Strangers at the Altar
Strangers at the Altar
Marguerite Kaye
The secrets behind the wedding veil.For penniless widow Ainsley McBrayne marriage is the only solution. Vulnerable, yet fiercely independent, she thinks shackling herself to another man seems horrifying! Until handsome stranger Innes Drummond tempts Ainsley to become his temporary wife.Once theyre married, Ainsley hardly recognises the rugged Highlander Innes is transformed into! He sets her long-dormant pulse racing, and shes soon craving the enticing delights of their marriage bed. She has until Hogmanay to show Innes that their fake marriage could be for real
If only you could find a woman to marry who has no interest in actually being your wife, your problems would be solved.
She spoke flippantly, more to divert his attention from her own tragic situation than anything else, but Innes, who had been in the act of taking another sip of whisky, stopped, the glass half-way to his lips, an arrested look in his eyes.
Say that again.
What? That you need to marry?
A woman who has no interest in being my wife, he finished for her with a dawning smile. A woman who is in need of a home and has no fixed plans, who might actually be looking for a respite from her current life for a wee while. Youre rightthats exactly what I need. And I know exactly the woman.
You do? You cannot possibly mean
His smile had a wicked light in it. I do, Innes said. I mean you.
AUTHOR NOTE (#ulink_4555bf0e-d4de-5f64-8f0b-f9d80d31139a)
After I finished writing UNWED AND UNREPENTANT, which had a Clyde shipbuilder as its hero, I decided I wanted to stay close to home for my next story.
I started in Edinburgh, my favourite city second only to Paris, but the majority of Ainsley and Inness story is set in Tighnabruaich, on the west coast of Argyll. I renamed it Strone Bridge, but anyone familiar with the area will recognise it. The view of the Kyles of Bute which Ainsley comes to love is one of my own favourites. Ostell Bay, with its golden sands and crystal-clear though icy sea, is a childhood haunt. And the weatherthe wet, driech, grey west-coast weatherthats very true to life.
I hope that my love for the place where I was brought up, and where I now live and write, resonates in Ainsley and Inness story. I hope it will inspire some of you to visit. More than anything, I hope that Ive done justice to it, and that the romance of the place has enhanced the romance Ive written.
Enormous thanks once again to all my Facebook and Twitter friends who have helped and encouraged me while writing this book. Thanks to all who suggested names for Ainsleys Agony Aunt alter ego, and in particular to Keira, who gave me Madame Hera, whose letters I had such fun dreaming up.
Strangers at the Altar
Marguerite Kaye
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Born and educated in Scotland, MARGUERITE KAYE originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practise. Instead, she carved out a career in IT and studied history part-time, gaining first-class honours and a masters degree. A few decades after winning a childrens national poetry competition she decided to pursue her lifelong ambition to write, and submitted her first historical romance to Mills & Boon
. They accepted it, and shes been writing ever since.
You can contact Marguerite through her website at: www.margueritekaye.com (http://www.margueritekaye.com)
HISTORICAL NOTE (#ulink_2d45ac98-8f7a-5536-8f77-54ae00511ed1)
Paddle steamers and the railways brought tourism to the west coast of Scotland at around the time when Ainsley and Innes decided to set up their hotel. Though the original and most popular destinations doon the watter on the Clyde were Rothesay, Largs and Dunoon, Tighnabruaich (aka Strone Bridge) had its share of excursionists. The engineer David Napier, whose Loch Eck tours inspired Ainsley, built a pier on the Holy Loch in the 1830s, not far from my own home.
Numerous versions of the Rothesay Castle paddle steamer made the journey from Glasgow, Gourock and eventually Wemyss Bay railway terminals to the Isle of Bute. Today, the last sea-going paddle steamer, the Waverley, makes the same journey from Glasgow to Bute and down the beautiful Kyles all the way to Tighnabruaich.
Strone Bridge Castle is actually based on Panmure House, the seat of the Maules near Dundee, which was demolished in 1955. The story which Innes tells Ainsley of the locked gates following the 1715 Jacobite rebellion belongs to Panmure, details and pictures of which are in Ian Gows beautiful book Scotlands Lost Houses. The chapel attached to Strone Bridge Castle, though, is based on the one belonging to Mount Stuart in Rothesay.
Agony Aunts existed, astonishingly, as far back as the seventeenth century, though they reached their peak in the mid-Victorian eraa little after Madame Hera was writing. There are some fantastic examples of their letters in Tanith Careys book Never Kiss a Man in a Canoe.
As to the traditions and customs in this bookwell, I must admit that Ive let my imagination loose a wee bit. All the Hogmanay customs are traditional, but the Rescinding ceremony is not. I actually invented it for an earlier book set in Argyll, THE HIGHLANDERS REDEMPTION, and I liked it so much I thought Id start a tradition of my own and re-use it.
Contents
Cover (#u582d62a2-b6d1-53c6-93e8-1eb7252c11ae)
Introduction (#u98ff1a8c-7008-53c6-9fb2-136aac6cfc5b)
Author Note (#u2f30d55d-42a5-5356-81c8-27e07735ac76)
Title Page (#uffffa166-95f6-569e-9e26-eb0102d44da4)
About the Author (#u0d557c3e-f1d6-57b3-9568-409804117258)
Historical Note (#u04e3bf93-6a7a-596f-93da-82ede8b66259)
Contents (#uaa43ddc2-3c9d-5dc4-8ed0-48a17b83524b)
Chapter One (#u95a35117-a249-51b6-b4fe-05a42c980662)
Chapter Two (#uef5e7723-0e1e-550b-9bdc-13ccc1904b56)
Chapter Three (#u11f9f873-9757-56d3-85b3-82a3271bf22d)
Chapter Four (#u2035a8be-d96a-5979-ae9b-19083fdd9098)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_3e2d1d5e-de38-5b38-99b2-19ab0c5a5561)
Dear Madame Hera,
The other day, while taking a walk in the Cowgate district of Edinburgh, I was approached by a young man who gave me some assistance with my umbrella. Since he was very well dressed, seemed most polite, and the rain was coming down in torrents, it seemed churlish of me not to offer to share my shelter. He accepted with some alacrity, but the small circumference of my umbrella forced us into a somewhat compromising intimacy, of which the gentleman was not slow to take advantage. He stole a kiss from me, and I permitted him to take several more while we found respite from the downpour in the close of a nearby tenement. By the time the rain stopped, we were rather better acquainted than we ought to have been.
We parted without exchanging details. Alack, when he left me, the young man took not only my virtue but my umbrella. It was a gift from another gentleman, who is bound to question me most closely when he discovers its loss. I fear he will not understand the peculiar effect the combination of rain, a good-looking young man and a very small umbrella can have on a womans willpower. What should I do?
Drookit Miss
EdinburghJune 1840
I am very sorry, Mrs McBrayne, but there is nothing to be done. Both your fathers will and the law are perfectly clear upon the matter. Could not be clearer, in actual fact, though if you insist upon a second opinion, I believe my partner is now free.
You, Mr Thomson, are my second opinion, the woman said scornfully. I have no intentions of spending more money I dont have, thanks to that spendthrift husband of mine and that trust of my fathers, simply to hear what you have already made perfectly plain. The law is written by men for men and administered by men, too. Be damned to the law, Mr Thomson, for it seems to be forcing me to earn my living in a profession even older than your own, down in the Cowgate. I bid you good day.
Mrs McBrayne! Madam, I must beg you...
The Fury merely tossed her head at the lawyers outraged countenance and swept across the narrow reception hall of the office, heading for the door. Innes Drummond, who had just completed a similarly entirely unsatisfactory interview with Thomsons partner, watched her dramatic exit admiringly. The door slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the pane of glass on which the names Thomson & Ballard were etched. Innes could hear her footsteps descending the rackety stairs that led out into Parliament Square. She was as anxious to quit the place as he was himself. It struck him, as he flung the door behind him with equal and satisfying force, how ironic it was, that they both, he and the incandescent Mrs McBrayne, seemed to be victims of very similar circumstances.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and heaved open the heavy wooden door, only to collide with the person standing on the step. I am terribly sorry, Innes said.
No, it was my fault.
She stood aside, and as she did so, he saw tears glistening on her lashes. Mortified, she saw him noticing, and scrubbed at her eyes with her glove, averting her face as she pushed past him.
Wait! Instinctively knowing she would not, Innes caught her arm. Madam, you are upset.
She glared at him, shaking herself free of his reflexive grip. I am not upset. Not that its any of your business, but I am very far beyond upset. I am...
Furious, Innes finished for her with a wry smile. I know how you feel.
I doubt it.
Her eyes were hazel, wide-spaced and fringed with very long lashes. She was not pretty, definitely not one of those soft, pliant females with rosebud mouths and doe-like gazes, but he was nonetheless drawn to her. She eyed him sceptically, a frown pulling her rather fierce brows together. She was not young either, perhaps in her late twenties, and there was intelligence as well as cynicism in her face. Then there was her mouth. No, not a rosebud, but soft all the same when it ought to be austere, with a hint of humour and more than a hint of sensuality. He noticed that, and with some surprise, noticed that hed noticed, that his eyes had wandered down, over the slim figure in the drab grey coat, taking a rapid inventory of the limited view and wanting to see more, and that surprised him, too.
Innes Drummond. He introduced himself because he could think of nothing else to say, and because he didnt want her to go. Her brows lifted haughtily in response. For some reason, it made her look younger. A fellow victim of the law, of his father and of a trust, he added. Though Im not encumbered with a wife, spendthrift or otherwise.
You were listening in to a private conversation between myself and Mr Thomson.
Ought I to have pretended not to hear? The tone of your voice made that rather difficult.
She gave a dry little laugh. A tone I feel sure Mr Thomson found most objectionable. Bloody lawyers. Damned law. You see, I can swear as well as shout, though I assure you, I am not usually the type who does either.
Innes laughed. I really do know how you feel, you know.
She smiled tightly. You are a man, Mr Drummond. It is simply not possible. Now, if you will excuse me?
Where are you going? Once again, he had spoken without thinking, wanting only to detain her. Once again her brows rose, more sharply this time. I only meant that if you had no urgent business But I spoke out of turn. Perhaps your husband is expecting you?
My husband is dead, Mr Drummond, and though his dying has left me quite without resources, still I cannot be sorry for it.
You dont mince your words, do you, Mrs McBrayne?
Though he was rather shocked at this callous remark, Innes spoke flippantly. She did not smile, however, nor take umbrage, but instead paled slightly. I speak my mind. My opinions may be unpalatable, but at least in expressing them, there can be no pretending that I have none.
