing a riding habit. Her gown was hiked up, showing her stockings. I watched her from the dining room windows.”
“Will you be able to keep her money, Colin?”
This was from Serena, who was flitting about the entrance hall, looking at herself in every shiny surface she passed.
He had no time to answer, for at that moment Murdock the Stunted appeared in the doorway, his frayed red cap in his gnarled hands.
“I be a mite worried, milor” was all he said.
Colin cursed, long and fluently. Murdock looked upon him with grave disapproval. Aunt Arleth opened her mouth to round on Murdock, but she didn’t have time. Colin was out the front doors.
He cursed all the way to the stables. His own stallion, Gulliver, was blown. He took Old Cumber, a gentle ancient fellow who’d known more feud fights than most men who lived here.
“Which way did she ride?”
“Toward the western end of the loch.”
He didn’t find her, not a trace, not a single damned track. He spent two hours searching, alternately cursing her, then so worried that one of the MacPhersons had stolen her that he shook. He found himself doubting that Latham MacPherson, the old laird, had truly managed to forbid any further raids on Kinross land. Hell, it was quite possible Robbie MacPherson had left his father’s side—that is, if he’d ever gone to it in the first place. He sweated. Finally, as the sun was beginning to set, he returned to the castle. Her mare, Carrot, was munching on hay.
Murdock the Stunted merely shrugged, but he didn’t meet the laird’s eyes. “She came in a good hour ago, milor’. Quiet she were, but all right an’ tight.”
“I see,” Colin said, and flicked his riding crop angrily against his thigh.
He wasn’t overly surprised to find the laird’s bedchamber not only empty but as sparkling clean as the rest of the castle. It was still as dark as before, but not nearly so dreary now. He hated to admit it. When he went downstairs for dinner, bathed and dressed in formal evening attire, he decided he would hold his tongue. He didn’t want another scene in front of the entire family.
He saw her standing beside the empty fireplace, wearing the same gown, holding a glass of sherry. Aunt Arleth was holding forth about something doubtless unpleasant, Serena was seated on a settee looking dreamily off into space, and the children were there, sitting side by side on a love seat, Dulcie standing like a big-bosomed pixie guard behind them.
Sinjun looked up to see him striding into the room. Damn, but he was splendid. She didn’t want to take his place, the stupid lout. How could he be so blind? She wanted her own place, not his, she wanted to be beside him, laughing with him, working with him, kissing him and feeling his body with her hands.
“Good evening,” Colin said to all assembled.
“Papa, she said we couldn’t have any dinner, but since you’re here she had to give in.”
Dulcie gasped and grabbed Dahling’s arm. “Ye’re a wicked wee mite, ye are, Dahling Kinross!”
“A veritable witch, I see,” Colin said.
“You overdid that one a bit, Dahling,” Sinjun said, smiling toward her stepdaughter, “but it was a worthy try. I will give you dramatic lessons. You mustn’t ever overdo a role, you know, that’s the cardinal rule of the theater.”
“I should like to tread the boards,” Serena said. “That is the correct way the English say it, isn’t it, Joan?”
“That’s exactly the way. You already walk so gracefully it’s as if you float. The rest would be easy for you.”
“All of this is nonsense,” Aunt Arleth said, standing. “What are your intentions, Colin?”
“To dine, Aunt Arleth. Joan, here’s Philpot to announce our dinner. Give me your arm.”
She didn’t want to, particularly, but everyone was watching and she had no choice. She tensed as he patted her hand, preparing for battle. “Oh, my dear, not here. When I tell you what I expect from you it will be from behind a locked door in my bedchamber—the laird’s bedchamber—the laird’s very clean bedchamber.”
CHAPTER
12
COLIN WAS GOOD to his word. He gently shoved Sinjun into the laird’s bedchamber, then closed and locked the door. He watched her even as he slipped the key into his vest pocket. He watched her walk to the center of the vast room and stop, rubbing her arms with her hands.
“Should you like me to light a fire?”
She shook her head.
“Perhaps it would be a good idea. You will shortly be naked, after all, and I won’t wish to have you shivering from cold. I want you shivering just from me.”
So this was a man’s punishment, she thought, looking back at him now. He was completely in control, his size alone gave him that, and he looked mean and determined and oddly angry. She’d said nothing to draw forth that anger, at least not at the dining table. He was probably smelling the dreaded beeswax and lemon again.
But Sinjun had been blessed with two singularly unmanageable, obstinate, very intelligent brothers, who had taught her a lot about men and their strange outlooks and unaccountable behaviors.
Here was Colin acting like the sultan, and she was here to be his slave girl. The image pleased her. It would have pleased her more were he laughing and teasing her. Ah yes, veils, dozens of veils in all colors, and she would dance for him and . . .
“What the devil are you smiling about?”
“Veils.”
“Joan, have you lost your wits?”
“Oh no, I was just seeing you as the head sultan and me your slave girl for the night, and I was wearing veils and dancing for you.”
He paused, at a loss. She was unexpected; what she thought and said were unanticipated. Even when she said something that he could possibly expect, at the edge of his brain it still shook him that she could speak so clearly and candidly and without guile. He didn’t like it.
“I think that a charming and apt idea. However, tonight you will simply dance for me naked. I will clap my hands for you if you need accompaniment. I will fetch you some veils when I return to Edinburgh. Then we can try it again, conforming more to your vision.”
“Ah, so it is your intention to leave in the morning, then? Before dawn, I daresay. Whilst I’m still asleep, naturally. I understand, Colin. The last thing you want is to face a pathetic wife who just might beg you not to leave her here again, not to leave her stuck in your home, on your lands, in your damned foreign country. Do you think perhaps I could change your mind about leaving? No, I didn’t think so. Oh yes, I mustn’t forget the pleasant relatives you have immured me with. Aunt Arleth is a treat. She hates you, she hates me; as far as I can tell the only ones she loved were your brother and your father, who played her false, at least in her mind. As for Serena, I have no idea if she is of this world or of the fairies. She’s daft, but pleasantly so. The children—why, I will simply continue to beat them whenever it suits my fancy.”
“I don’t
wish to argue with you anymore this night. Just know, Joan, that you will do absolutely nothing more whilst I’m gone. Nothing. You will try to present a pleasant face to all my people and to my children. That is what I expect of you, my wife.”
“Go to the devil, Colin.”
He watched her chin go up and felt his blood quicken, felt his damned blood rush from his brain to his groin. This girl, who’d worshiped him so ardently in London, who’d begged for his man’s body all the way to Scotland, ah, why she’d become a termagant. There was no ardent devotion in her Sherbrooke blue eyes at the moment. There was a good deal of fire, and oddly it looked cold as the moon. It also excited him.
He took a step toward her. She stood her ground. She wasn’t about to let him chase her around the laird’s bedchamber, although she’d heard Alex shrieking once when Douglas was chasing her. And then the shrieks had stopped and Sinjun had known that what they were doing was wonderful. But this wouldn’t be wonderful.
“I will let you kiss me, Colin. I much enjoy that. I already told you.”
“Oh yes, I will kiss you.”
“If you wish I will also kiss you.”
“Yes, I expect you to kiss me back.”
“No, I mean I will kiss your sex and caress you, if you wish. It was enjoyable that first time to hear you moan and see your body tighten and jerk and all because of what I was doing to you.”
He stopped dead in his tracks at that. He swallowed. He also hardened considerably. He easily pictured her above him, touching him with her mouth and her hands. He could still feel her hair spread over his belly.
“No,” he said, “I don’t want you to do that,” and felt his body nearly revolt.
The Heiress Bride Page 19