Nor, Innes thought, could there be any denying that a wealth of bitter experience lay behind her words. He was intrigued. If you are in no rush, Id very much like it if you would take a glass of something with me. I promise I dont mean anything in the least improper, he added hurriedly, I merely thought it would be pleasantcathartic, I dont knowto let off steam with a kindred spirit Her astonished expression forced him to break off. Forget it. Its been an awful day, an awful few weeks, but I shouldnt have asked.
He made to tip his hat, but once again she surprised him, this time with a faint smile. Never mind weeks, Ive had an awful few months. No, make that years. The only reason Ive not taken to drink already is that I suspect Id take to it rather too well.
I suspect that you do anything well that you set your mind to, Mrs McBrayne. You strike me as a most determined female.
Do I? I am now, though it is by far too late, for no matter how determined I am to get myself out of this mess, in truth I can see no solution.
Save to sell yourself down the Cowgate? I hope it doesnt come to that.
She gave him what could only be described as a challenging look. Why, are you afraid I will not make sufficient to earn my keep?
What on earth do you know of such things? Innes asked, torn between shock and laughter.
Oh, I have my sources. And I have an umbrella, she added confusingly.
She spoke primly, but there was devilment in her eyes, and the smile she was biting back was doing strange things to his guts. You are outrageous, Mrs McBrayne, Innes said.
Dont you believe me?
I have no idea what to make of you, and right at this moment, I dont really care. You made me laugh, and honestly, after what that lawyer told me, I didnt think that was possible.
Her smile softened sympathetically. It sounds like I am not the only one in need of a dram, she said. Why not! Ive nothing at home waiting for me except final demands and most likely a few bailiffs. Buy me a drink, Mr Drummond, and we can compare our woes, though I warn you now that mine will far outweigh yours.
* * *
Ainsley McBrayne wondered what on earth had come over her. There had been ample time in the short walk from Parliament Square over the North Bridge for her to change her mind, but she had not. Now here she was, in a secluded corner of the coffee room at the Waterloo Hotel, waiting while a complete stranger bribed one of the waiting staff to bring the pair of them something stronger than tea.
She had surrendered her coat at the door, and her bonnet, too, for they were both wet with that soft, mist-like mizzle that was not quite rain, in which Edinburgh specialised. Her hair, which even on the best of days was reluctant to succumb to the curling iron, was today bundled up into a careless chignon at her nape, and no doubt by now straggling equally carelessly out of it. On a good day, she would tell herself it was chestnut in colour, for it was not red enough to rate auburn, and she was fairly certain there was no such thing as mahogany hair. Today, it was brown, plain and simple and the colour of her mood. At least her gown was one of her better ones. Navy blue worked with silver-grey stylised flowers formed into a linking pattern, the full skirts contrasted with the tightly fitted bodice, with its long narrow sleeves and shawl neck. The narrow belt showed off her slender waist; the crossover pleating at the neck was cut just low enough to allow a daring glimpse of bosom. It had been designed to be worn with a demure white blouse, but this morning Ainsley hadnt been interested in looking demure. This morning she had not, however, intended to take off her coat. Now, she tugged self-consciously at the pleated shawl collar in an effort to pull it a little closer.
She had been angry when she left the lawyers office, though she should not have been, but it seemed, despite all, that shed not managed to lower her expectations quite enough. There had been a tiny modicum of hope left in her heart, and shed been furious at herself for that. Hence the tears. Stupid tears. If Mr Innes Drummond had not seen those stupid tears, hed more than likely have gone on his way and she wouldnt be here. Instead, shed be at home. Alone. Or in the company of yet another bailiff. And it wasnt going to be her home for much longer. So she might as well be here. With a complete stranger. About to imbibe strong liquor, just like one of the loose women shed claimed she would become.
Not that that was so far-fetched either, given the state of things, except one thing she was absolutely sure about was that she had no talents whatsoever for that sort of thing. In fact, she had not even the skill to interest a man if he didnt have to pay, if her husband was anything to go by.
Ainsley sighed. Second to tears, she hated self-pity. Giving her collar a final twitch, she forced herself to relax. Mr Drummond was still conferring with the waiter, so she took the chance to study him. His hair, which was cut unfashionably short, was glossily black. He was a good-looking man; there was no doubt about it, with a clean-shaven jaw, and none of the side whiskers gentlemen preferred these days. A high forehead spoke of intelligence, and lines fanning out from his eyes and forming a deep groove from nose to mouth spoke of experience. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, perhaps five years older than herself. A confident man, and well dressed in his dark coat and trousers, his linen impeccably white. Judging by appearances, money was not one of his worries. But then, if one could have judged John by appearances, money had not been one of his worries either. Not that her husband had ever been at all worried by moneyor the lack of. No, that was not true. Those sullen silences of his spoke volumes. And latterly, so, too, did his habit of simply disappearing when she challenged him.
Ainsley sighed again, irked with herself. She was absolutely sick and tired of thinking about John. Across the room, Mr Drummond, having concluded his business with the waiter, glanced up and smiled at her. His eyes, under heavy dark brows, were a deep, vivid blue. She felt it then, what she had ignored before, a tug of something quite basic. Attraction. It made her stomach do a silly little flutter. It made her pulses skitter and it made her mouth dry, that smile of his, and the complicit look that accompanied it, as if the pair of them were in cahoots. It made her forget her anger at the injustice of her situation, and it reminded her that though she might well be a penniless widow with debts so terrifying they could not be counted, she was also a woman who had not known the touch of a man for a long time. And this man, this Mr Innes Drummond, who was seating himself opposite her, this man, she was pretty certain, would know exactly how to touch her.
So, ladies first.
Colour flooded her face. She stared at him blankly, horrified at the turn her mind had taken, praying that none of those shocking thoughts were visible on her countenance I beg your pardon?
Your tale of woe, Mrs McBrayne. You tell me yours, and then Ill tell you mine, and we can decide which of us is worst off.
He had very long legs. They were stretched out to the side of the table that separated them. Well-made legs. Not at all spindly. And really rather broad shoulders. Well built, that was the phrase she was looking for. Athletic, even. And yes, his face and hands were rather tanned, as if he spent a deal of his life out of doors. What is it you do? she asked. I meando youare you a resident here in Edinburgh? Only, you do have an accent, but I cannot place it.
Instead of taking offence, or pointing out that she had changed the subject, Innes Drummond gave a little shrug. Im originally from the Highlands, Argyll on the west coast, though Ive lived in England most of my adult life. Im an engineer, Mrs McBrayne.
A practical man.
He smiled. You approve.
I do. It is none of my business, butyes. She smiled back. What do you build?
Railway lines. Tunnels. Canals. Bridges and aqueducts. There is a very high demand for all these things, thanks to the steam locomotive. Though I dont actually build the things myself, I design them. And even that Business is very good, Mrs McBrayne. I am afraid I employ a rather large number of men to do most of the real work while I spend too much of my time in the boardroom, though I still like to think of myself as an engineer.
A very successful one, by the sounds of it. I did not think that money could be an issue with you.
He gave her an enigmatic look before turning his attention to pouring them both a glass of whisky from the decanter that the waiter had deposited. Sl?inte! he said, touching her glass with his.
Sl?inte! Ainsley took a sip. It was a good malt, peaty and smoky, warming. She took another sip.
I take it, then, that money is an issue for you, Innes Drummond said.
She nodded. He waited, watching her, turning his glass round and round in his hand. One of the many things shed learned from her marriage had been how to keep her own counseland how to keep her own secrets. Her failures, and the trusting, timid nature that had contributed to them, made her ashamed. She confided in no one, not even Felicity, and Felicity was the best friend she had. But confiding in this stranger, what harm could it do? Whatever had brought him to Edinburgh, he wasnt likely to be stopping long. Ifhoweverhe judged her, shed be spared the pain of seeing it. Who knew, perhaps articulating her problems might even help her see a path to resolving them.
Catching sight of her wedding band, Ainsley tucked her left hand into the folds of her gown. It is money, she said, it comes down to money, and though I tell myself its not fair, for I did not spend the money, I know at heart its just as much my fault as his.
* * *
Mrs McBrayne took another sip of whisky. Dutch courage, she said, recklessly finishing the amber liquid and replacing the glass on the table before straightening her back and taking an audible breath. Innes wondered what on earth was to come, and wondered if he should stop her confidences, but dismissed this idea immediately. She was steeling herself, which meant she wanted to talk. Besides, he was interested, and it was good to have his mind concentrate on someone elses woes rather than his own for a while. He took a cautious sip of his own whisky and waited.
I will need to go back a bit, she said. Are you sure you want to hear this? When he nodded, she smiled an on-your-head-be-it kind of smile. So, she said, I met my husband, John McBrayne, when I was twenty. Nearly a decade ago. He was very much the gentleman, respectable, handsome, presentable, popular. She counted her husbands assets off on her fingers. He was also what they call a charmer, and I was charmed. I met him at the Assembly Rooms. He was the friend of a friend. He seemed to be a man of means. Within six months, he had proposed, and I was delighted. I was happy. I was in love. Another smile, only this one was a bitter little twist. John spoke to my father. My father asked me if I was sure, he told me there was no hurry, that if I wanted to change my mindbut I didnt, and I didnt thinkI thought Papa was just being his usual cautious self, thats all. He was always polite to John, never said a word against him to me, and But Im getting ahead of myself.
Innes swallowed the rest of his malt. Do you want another? he asked, indicating her glass, and when Mrs McBrayne shook her head, resisted the urge to pour one for himself. Go on.
We were happy. I find I have to remind myself of that, but for a year or so we were happy. Then the bills started to go unpaid, and when I asked John, he told me not to worry. But I did, and when I eventually looked into matters properly, I discovered we owed a monstrous amount. My husband was furious when he found out that I knew, he told me it was a temporary situation, he told meach, he told me all sorts, and I believed some of it, because I wanted to. Id never enquired about his income until then, I had assumed my fatherbut there, you see, Im putting the blame on others when it was my own fault. I should have asked right at the start. I should have made it my business, but by the time I did, it was too late.
You mean that by that time, your husbands debts were unmanageable?
I mean it was too late for me to persuade my husband that his debts were not only his business but mine, too, Mrs McBrayne responded wryly. I think I will have another, if you dont mind.
She was pale despite the whisky, her mouth thinned, her eyes focused inwards. When she sipped her drink, her hand trembled. Noticing that, she placed the glass carefully down. It was a common enough tale, but the way she told it was not at all common. Her feelings ran very deep. Innes was struggling to understand why.
I told you you wouldnt understand, she said, taking him aback by seeming to read his thoughts.
He made no attempt to deny it. Explain it, then, Innes said.
Imagine how you would feel if someone else was given control of your business. Imagine how youd feel if they could make decisions about it over your head, without consulting you. Decisions that had consequences for you, but that you had no say in. Now imagine that at first you dont realise this is going on. Then when you do realise, and you challenge this person, they tell you that theyre only doing what is expected of them. Then they tell you that youve no right to challenge them. And then they simply turn a cold shoulder. As a businessman, you can do something about it. You can even take action in court, if that persons been fraudulent. As a wife... Mrs McBrayne spread her hands and gave him another of those bitter smiles. As a wife, you can choose to make both your lives a misery with constant nagging, or you can put up and shut up. What you cant do is change a thing. Not a single damn thing.
Innes felt slightly sick. Having sworn all those years ago never to marry, he had never actually considered the state of matrimony from any point of view. Mrs McBraynes perspective was horrible, and all the more so for the almost cool way she described it. Almost coolfor he was willing to bet that her fist was tightly clenched in the folds of her gown, and there was hurt in those hazel eyes as well as anger. He felt angry on her behalf, though he knew her husband had done nothing that society would condemn. In fact, more likely society would condone, for a man was expected to take care of his wife, and a wifewas it true, that a woman was expected simply to put up and shut up, as Mrs McBrayne so succinctly put it?
Innes put his glass down, and ran an agitated hand through his hair. Youre right, if I were in such a situation It sounds intolerable.
And yet I bore it, she said bitterly. I wonder if things would have been different had I not. I thought of leaving him, but lack of funds made that impractical, and I would not go to my father. Edinburgh might appear to be a large town, but in practice it is not much more than a village. My leaving my husbands protection would have caused quite a scandal. Besides, I was I was ashamed. She glared at him as she said this. I was under the misapprehension that if Id behaved differently I could have changed my husband, she said. It took me some time to realise that since he would never change, then I must.
She concluded with a small, satisfied smile that made Innes wonder how, exactly, she had changed and what, exactly, the effect had been on her spendthrift husband, but before he could ask, her smile had faded. She took a sip of whisky. Her hand was quite steady now. I remained with my husband, but matters between us were extremely strained. John devoted himself to myriad schemes he found to lose money, and II pursued a new interest of my own which was distracting and made me feel not quite so useless, but ultimately, I was burying my head in the sand. And then my father died, and his will dealt our marriage a death blow.
The trust?
She nodded. I discovered later that John had asked him for money. Neither of them saw fit to inform me of that fact. Her eyes blazed. My own father! I thought he trusted me. I thought But there, I was wrong. Money is a matter for the man of the house, apparently. The fire disappeared from her eyes as quickly as it had come. To cut a long and tedious story short, my father changed his will so that my entire inheritance was put into trust for my first child. He did not specify the sex, so at least I should be grateful for thatnot that it makes any difference, since there is no child. When John found out, he... Her voice wavered, but she quickly got it back under control. He was furious. He wanted to break the trust. He wanted me to find a way to break the trust, to use the law to go against my own fathers wishes. It was not exactly conducive to marital harmony. Not that there was much of that by then. When I wouldnt cooperatewell, it seems I didnt have to, for what was mine was actually my husbands. Fortunately for my fathers wishes, though not so fortunately for my husband and his creditors, the trust could not be broken. And then my husband died.
Her voice was hard. Obviously, the love shed felt for the man she had married was long gone. How? Innes asked, wondering fleetingly if she was about to confess to killing him. There was a bit of him that would not have been surprised. A bit of him that would have approved.
Pleurisy, she replied. They found him dead drunk down in the Cowgate, out cold in a puddle. Heaven knows how long hed been there or where hed been before. He had not been home for three days.
Was that what shed meant when she implied she knew more than any respectable woman ought, about the women who plied their business in that scurrilous area? He wanted to ask, but he didnt want to distract her. Despite the sorry tale shed told him, she was defiant, and he couldnt help but admire her for that. I take it then, that your husband left you with nothing? Innes said.
Nothing but debts. Not even my jointure, for it was to be sourced from investments that are now worthless. There is a mortgage on our house that becomes due in a month, a year after his death, and my fathers trust is so watertight that, as Mr Thomson confirmed this morning, not even my utter ruin can break it. But you know, its not even the money that bothers me. Its the extent to which I have been kept in the darkallowed myself to be kept in the darknot just by John, but by my father. It makes me feel about this size. Mrs McBrayne held her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. Thats how much of a say they gave me in my own life.
I am sure your father meant only to protect you.
Because Im nothing but a frail female without a mind of my own? she snapped. It made me wonder how many hundreds, thousands more of us poor wee souls there are out there, living life blindfolded.
You make it sound like a conspiracy.
Thats because it feels like one, and not even Madame He...
Madame He?
Never mind. Mrs McBrayne shook her head and picked up her glass, swirled the contents, then replaced it without drinking. I beg your pardon. I did not mean to become so emotional. I have made my bed, as they say, and now I must lie on it. Or not, for it is to be sold. She smiled tightly. Like all sorry tales, this one comes with a moral. Whatever happens, I shall never again allow anyone to make my decisions for me. For good or ill, my fate will be of my own determination in the future. And now that is quite enough of me. It is your turn.
He had a hundred questions, but she had folded her hands and her lips together, and was making a great show of listening. Innes was not fooled. Her eyes were overbright, her fingers too tightly clasped. She had taken quite a battering, one way or another. A lesser woman would have cried, or flung herself on some mans mercy. He could not imagine Mrs McBrayne doing either. He wanted to cheer her. He wanted to tell her she would be fine, absolutely fine. He was very tempted to offer her money, but she would be mortified, to say nothing of the fact that he was pretty certain shed also see it merely as a transfer of obligation, and he didnt want her to feel beholden. What he wanted was for her to be free. It wasnt so much that he felt sorry for her, though he railed at the injustice of it all, but he feltyes, that was itan affinity.
What have I said to make you smile?
Your situation, Mrs McBrayne, has struck a great many chords.
I do not see how. I dont know you, but you have told me yourself youre a self-made man and a success. Men such as you will never brook any interference in your life.
Actually, thats not true. Unfortunately, I know very well indeed what its like to have someone else try to bind you to their rules, to dictate your life without you having a say.
He was pleased to see that he had surprised her. What do you mean? she asked.
Did I not say at the outset that we are both the victims of fathers and trusts? Innes replied. Its a strange coincidence, but I while you were consulting Thomson on the finer points of your fathers will, I was consulting Ballard on the very same thing. I too have been left the victim of a trust fund, only my fathers intention was not to protect me but to call me to heel, and unlike your trust, mine can be broken, though only in a very particular way.
What way, Mr Drummond?
Innes smiled thinly. Marriage, Mrs McBrayne. An institution that I assure you, I abhor every bit as much as you do yourself.
Chapter Two (#ulink_77a3a42f-24fb-54e4-beb9-0eeee82499c1)
Ainsley stared at him in astonishment. Your fathers will sets up a trust that requires you to marry?
No, it establishes a trust to control the family lands that will remain in effect until I marry, Innes replied.
Lands? She only just managed to prevent her jaw dropping. As inwhat, a country estate?
A little more than that. Im not sure what the total acreage is, but there are about twenty tenanted farms as well as the home farm and the castle.
Good heavens, Mr Drummonda castle! And about twenty farms. Is there a title, too?
He shook his head. My father was known as the laird of Strone Bridge, but it was just a courtesy.
Laird. The title conjured up a fierce Highland patriarch. Ainsley eyed the impeccably dressed gentleman opposite her and discovered it was surprisingly easy to imagine him in a plaid, carrying a claymore. Though without the customary beard. She didnt like beards. And these lands, they are in Argyll, did you say?
When he nodded Ainsley frowned in puzzlement. Forgive me, Mr Drummond, but did you not tell me you had spent most of your life in England? Surely as the heir to such a substantial propertyI know nothing of such things, mind youbut I thought it would have been customary for you to have lived on the estate?
His countenance hardened. I was not the heir.
Oh?
She waited, unwilling to prompt him further, for he looked quite forbidding. Innes Drummond took a sip of whisky, grimaced and put the glass back down on the table. Dutch courage, he said, with a shadow of her own words and her own grim little smile. I had a brother. Malcolm. He was the heir. It is as you saidhe lived on the estate. Lived and breathed it, more like, for he loved the place. Strone Bridge was his world.
He stared down at his glass, his mouth turned down in sorrow. But it was not your world? Ainsley asked gently.
It was never meant for me. I was the second son. As far as my father was concerned, that meant second best, and while Malcolm was alive, next to useless, Mrs McBrayne.
He stared down at his glass, such a bleak look on his face that she leaned over to press his hand. My name is Ainsley.
I dont think Ive heard that before.
An old family name, she said.
He gave her a very fleeting smile as his fingers curled around hers. Then you must call me Innes, he said. Another old family name, though it is not usually that of the laird. One condition I have been spared. My father did not specify that I change my name to Malcolm. Even he must have realised that would have been a step too far. Though, then again, it may simply have been that he thought me as unworthy of the name as the lands.
He spoke viciously enough to make Ainsley recoil. You sound as though you hate him.
Rather, the boot was on the other foot. He said it jeeringly. She wondered what hurt lay behind those words, but Innes was already retreating, patently regretting what he had revealed. We did not see eye to eye, he tempered. Some would call him a traditionalist. Everyone had a place in his world. I did not take to the one he allotted me. When I finally decided to forge my own way, we fell out.
Ainsley could well imagine it. Innes was obviously a man with a very strong will, a modern man and an independent one who clearly thrived in the industrial world. It would be like two stags clashing. She wondered what the circumstances had been that had caused what was obviously a split, but curious as she was, she had no wish to rile him further. Tell me about the trust, she said. Why must you marry, and what happens if you do not?
Innes stared down at his hand, the one she had so abruptly released, his eyes still dark with pain. As to why, that is obvious. The Strone Bridge estate has been passed through the direct line back as far as records exist, and I am the last of the line. He wanted an heir.
But he only specified that you must take a wife? That seems rather odd.
We Drummonds have proved ourselves potent over the generations. My father no doubt assumed that even such an undeserving son as I would not fail in that most basic of tasks, Innes said sarcastically.
You dont want children?
I dont want a wife, and in my book, one must necessarily precede the other.
This time Ainsleys curiosity overcame her caution. Why are you so against marriage? she asked. You dont strike me as a man who hates my sex.
You dont strike me as a woman who hates men, yet you dont want to get married again.
It is a case of once bitten with me.
While I have no intentions of being bitten for a first time, Innes retorted. I dont need anyone other than myself to order my life, and I certainly dont want to rely on anyone else to make me happy.
He spoke with some vehemence. He spoke as if there was bitter experience behind his words. As there was, too, behind hers. Your fathers will has put you in an impossible situation, then, Ainsley said.
As has yours, Innes replied tersely. What happens to your trust if you have no children?
It reverts to me when I am forty and presumably deemed to be saying my prayers. She could not keep the bitterness from her voice. She had loved her father, but his unwitting condemnation of her was still difficult to take. I have only to discover a way of avoiding my husbands creditors and surviving without either a roof over my head or food in my belly for the next ten years in order to inherit, since I have no intentions of marrying again.
Nor any intention of producing a child out of wedlock, I take it? No need to look so shocked, Innes said, it was a joke.
A poor one.
Im sorry.
She forced a smile. I do not really intend to sell myself down the Cowgate, you know.
Innes covered her hand. Are your debts really so bad?
There will certainly still be sufficient of them to pay off when I finally do come into my inheritance, she said.
His fingers tightened around hers. I wish I could be of some help to you.
You have been, simply by listening, Ainsley replied, flustered by the sympathy in his look. She no longer expected sympathy. She had come to believe she did not deserve it. A problem shared and all that, she said with a small smile.
Its a damnable situation.
He seemed much bigger, this close. There was something terribly comforting in those broad shoulders, in the way his hand enveloped hers, in the way he was looking at her, not with pity at all but with understanding. Close-up, his irises were ringed with a very dark blue. She had never seen eyes quite that colour.
Realising her thoughts were once more straying down a most inappropriate path, Ainsley dropped her gaze. If my father had not left my money in trust, my husband would have spent it by now, and Id have nothing to look forward to in what he clearly thought of as my forty-year-old dotage. The money might have postponed my husbands demise, but I doubt very much it would have been for more than a few years, and frankly I dont think I could have borne a few more years married to him.
I confess, at one point I thought you were going to tell me you had killed him yourself, Innes said.
Ainsley laughed. I may not be the timid wee mouse he married, but I dont think Ive become a monster.
I think you are a wonder. She looked up, surprised by the warmth in his tone, and her pulses began to race as he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. There was no mistaking it for one of those polite, social, nothing kisses. His mouth lingered on her skin, his lips warm, his eyes looking deep into hers for long, long seconds. You are a most remarkable woman, Ainsley McBrayne.
Thank you. I Thank you.
I really do wish there was some way that I could help you, but I know better than to offer you money.
I really do wish there was a way I could accept it, butwell, there we are, I cannot, so there is no point in discussing it. In fact, we have talked far more about me than you. Im still not clear about what happens to your lands if you remain unmarried. What does this trust entail?
She was pleased with how she sounded. Not a tremor to betray the quickening of desire his lips had stirred, and she hoped the flush she could feel blooming had not reached her cheeks.
However Innes Drummond felt, and she would have dearly liked to have known, he took his cue from her. A trustee appointed by that lawyer, Ballard, to manage them, and all monies associated with them banked. I cant touch a penny of it without a wife, he replied, and even with a wife, I must also commit to living for a year on Strone Bridge.
Is it a great deal of money?
Innes shook his head. Ive no idea, since Im not even entitled to see the accounts, but the money isnt the point, I have plenty of my own. I havent a clue what state the place is in at all. It could be flourishing, it could have gone to rack and ruin, for all I know.
So the fall out between yourself and your father then, it was...
More like a complete break. I told you, he was an old-fashioned man. Do as I say, or get out of my sight.
Innes spoke lightly enough, but she was not fooled. How long is it since you were there?
Almost fourteen years. Since Malcolmsince I lost my brother. Innes shuddered, but recovered quickly. Youre wondering why Im so upset about the trust when Ive spent most of my adult life away from the place, he said.
I think this has all been much more of a shock than you realise, Ainsley answered cautiously.
Aye, mayhap youre right. His accent had softened, the Highland lilt much more obvious. I had no inkling the old man was ill, and hed no time to let me know. Not that I think he would have. Far better for me to be called to heel through that will of his from beyond the grave. I dont doubt hes looking downor maybe upand laughing at the mess hes put me in, Innes said. He knew just how it would stick in my craw, having to choose between relying on someone else to run what is mine or to take up the reins myself under such conditions. Be damned to him! I must find a way to break this trust. I will not let him issue decrees from beyond the grave.
He thumped his fist on the table, making his glass and Ainsley jump. Im beginning to think that your situation is worse than mine after all.
Ach, thats nonsense, for I at least dont have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. Its a sick coincidence, the way the pair of us are being punished by our parents, though, Innes said. What will you do?
Oh, Im beyond worrying right now. Ainsley waved her hand in the air dismissively. The question is, what will you do? If only you could find a woman to marry who has no interest in actually being your wife, your problems would be solved.
She spoke flippantly, more to divert his attention from her own tragic situation than anything, but Innes, who had been in the act of taking another sip of whisky, stopped, the glass halfway to his lips, an arrested look in his eyes. Say that again.
What? That you need to marry...
A woman who has no interest in being my wife, he finished for her with a dawning smile. A woman who is in need of a home, and has no fixed plans, who might actually be looking for a respite from her current life for a wee while. Youre right, thats exactly what I need, and I know exactly the woman.
You do? You cannot possible mean...
His smile had a wicked light in it. I do, Innes said. I mean you.
Ainsley was staring at him open-mouthed. Innes laughed. Think about it, its the ideal solution. In fact, it could almost be said that we are perfectly matched, since you have as little desire for a husband as I have for a wife.
She blinked at him owlishly. Are you drunk?
Certainly not.
Then I must be, for you cannot possibly be proposing marriage. Apart from the fact that weve only just met, I thought I had made it plain that I will neverabsolutely never againsurrender my independence.
Im not asking you to. Im actually making it easier for you to retain it, because if we get married, I can pay off all those debts that bastard of a husband of yours acquired and then you really will be free.
But Id be married to you.
In name only.
I owe a small fortune. I couldnt take it from you just for the price of putting my name on a bit of paper.
Youd have to come with me to Strone Bridge. The clause that specified my spending a year there doesnt actually include my wife, but all the same, I think youd have to come with me for a wee while, at least.
That would not be a problem since, as you have already deduced, Im going to be homeless very shortly, and would appreciate a change of scene, but I simply couldnt think of accepting such a huge amount of money and give so little in return.
What if you saw it as a wage? Innes asked, frowning.
For what?
A fee, paid for professional services, he said, and a retainer to be paid in addition each year until you are forty, which you could pay me back if you wish, when you eventually inherit, though there is no need.
But Im not a professional. Her eyes widened. You cannot possibly mean I told you, I was joking about the Cowgate.
Innes laughed. Not that! I meant a business professional. She was now looking utterly bewildered. Innes grinned. The more I think about it, the more I see how perfect it is. No, wait. He caught her as she made to get up. I promise you, Im neither drunk nor mad. Listen.
Ainsley sat down, folding her arms, a sceptical look on her face. Five minutes.
He nodded. Think about it as a business proposal, he said. First of all, think of the common ground. To begin with, you need to pay off your debts and I am rich enough to be able to do so easily. Second, you are a widow, and I need a wife. Since we are neither of us in the least bit interested, now or ever, in marrying someone else...
How can you be so sure of that?
How can you? He waited, but she made no answer, so he gave a satisfied nod. You see? We are of one mind on that. And we are of one mind on another thing, which is our determination to make our own way in life. If you let me pay off your debts, I can give you the freedom to do that, and if you marry me, youll be freeing me to make up my own mind on what to door notabout my inheritance.
But well be tied to one another.
In name only, Ainsley. Tied by a bit of paper, which is no more than a contract.
Contracts require payment. What professional services can you possibly imagine I can provide?
An objective eye. An unbiased opinion. I need both. Innes shifted uncomfortably. Not advice, precisely, he said.
Because you do not like to take advice, do you?
Are you mocking me?
Another thing youre not used to, obviously. Ainsley smiled. Not mocking, teasing. Im a little rusty. What is it, then, that involves my giving you my unbiased and objective opinion without advising you?
When you put it like that! He was forced to smile. What Im trying to say is, Id like you to come to Strone Bridge with me. Not to make my decisions, but to make sure when I do make them, Im doing so without prejudice.
Is that possible? Its your birthright, Innes.
He shook his head vehemently. Thats the point. Its not. It pains me to admit it, but I dont know much about it, and I havent a clue what I want to do with it. Live there. Sell it. Put in a manager. I dont know, and I wont know until I go there, and even when I dowhat do you say?
Thats the price? Thats the professional services Im to render in order to have my life back?
You think its too great a cost? Innes said, deflated.
Ainsley smiled. Then she laughed. I think its a bargain.
You do? You understand, Strone Bridge is like to bewell, very different from Edinburgh.
A change from Edinburgh, a place to take stock, is, as you pointed out, exactly what I need.
Im not asking you to stay the full year. A few months, until Ive seen my way clear, thats all. And though Im asking you toto consult with me, that does not mean Ill necessarily take your advice, Innes cautioned.
Im used to that. Ainsleys smile faded momentarily, but then brightened. Though being asked is a step in the right direction, and I will at least have the opportunity of putting my point across.
Glancing at the decanter of whisky, the level of which had unmistakably fallen by more than a couple of drams, Innes wondered if he was drunk after all. Hed just proposed marriage to a complete stranger. A stranger with a sorry tale, whose courage and strength of mind he admired, but he had met her only a couple of hours ago all the same. Yet it didnt seem to matter. He was drawn to her, had been drawn to her from that first moment when shed stormed out of the lawyers office, and it wasnt just the bizarre coincidence of their situations. He liked what he saw of her, and admired what he heard. That he also found her desirable was entirely beside the point. His instincts told him that theyd fare well together, and his instincts were never wrong. So we are agreed? Innes asked.
Ainsley tapped her index fingers together, frowning. Were complete strangers, she said, reflecting his own thoughts. Do you think well be able to put on enough of a show to persuade your people that this isnt a marriage of convenience?
Im not in the habit of concerning myself with what other people think.
Dont be daft. Youll be thetheirlaird, Innes. Of course theyll be concerned.
She was in the right of it, but he had no intentions of accepting that fact. He was not the laird. The laird was dead, and so, too, was his heir. Innes would not be branded. They must take meusas they find us, he said. Ainsley was still frowning. Strone Bridge Castle is huge. If its having to rub shoulders with me on a daily basis youre worried about, I assure you, we could go for weeks without seeing each other if we wanted.
That is hardly likely to persuade people were living in domestic bliss.
I doubt domestic bliss is a concept that any laird of Strone Bridge is familiar with. My ancestors married for the getting of wealth and the getting of bairns.
Then that puts an end to our discussion. Ainsley got to her feet and began to head for the door of the coffee room.
Innes threw down some money on the table and followed her, pulling her into a little alcove in the main reception area of the hotel. I dont want either of those things from you. I dont want to be like them, he said earnestly. Cant you see, thats the point?
This is madness.
He gave her arm a little shake, forcing her eyes to meet his. Madness would be to do what youre doing, and thats walking away from the perfect solution. Stop thinking about what could go wrong, think about what it will put right. Freedom, Ainsley. Think about that.
Her mouth trembled on the brink of a smile. I confess, its a very attractive idea.
So youll do it?
Her smile broadened. The light had come back into her eyes. I feel sure there are a hundred reasons why I should walk very quickly in the other direction.
But you will not? He was just close enough for her skirts to brush his trousers, to smell the scent of her soap, of the rain in her hair. She made no attempt to free herself, holding his gaze, that smile just hovering, tempting, challenging. Tension quivered between them. You would regret it if you did, Innes said.
Do you know, Mr Innes Drummond, I think you may well be right.
Her voice was soft, there was a tiny shiver in it, and a shiver, too, when he slid his hands from her shoulders down her arms, closing the space between them and lowering his mouth to hers. It was the softest of kisses, the briefest of kisses, but it was a kiss. A very adult kiss, which could easily have become so much more. Lips, tongues, caressed, tasted. Heat flared and they both instinctively recoiled, for it was the kind of heat that could burn.
Ainsley put her hand to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at him. Innes looked, he suspected, every bit as shocked as she. Im sorry, he said.
Are you?
Not really, but I promise that was not in any way part of the bargain Im proposing.
She slanted him a look he could not interpret as she disentangled herself from his loose embrace. That was merely the product of too much whisky on top of too much emotional upheaval. It was like aa valve to release the steam pressure on one of those steam engines you build bridges and tunnels for, nothing more.
He laughed. He couldnt help it, because she was right in a way, and she was quite wrong in another, but in every way she was wholly unexpected and a breath of much-needed fresh air. Im thinking that my return to Strone Bridge is going to be a source of constant emotional upheaval, Innes said. We might need to do a lot of kissing.
Youre an engineer, Ainsley replied primly, though her eyes were sparkling. I suggest you invent a different kind of safety valve for yourself.
* * *
Ainsley, what a nice surprise. Felicity Blair, editor of the Scottish Ladies Companion, greeted her friend with a warm smile, waving her into the shabby chair on the other side of the huge desk that dominated her tiny office. Ive just been reading Madame Heras latest advice. I am not at all sure we can publish this reply, not least because its rather long.
Which one is that? Ainsley asked.
In response, Felicity picked up a piece of paper from the collection that Ainsley recognised shed handed in to the office a week ago, and began to read:
Dear Anxious Miss,
Simply because you are more mature than the average bride-to-beand I do not consider two-and-thirty to be so olddoes not mean that you are exempt from the trepidation natural to one in your position. You are, when all is said and done, setting sail into unchartered waters. To put it plainly, no matter how well you think you might know your intended, you should be prepared for the state of matrimony to alter him significantly, for he will have secured his prize, and will no longer be required to woo you. This might mean calm, tranquil seas. But it might prove to be a stormy passage.
My advice is to start the way you mean to go on and take charge of the rudder! Give no quarter, Anxious Miss; let your husband see that he cannot set the course of the matrimonial vessel to suit only himself. Do not allow yourself to be subsumed by his nature nor his dictates simply because you have assumed his name. Do not allow your nerves, your maidenly modesty or your sex to intimidate you. Speak up for yourself from the first, and set a precedent that, if not immediately, will, I am sure, eventually earn your husbands respect.
As to the more intimate matters with which you are concerned. You say your intended has indicated a lack of experience, and you are worried that this mightonce again, I will revert to the seafaring metaphorresult in the becalming of the good ship wedlock. First, I would strongly advise you to muster your courage and have a frank chat about the mechanics of your wedding night with a married lady friend, thus eliminating the shock of the complete unknown. Second, I would advise you equally strongly to give your husband no inclination that you come to the wedding night armed with such information, lest he find it emasculating. Third, remember, if he really is as innocent as he claims, he will be as nervous as you. But he is a man, Anxious Miss, and thus a little flattery, some feminine admiration and a pliant female body, will ensure the success of your maiden voyage.
Good luck!
Madame Hera
Ainsley smiled doubtfully. I admit, the sailing metaphor is rather trite, but if I had not used it, I would have been forced to invent something else equally silly, else you would have deemed it too vulgar to print.
At least you did not surrender to the obvious temptation to talk about dry docks in the context of the wedding night, Felicity replied acerbically.
No, because such a shocking thing did not occur to me, Ainsley replied, laughing. Though to be serious for a moment, it is becoming quite a challenge for Madame Hera to advise without entirely hiding her meaning behind the veil of polite euphemisms. The whole point of the column is to provide practical help.
Felicity set the letter down. Ive been pondering that very issue myself. You know how limited the space is for Madames column each month, yet we are now receiving enough correspondence to fill the entire magazine.
Arent you pleased? I know I am. It is proof that I was absolutely right about the need for such a thing, and you were absolutely right to take the chance to publish it.
Yes, the volume of mail is a true testament to the quality of Madames advice but, Ainsley, the problem is we cant publish most of it, for our readers would consider the subjects far too warm. Even with your shipping metaphor, that reply to Anxious Miss is sailing close to the wind. Oh, good grief, youve got me at it now! Felicity adjusted the long ink-stained cuffs that protected her blouse. Im glad you stopped by, because Ive got an idea Id like to discuss. You know it will be exactly two years since we launched Madame Heras column next month?
Of course I do. It had been the first step away from self-pity towards self-sufficiency Ainsley had taken. She remembered it vividlythe thrill of dreaming up the idea after one particularly dispiriting evening with her husband. Its funny, she said to Felicity, at first it was the secret of Madames existence that I enjoyed most, knowing I had something all mine that John knew nothing about. But these days, it is the hope that some of Madame Heras advice actually helps the women who write to her that I relish. Though of course, one can never really know if one has helped.
You do, Felicity said firmly. You know you do, just by providing an ear. Now, as I said, there are a great deal more people asking for Madames advice than we can cover in our column, which brings me to my idea. A more personal service.
What on earth do you mean by that? Ainsley wondered, for a startled moment, if her friend had somehow heard of her remark about earning a living in the Cowgate the other day.
Felicity gave a gurgle of laughter. Your face! I do not mean anything immoral, never fear. I mean a personal letter service. For a price, of course, for matters of a more sensitive nature, we can offer a personal response from Madame. Well split the fee between the journal and yourself, naturally. Depending on how many you can answer in a month Id say your earnings from the journal could triple at least. What do you say?
Im getting married, Ainsley blurted out.
Felicitys dark brown eyes opened so wide as to appear quite round. Youre doing what?
I know, its a shock, but its not what you think. I can explain, Ainsley said, wondering now if she could. Shed hardly slept a wink these past few nights wondering if she had been an idiot, and coming here this morning had been a test shed set herself, for if practical, outspoken, radical Felicity thought it was a good idea...
* * *
Half an hour and what seemed like a hundred questions later, her friend sat back at her desk, rummaging absent-mindedly for the pencil she had, as usual, lost in her heavy chignon of hair. And youre absolutely sure that this Mr Drummond has no ulterior motives?
As sure as I can be. Hes started the process of paying all of Johns debts.
At least youd no longer be obliged to call yourself by that mans name. Does he include the mortgage on Wemyss Place in the debts?
Ainsley shook her head. Innes wanted to pay it, but as far as Im concerned, the creditors can have the house. It has nothing but unhappy memories for me. Besides, I have every intention of repaying it all when I inherit my trust fund, and that mortgage would take up nearly all of it.
So, you are going to be a Highland lady. The chatelaine of a real Scottish castle. Felicity chuckled. How will you like that, I wonder? Youve never been out of Edinburgh.
Its only a temporary thing, until Innes decides what he wants to do with the place.
And how long will that take?
I dont know. Weeks. Months? No more, though he must remain there for a year. Im looking forward to the change of scenery. And to feeling useful.
It all sounds too good to be true. Sadly, in my experience, things that are too good to be true almost always are, Felicity said drily.
Do you think its a mistake?
I dont know. I think youre half-mad, but youve had a raw deal of it these past few years, and Ive not seen you this animated for a long time. Perhaps getting away from Edinburgh will be good for you. Felicity finally located her pencil and pulled it out of her coiffure, along with a handful of bright copper hair. What is he like, this laird? Are you sure hell not turn into some sort of savage Highlander wholl drag you off to his lair and have his wicked way with you the minute you arrive on his lands?
There is no question of him having his wicked way, Ainsley said, trying to ignore the vision of Innes in a plaid. The same one shed had the first day shed met him. With a claymore. And no beard.
Youre blushing, Felicity exclaimed. How very interesting. Ainsley McBrayne, I do believe you would not be averse to your Highlander being very wicked indeed.
Stop it! I havent the first idea what you mean by wicked, but...
Felicity laughed. I know you dont, she said, and frankly, its been the thing thats worried me most about this idea of mine for Madame Heras personal letter service, but now I think youve solved the problem. I suppose youve already kissed him? Dont deny it, that guilty look is a complete giveaway. Did you like it?
Felicity!
Well?
Yes. Ainsley laughed. Yes, I did.
Was it a good kiss? The kind of kiss to give you confidence that your Mr Drummond would know what he was doing? The kind of kiss that made you want him to do more than kiss you?
Ainsley put her hands to her heated cheeks. Yes. If you must know, yes, it was! Goodness, the things you say. We did not Our marriage is not That sort of thing is not...
Youre going to be out in the wilds. Youve already said that youre attracted to each other. Its bound to come up, if youll forgive the dreadful double entendre. And when it doesprovided you take care there are no consequencesthen why not? Felicity said. Do you want me to be blunt?
What, even more than youve been already?
Ainsley, from what youve told meor not told meabout your marriage, it was not physically satisfying.
I cant talk about it.
No, and you know I wont push you, but you also know enough, surely, to realise that with the right man, lovemaking can be fun.
Fun? Ainsley tried to imagine this, but her own experience, which was ultimately simply embarrassing, at times shameful, made this impossible.
Fun, Felicity repeated, and pleasurable, too. It should not be an ordeal.
Which was exactly how it had been, latterly, Ainsley thought, flushing, realising that Felicity had perceived a great deal more than she had ever revealed. Is it fun and pleasurable for you, with your mystery man?
If it were not, I would not be his mistress.
It was only because she knew her so well that Ainsley noticed the faint withdrawal, the very slight tightening of her lips that betrayed her. Felicity claimed that being a mistress gave her the satisfaction of a lover without curtailing her freedom, but there were times when Ainsley wondered. She suspected the man was married, and loved her friend too much to pain her by asking. They both had their shameful secrets.
Ainsley picked up the latest stack of letters from the desk and began to flick through them. What Felicity said was absolutely true. As Madame Heras reputation spread, her post contained ever more intimate queries, and as things stood, Ainsley would be hard-pressed to answer some of them save in the vaguest of terms. She replaced the letters with a sigh. No. Even if Innes was interested...
You know perfectly well that he would be, Felicity interjected drily. Hes a man, and, despite the fact that John McBrayne stripped you of every ounce of self-esteem, youre an attractive woman. What else will you do to while away the dark nights in that godforsaken place?
Regardless, Ainsley persisted, it would be quite wrong of me to use Innes merely to acquire the experience that would allow Madame Hera to dispense better advice.
Advice that would make such a difference to all these poor, tormented women, Felicity said, patting the pile of letters. Wasnt that exactly what you set out to do?
Stop it. You cannot make me feel guilty enough to Just stop it, Felicity. You know, sometimes I think you really are as ruthless an editor as you pretend.
Trust me, I have to be, since I, too, am a mere woman. But we were talking about you, Ainsley. I agree, it would be wrong if you were only lying back and thinking of Scotland for the sake of Madame Hera and her clients. Though I hope youve more in mind than lying back and thinking of Scotland.
Felicity!
Fun and pleasure, my dear, require participation, her friend said with another of her mischievous smiles. You see, now you are intrigued, and now you can admit it would not only be for Madame Hera, but yourself. Confess, you want him.
Yes. No. I told you, it...
Has no part in your arrangement. I heard you. Methinks you protest just a little too much.
But do you approve? Ainsley said anxiously.
Felicity picked up her pencil again and began to twist it into her hair. I approve of anything that will make you happy. When does the ceremony take place?
The banns are being called on Sunday for the first time. The ceremony will be immediately after the last calling, in three weeks. Will you come, Felicity? Id like to have you by my side.
Will you promise me that if you change your mind before then, you will speak up? And if you are unhappy at this Strone Bridge place, you will come straight back here, regardless of whether you feel your obligations have been met?
I promise.
Felicity got to her feet. Then I will be your attendant, if thats what you want. She picked up the bundle of letters and held them out. Make a start on these. I will draw up the advertisement, well run it beside Madames column for this month and I will send you a note of the terms once I have them agreed. Will you be disclosing your alter ego to the laird?
Absolutely not! Good grief, no, especially not if I am to He will think...
Felicity chuckled gleefully. I see Ive given you food for thought, at the least. I look forward to reading the resultsin the form of Madames letters, I mean. She hugged Ainsley tightly. I wish you luck. You will write to me, once you are there?
Ainsley sniffed, kissing her friend on the cheek. Youll get sick of hearing from me. She tucked the letters into the folder, which was already stuffed with the bills she was to hand over to Mr Ballard, Inness lawyer.
Just one thing, Felicity called after her. Ill wager you five pounds that if your Highlander ever discovers that you are Madame Hera, hell be far more interested in finding problems for the pair of you to resolve together than taking umbrage.
Since I shall take very good care that he never finds out, you will lose, Ainsley said, laughing as she closed the door behind her.
Chapter Three (#ulink_04cd1a5f-6b97-5eb2-b0f6-3c283f15a4f0)
Dear Madame Hera,
I have been married for three months to a man whose station in life is very superior to my own. Having moved from a small house with only two servants to a very large manor with a butler and a housekeeper, I find myself in a perfect tizzy some mornings, trying to understand who I should be asking to do what. My husband has suggested turning to his mother for advice, but she obviously thinks he has married beneath him and would see my need for guidance as evidence of this. As it is, I am sure the housekeeper is reporting my every failure in the domestic sphere to my mother-in-law. Only last week, when I committed the cardinal sin of asking the second housemaid to bring me a pot of tea, the woman actually chastised me as if I were a child. Apparently, such requests should be relayed through the footman, and I should not desire to take tea outside the usual hours, whatever these might be.
I love my husband, but I am being made to feel like an upstart in my new home, and I dare not tell him for fear he will start to take on his mothers opinion of me. Is there some sort of school for new wives I can attend? Please advise me, for I am beginning to wonder if my housekeeper would have made a better wife to my husband than I can.
Timid Mouse
Argyll, July 1840
It was cold here on the west coast. Despite the watery sunshine, a stiff breeze had blown up in the bay at Rhubodach. Innes shivered inside his heavy greatcoat. Hed forgotten how much colder it was here, and it would be colder still in the boat. Sitting on a bandbox a few feet away, Ainsley was reading a letter, clutching the folds of her travelling cloak tightly around her and staring out over the Kyles of Bute. These past three weeks there had been so much business to attend to theyd barely had time to exchange more than a few words. Standing before the altar beside him just a few days ago, she had been almost as complete a stranger to him as the day hed proposed. Yet in a very short while, theyd be on Strone Bridge, playing the part of a happily married couple.
The dread had been taking a slow hold of him. It had settled inside him with the news of his fathers death. It had grown when he learned the terms of his inheritance, then became subdued when Ainsley agreed to marry him, and even suppressed as they made their arrangements and their vows. But on the coach from Edinburgh to Glasgow it had made itself known again. Then on the paddle steamer Rothesay Castle as they sailed from the Broomilaw docks to the Isle of Bute it took root, and by this afternoons journey from Rothesay town to the north part of the Isle of Bute where they now stood waiting, it had manifested itself in this horrible sick feeling, in this illogical but incredibly strong desire to turn tail and run, and to keep running, just as he had done fourteen years before.
He was Innes Drummond, self-made man of fortune and some fame in the business he called his own. He was a man who made his living building bridges, engineering solutions to problems, turning the impossible into reality. Yet standing here on the pebbled shores of Rhubodach bay, he felt as if none of this mattered. He was the second son, his fathers runt, the upstart who had no right to be coming back to Strone Bridge to claim a dead mans property. The memories of his brother he had worked so long to suppress were lurking just across the water to claim him. On Strone Bridge, Malcolms absence would make his death impossible to deny. Guilt was that sick feeling eating away at his stomach. Fear was the hard, cold lump growing inside of him. He had no right to be here. He was afraid that when he arrived, hed be subsumed, that all he thought he was would be peeled ruthlessly back to expose the pretender beneath.
Innes swore under his breath, long and viciously. And in Gaelic. He noticed that too late, and then swore again in the harsher, more familiar language of his construction workers. Picking up a handful of pebbles, he began to launch them one after the other into the water, noting with faint satisfaction that they fell far out.
Impressive.
He hadnt heard her moving. How long had she been standing there, watching him? The boat is late. Innes made a show of shading his eyes to squint out at the Kyles.
You must be nervous, Ainsley said. I know I would be, returning after such a long period of time. I expect youll be wondering how much has changed.
Her tone was light, almost indifferent. She was studiously avoiding his gaze, looking out at the water, but he was not fooled. She was an astute observer. One of those people who studied faces, who seemed to have the knack of reading the thoughts of complete strangers. Nothing will have changed, Innes said with heavy certainty. My father prided himself on maintaining traditions that were hundreds of years old. Youll feel as if youve stepped back into the eighteenth century.
Her brows lifted in surprise. He could see the wheels turning in her clever brain, but she chose merely to nod, and perversely, though he knew he would not like it, he wanted to know what she was thinking. Go on. Say it.
It is nothing. Onlyyou are very much a man of the nineteenth century.
You mean youre not surprised I left such a backward place.
Such a backward place must be crying out for a man like you. Ainsley pushed her windswept hair out of her eyes. I meant that I am not surprised you and your father could not see eye to eye.
She slipped her gloved hand into his, in the folds of his greatcoat. He twined his fingers around hers, glad of the contact. Ainsley Drummond, his wife. A stranger she might be, but he was glad of her presence, and when she smiled up at him like that, the dread contracted just a little. I think thats the boat, she said, pointing.
It was, and he could see already that Eoin was at the helm. With a determined effort, Innes threw off his black mood. Are you ready? he asked, sliding his arm around Ainsley to anchor her to his side.
You sound like youre standing under the gallows, if you dont mind my saying.
Innes managed a rigid smile. Judgement Day is what it feels like, he said wryly, and I suspect it will be a harsh one.
* * *
Looking out over the bay, Ainsleys nerves made themselves known in the form of a fluttering stomach as she watched the little boat approaching. Until now, she had lost herself in the bustle of arrangements, the thrill of the journey. Her first time on a paddle steamer, her first time on the west coast and now her first time in a sailing boat was looming. Then would be her arrival at Strone Bridge with the man who was her husband. She worried at the plain gold band on her finger, inside her glove. She still couldnt quite believe it. It did not feel at all real. She was now Mrs Drummond, wife of the laird of Strone Bridge, this stranger by her side whose dawning black mood had quite thrown her.
Innes didnt want to be here, though he was now doing a good job of covering it up. There was a lot going on below the surface of that handsome countenance. Secrets? Or was it merely that he had left his past behind and didnt want to be faced with it again? She could understand that. It was one of the reasons shed been happy to leave Edinburgh for a while. Perhaps it was resentment, which was more than understandable, for unlike her, the life Innes was leaving behind was one he loved.
As he hefted their luggage down to the edge of the shoreline, Ainsley watched, distracted by the fluidity of his movements, the long stride over the pebbles, the smooth strength in the way he lifted even the heaviest pieces so effortlessly. She recalled Felicitys joke about him being a wild Highlander, and wondered if he would wear a plaid when he was back at Strone Bridge. He had the legs for it. A prickle of heat low in her belly made her shiver.
Feasgar math. The bump of the boat against the tiny jetty made her jump.
Ainsley stared blankly at the man. Good day to you, Mrs Drummond, he repeated in a softly lilting accent, at odds with the curt nod he gave her before starting to heave the luggage Innes was handing him into the boat.
Oh, good day, Ainsley replied.
This is Eoin Ferguson, Innes told her, an old friend of mine. Eoin, this is my wife.
Im afraid I dont speak any Gaelic, Ainsley said to the boatman.
Have the Gaelic, he said to her. We dont say speak it, we say have it.
And theres no need to worry, almost everyone on Strone Bridge speaks English, Innes said, frowning at the man he claimed for a friend, though Ainsley could see no trace of warmth between the two men.
I have never been to the Highlands, she said with a bright smile.
Strone Bridge is not far north of Glasgow as the crow flies, Eoin replied. If youre expecting us all to be wandering around in plaid and waving claymores, youll be disappointed. Are you getting in or not?
Oh, right. Yes. She could feel herself flushing, mortified as if he had read her earlier thoughts. He made no move to help her. Seeing Inness frown deepen, Ainsley gave him a slight shake of the head, clambering awkwardly and with too much show of leg into the boat. Eoin watched impassively, indicating that she sit on the narrow bench at the front of the dinghy, making a point of folding his arms as she then proceeded to clamber over the luggage stacked mid-ship.
She tried not to feel either slighted or crushed, reminding herself she was a stranger, a Sassenach, a lowlander, who spokeno, hadno Gaelic and knew nothing of their ways. Innes, his mouth drawn into a tight line, had leaped into the boat, and was deftly untying the rope from the jetty as Eoin tended the sail. She watched the pair of them working silently together as they set out into the water, the contrast between the harmony of their movements stark against the undercurrent of tension that ran between them. It spiked as Innes made to take the tiller.
The tide is against us, and I know the currents, Eoin said, keeping his hand on the polished wood.
I know them every bit as well as you.
You used to. Eoin made no attempt to hide his enmity, but glared at Innes, his eyes, the same deep blue as Inness own, bright with challenge. Its been a long time.
Inness fists clenched and unclenched. I know exactly how long its been.
A gust of wind took Eoins words away. When Innes spoke again, it was in a soft, menacing tone that made the hairs on the back of Ainsleys neck stand on end. And it was in Gaelic. Eoin flinched and made to hand over the tiller, but Innes shook his head, joining Ainsley in the prow, turning away from her to stare out at the white wake, his face unreadable.
The wind that filled the sail blew in her face, whipping her hair from under her bonnet, making her eyes stream. Innes had not worn a hat today, a wise move, for it would surely have blown into the sea. Though he was, as ever, conservatively dressed, his trousers and coat dark blue, his linen pristine white; compared to Eoins rough tweed trews and heavy fishermans jumper, Innes looked like a dandy. She had watched the other man noticing this when he docked, but couldnt decide whether the twitch of his mouth was contempt or envy.
The boat scudded along, the keel bumping over the waves of the outgoing tide. While the paddle steamer had feltand smelledrather like a train that ran on water instead of rails, in this dinghy, Ainsley was acutely conscious that only a few planks of wood and some tar separated her from the icy-cold strait. Spray made her lips salty. The sail snapped noisily. She began to feel nauseous, and looking up, catching a cold smile on Eoins face as the boat lifted out of the water and then slapped down again, began to suspect that he was making their voyage deliberately rough.
Youre from the city, I hear. Youll not be used to the sea, he shouted.
Ainsley gripped the wooden seat with both hands, determined to hold on to the contents of her breakfast. She wished she hadnt had the eggs. She mustnt think about the eggs. How did you know that? she asked.
Himself told Mhairi McIntosh, the housekeeper, in the letter he sent.
Innes snapped his head round. Well, it wouldnt have done me any good to write to you.
Eoin, to Ainsleys surprise, turned a dull shade of red, and looked away. Innes swallowed whatever else he had been about to say and resumed his staring out at the sea. The undercurrent of emotion that ran between the two men was as strong as the ebb of the tide that was making their entrance into the bay a battle.
* * *
The pier was old and crumbling, extending far out into the bay. The low tide forced them to berth right at the very end of the structure, where Innes threw the rope neatly over a post to make fast. It was only as he put one foot on the first rung of the ladder that Eoin spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder, making him freeze.
Youll find the place much changed.
If you tell me once again that its been fourteen years... he said through gritted teeth.
Its not that. Eoin pulled his hand away, a bleak look in his eyes. You know Mhairis got the Home Farm ready for you? The big houseach, youll see for yourself soon enough. Give Angus a shout; I can see hes there with the cart. Ill see to the luggage.
Innes ascended the worn ladder quickly, then turned to help Ainsley. She was eyeing the gap between boat and pier with a trepidation she was tryingand failingto disguise. Her cheeks were bright with the wind, her hair a tangle. She looked endearing. She was most likely wondering what the hell shed let herself in for, with the enmity between himself and Eoin almost palpable. He swore under his breath. Whatever was going on in Eoins head, there would be time enough to sort it out. Right now, he needed to get poor Ainsley, who might well be his only ally, out of that boat before she fell out of it. Put one foot on the bottom rung and give me your hand, he said, leaning down over the end of the pier.
She looked at the seaweed-slimed lower struts of the ladder pier dubiously. I cant swim.
Innes went down on his knees and leaned over. I can. If you fall, I promise Ill dive in right behind you.
And walk up the beach with me in your arms, dripping seawater and seaweed.
Just like a mermaid.
Ainsley chuckled. More like a sea monster. Not the grand entrance that the laird and his lady are expected to make. Its as well weve no audience.
I told Mhairithats the housekeeperthat we did not want a formal welcome until we were settled. I must admit, Im surprised she listened, though, Innes said, looking about him. Save for Angus, making his lumbering way down the pier, there was not a soul in sight. Perhaps hed maligned his friend after all. Eoin knew how much he hated the pomp and ceremony of the old ways that his father had gone to such pains to preserve. He looked over Ainsleys shoulder to thank him, but Eoin was busying himself with the ropes.
Shrugging inwardly, Innes held out his hand to Ainsley, pulling her up without a hitch and catching her in his arms. Welcome to Strone Bridge.
She smiled weakly, clutching tight to him, her legs trembling on the wooden planking. Im sorry, I think my legs have turned to jelly.
You dont mean your heart? Im not sure what youve let yourself in for here, but I am pretty certain things are in a bad way. Ill understand if you want to go back to Edinburgh.
Your people are expecting you to arrive with a wife. A fine impression it would make if she turned tail before shed even stepped off the pieror more accurately, judging by the state of it, stepped through it. Besides, we made a bargain, and I plan to stick to my part of it. Ainsley tilted her head up at him, her eyes narrowed, though she was smiling. Are you having cold feet?
Not about you. He hadnt meant it to sound the way it did, like the words of a lover, but it was too late to retract. He pulled her roughly against him, and he kissed her, forgetting all about his resolution to do no such thing. Her lips were freezing. She tasted of salt. The thump of luggage being tossed with no regard for its contents from the boat to the pier made them spring apart.
Ainsley flushed. It is a shame we dont have more of an audience, for I feel sure that was quite convincing.
Innes laughed. I wont pretend that had anything to do with acting the part of your husband. The truth is, you have a very kissable mouth, and Ive been thinking about kissing you again since the first time all those weeks ago. And before you say it, its got nothing to do with my needing an emotional safety valve either, and everything to do with the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it, though I know perfectly well its not part of our bargain.
Save that it can do no harm to put on a show, now and then, Ainsley said with a teasing smile.
Does that mean youll only kiss me in public? I know there are men who like that sort of thing, but I confess I prefer to do my lovemaking in private.
Innes! I am sure we can persuade the people of Strone Bridge we are husband and wife without resorting toto engaging in public marital relations.
He gave a shout of laughter. Good grief, I hope not. That makes it sound like a meeting of foreign ministers.
It does? Really? They began to make their way slowly to the head of the pier.
Really, Innes said.
Oh. What is your opinion on undergoing a husbands ministrations?
That it sounds as if the husband is to carry out some sort of unsavoury medical procedure. You may as well talk about performing hymeneal duties, which is the sort of mealy-mouthed and utterly uninformative phrase I imagine any number of poor girls hear from their mothers on the eve of their wedding. They probably think theyre going to be sacrificed on the matrimonial altar. Whatever they imagine, you can be damned sure they wont be looking forward to it.
Oh, I couldnt agree more. The belief that innocence and ignorance must go hand in hand seems to me quite perverse. I wonder sometimes if there is a conspiracy by society to keep young girls uninformed in order to encourage them into marriages they would not otherwise make.
The sparkle had returned to her hazel eyes, but it was no longer teasing. Rather, Innes thought, studying her in some surprise, it was martial. Are you speaking from experience?
My mother died when I was twelve, and I had no other female relative close enough to divulge the pertinent facts before my wedding night. It was aa shock.
He was appalled, but she was bristling like a porcupine. Perhaps there should be some sort of guidebook. An introduction to married life; or something of that sort.
He meant it as a joke, but Ainsley seemed much struck. That is an excellent idea.
Though if what you say about the conspiracy is true, then mothers will surely forbid their daughters from reading it.
More likely fathers would.
Most definitely martial. Intrigued, he could not resist pushing her. Since the shops that would sell such a thing are the kind frequented by men and not women, then your plan is defeated by the outset, Innes said.
That shows how little you know, Ainsley said with a superior smile. Shops are not the only outlet for such information.
Above them the white clouds had given way to iron-grey. The wind was picking up as the tide turned, making white crests on the water, which was turning the same colour as the sky. While theyd been talking, the luggage had been loaded onto the cart, where Angus was now waiting patiently. Of Eoin there was no sign. Reluctantly, Innes abandoned this intriguing conversation. Whatever else has changed, he said, the weather is still as reliably fickle as ever. Come on, lets get out of this wind before you catch a cold.
* * *
Ainsley woke with a start and sat up, staring around her at the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was panelled and sparsely furnished. It had the look of a place hastily put together, and it felt as if the fires had not been lit for some time. Shivering as she threw back the covers and stepped onto the bare floorboards, she could feel the cold begin to seep into her bones.
Though it was July, it felt more like April. She made haste with her ablutions. Without the help of a maid, she laced her corsets loosely and tied her hair into a simple knot before pulling a woollen dress from her trunk. The colours, broad stripes of cream and turquoise, made her think of a summer sky that bore no resemblance to the one she could see through the window. The narrow sleeves were long, the tight-fitting bodice made doubly warm with the overlapping kerchief-style collar that came to a point at her waist. Woollen stockings and boots completed her toilette in record time. Reluctantly, she abandoned the idea of wrapping her cloak around her, telling herself that a lesson in hardiness was in order.
The corridor outside was dark and windowless. The fading daylight darkened by the deluge that had erupted as she arrived yesterday had prevented her from gaining any perspective of her new residence. Exhaustion had set in once she had eaten, and Ainsley had retired almost immediately afterwards.
Start the way you mean to go on. Muttering Madame Heras own advice like a charm, she stumbled her way towards the door where she had dined last night, cheered by the faint smell of coffee. The room looked much more attractive in the daylight, and the fire, which last evening had smouldered, today was burning brightly. Good morning, she said.
Innes was seated at the table, staring moodily at his empty plate, but he stood when she came into the room. His jaw looked raw. Most likely hed shaved in water as cold as shed used to wash. Perhaps he simply wasnt a morning person. Ainsley hovered at the door.
Are you staying or going? Innes asked, and she gave herself a little shake.
Staying, she said, seating herself opposite.
I didnt know if youd want tea or coffee, so I had Mhairi bring both.
Coffee, thank you.
He sat down and poured her a cup. Theres crowdie and oatcakes, but if youd prefer a kipper, or some ham or porridge?
No, that will be fineat least What is crowdie?
Cheese.
Thank you. She took the oatcakes and creamy cheese. This looks delicious. Innes poured himself a cup of tea. Have you eaten? she asked, cringing as she spoke, for she had already noticed his empty plate, and she sounded as if she was making polite conversation over the tinkling of teaspoons in an Edinburgh drawing room.
Yes, Innes said.
Ainsley bit into an oatcake. The crunch was embarrassingly loud. She took a sip of coffee. It sounded like a slurp. This was ridiculous. Innes, would you prefer...?
Ainsley, if you would prefer...?
He stopped. She stopped. Then he laughed. Im not used to having company at breakfast. I dont know whether youd prefer to be left in peace, or What?
I dont know. Im not any more accustomed to it than you. Its silly, I know its silly, but it feels strange.
Would you rather I went?
No. Unless youd rather She broke off, laughing. For goodness sake, Id like you to stay, and Id like to talk, but not if were going to make polite chit-chat for the sake of it.
Innes grinned. I am more than happy to promise never to make polite chit-chat, though I would like to know if your bedchamber was comfortableand please, give me the real answer, and not the drawing-room one.
Ainsley chuckled. One does not mention a ladys bedchamber in the drawing room.
Actually, that very much depends on the drawing room, Innes said, smiling. Let me put it another way thendid you manage to sleep, or were you frozen to death?
I slept, but I confess I dressed very quickly.
Im sorry about that. It seems that my father had the main part of the castle shut up and took to living in just two or three rooms. This place is sound and dry enough, but its been empty awhile, and Mhairi had little notice of our arrival, as you know. She gave you that bedchamber because it was the best of a bad bunch.
She apologised for the fact it was several rooms away from your own, Ainsley said, flushing. I got the impression she was worried the effort it would take to walk the distance would put you off. I confess, it did not do my ego much good to think my husband would be so easily deterred.
If I thought I would be welcomed into your bedchamber for a bout of debauchery, not even a chastity belt would deter me, Innes said wickedly.
Tis a shame I cannot lay my hands on such an item, else I would be tempted to test your resolve.
Dont be too sure, there are all sorts of things in the armoury, Innes replied. Debauchery and chastity beltswhod have thought that conversation over the breakfast cups could be so interesting?
I did not introduce the topic of debauchery, Ainsley said, spluttering coffee.
No, but you did say you didnt want to make polite chit-chat.
Innes Drummond, you should have considered entering the legal profession, for you can twist an argument better than any lawyer Ive dealt withand believe me, Ive dealt with a few.
He gave a theatrical sigh. Very well, we will change the topic, though it is your own fault, you know.
She eyed him warily. I am very sure I should not ask what you mean by that.
Then do not.
Ainsley took a sip of coffee. Innes folded his mouth primly. She took another sip, trying not to laugh, then finally cast her cup down in the saucer with a clatter. Oh, for goodness sake, you win. Tell me what you meant.
No, for it is not true, its not debauchery I think of when I look at that mouth of yours, its kissing.
Just kissing.
Not just kissing. Innes leaned forward over the table and took her hand. Kissing. Theres a difference.
He was teasing. Or was it flirting? She wasnt sure. She didnt think she was the kind of woman that men flirted with. Did she amuse or arouse? Was it possible to combine the two? Ainsley had no idea, but she knew he was not laughing at her. There was complicity in the way he was looking at her, and something in those beguiling blue eyes of his that made her tingle. What difference? she asked, knowing she ought not, sure that if she did not she would regret it.
Innes lifted her hand to his mouth, just barely brushing the back of it with his lips. That, he said, was just a kiss. He turned her hand over. This, he said softly, is the difference.
His lips were warm on her palm. His tongue flicked over the pad of her thumb, giving her the most delicious little shiver. When he enveloped her thumb with his mouth and sucked, she inhaled sharply. You see, he said, his voice husky. There is only one problem with those kinds of kisses.
She knew exactly what he meant. She was experiencing that very problem. More? Ainsley said, meaning it as an answer, though it sounded like a request.
More, Innes said, taking it as a request, pushing back his chair, leaning across the table, doing just as she asked.
* * *
He hadnt intended to kiss her, but he couldnt resist, and when she did not either, when she opened her mouth to him and twined her arms around his neck with the most delightful little sigh, his teasing kiss became something deeper. She kissed him back. The tip of her tongue touched his, triggering the rush of blood, the clenching of his muscles, the shiver of arousal. He slid his hand down to her breast under the shawl that formed part of her bodice, only to find himself frustrated by the bones of her corset, by the layers of clothes. A knife clattered to the ground, and they both jumped.
He was hard. He was very glad that the table lay between them. Ainsleys face was flushed, her lips soft, eyes dark with their kisses. The urge to pull her across the table and ravage that sinful mouth of hers was unbearably tempting. What the devil was wrong with him that he couldnt seem to keep his hands off her! Sitting carefully back down in his chair, Innes thought ruefully that it had been the same right from their first meeting. Why hadnt he realised it would be a problem? Was it a problem?
Mhairi could have come into the room at any moment, Ainsley said.
Innes ran his fingers through his hair. Is that why you kissed me?
She picked up a teaspoon and began to trace a pattern on the table. Actually, you kissed me, though I cannot deny that I kissed you back, she said, looking at him fleetingly from under her lashes. I dont know why, save that I wanted to, and I havent wanted to for... And ever since I met you I have andand so I did.
I cant tell you how relieved I am to hear that, because its been exactly the same for me. Innes swallowed a mouthful of cold coffee and grimaced. I never was one to toe the line, you know. Maybe its because our bargain precludes it that Im so tempted.
You mean you want to kiss me because it is illicit?
Oh, no, I want to kiss you because you have a mouth that makes me think of kissing. But perhaps its so difficult not to because I know its not permitted, even though were married. Innes shook his head and jumped to his feet. I dont know. Maybe we should check the armoury for a chastity belt.
Maybe we should stop worrying about it, and discussing it and analysing it, Ainsley said. We are adults. We are neither of us interested in becoming attached. There is no harm in us having somesome fun.
Fun? You say that as if you are taking a dose of Mr Rushs patented pills for biliousness.
I am sure that they too are healthful.
Innes burst out laughing. You say the strangest things. Healthful! Its the first time Ive heard it referred to in that way.
You think its an inaccurate term to use?
She was frowning, looking genuinely puzzled, just as she had yesterday, now he thought about it, when shed mentionedwhat was itmarital relations? I think its best if we think about something else entirely, Innes said. Delightful as this breakfast has been, the day is getting away from us. First things first, well start with a tour of the castle. I warn you, its a great barrack of a place and like to be as cold as an icehouse.
Ainsley got to her feet. Ill go and fetch a shawl.
The door closed behind her. Innes gazed out of the window, though the view was almost entirely obscured by an overgrown hedge. It looked as if it had not been cut for a good many years. Like everything hed seen at Strone Bridge so far, from the jetty to the stables, it was neglected. Eoin had warned him that things had changed. He wondered, if the state of the house and grounds were anything to go by, what had happened to the lands. He was surprised, for though his father had been old-fashioned, archaic even in his practices, he had never been negligent. He was also angry, though guiltily aware he had little right to be so. These were Malcolms lands. If Malcolm was here, he would be appalled at the state of them. Yet if Malcolm were here, Innes would not be. If Malcolm was here, he would not have allowed the place to fall into decline, and Innes...
He cursed. He could go round in circles for ever with that logic. He was not looking forward to this tour of the castle. It wasnt so much the state of disrepair he was now certain hed find in the rooms, it was the history in those rooms, all his history. He didnt want anyone to see him copingor not copingwith that history, and Ainsley was a very astute observer. It had been fourteen years. Surely that was long enough for him to at least put on a show of disaffection. Yet here he was, feeling distinctly edgy and wondering how to explain it away.
The castle was just a building. A heap of stones and wood of dubious aesthetic value. There was no ancient law that said he must live there if he chose to remain on Strone Bridge after a year, which was highly unlikely. No, he would have the Home Farm made more comfortable, because nothing would persuade him to play the laird in the castle, not even for a few weeks.
The vehemence of this thought took Innes so aback he did not notice Ainsley had returned until she spoke his name. Right, Innes said, sounding appropriately businesslike. Lets get on with it.
Chapter Four (#ulink_e681ad8a-1247-531d-9132-cff738966b02)
The sun shone weakly from a pale blue sky dotted with puffy clouds, the kind a child would paint. Following in Inness wake along the narrow path of damp paving slabs, Ainsley could see that the gloom inside the Home Farms lower rooms was largely due to the height of the untended hedge. Emerging through an extremely overgrown arch, she came face-to-face with Strone Bridge Castle for the first time.
They were standing at the side of a long sweep of carriageway with what must have been a huge lawn on either side, though at present it was more like the remnants of a hayfield, part long yellowed grass falling over, part fresh green pushing through. The building loomed over them, such an imposing structure she could not imagine how she had missed its hulk yesterday, though the stone was indeed the grey colour the sky had been.
Ainsley walked backwards to gain some perspective. This is the rear of the house, Innes said. The drive meets the main overland road, which cuts over to the other side of the peninsula and Loch Fyne, though to call it a road... Its far easier to travel by boat in this neck of the woods.
We did not come this way yesterday?
He shook his head. The front of the house faces down to the shore. We came up that way. Ill show you, well go in by the main entrance, but I wanted you to see the scale of this damned monstrosity first.
Strone Bridge Castle was indeed enormous, and though it was not precisely charming, Ainsley would not have called it a monstrosity. An imposing construction with a large tower at each corner, and another central turret projecting from the middle of the main building, it was like a castle from a Gothic novel. The sturdy turrets had unexpected ogee roofs, adding a hint of the east into the architectural mix, each roof topped with tall spires and embellished with slit windows. The turrets looked, with their rugged masonry walls and stolid, defensive air, quite at odds with the central part of the building, which was considerably more elegant, mostly Jacobean in style, with four storeys of tall French-style windows, a low Palladian roof ornamented with a stone balustrade and a huge portico that looked as if it had been added on as an afterthought. The overall effect was certainly not of beauty, but it was striking.
It looks, Ainsley said, studying it with bemusement, as if someone has jumbled up three or four different houses, or taken samples from a book of architectural styles through the ages.
Youre not far off, Innes said. The main house was built about 1700. The roof and that central tower were added about fifty or sixty years after that, and my own father put those corner towers up. Theres no rhyme nor reason to it. As I said, its a monstrosity.
Thats not what I meant at all. It is like nothing I have ever seen.
One of a kind. That, thank heavens, is certainly true, Innes said grimly.
You are not fond of it, then? Ainsley asked. Though there must be some interesting stories attached to a building so old. And perhaps even a few ghosts.
He had taken her arm as they made their way over the untended lawn around the building, and now slanted her a curious look. Do you believe in such things?
Honestly, Ive never considered the question before, but looking at this place, I could easily be persuaded.
There is a tale of one of the lairds who went off to fight in the 1715 Jacobite uprising. He was for the Old Pretender. Theres a set of gates, right at the end of the carriageway, which he had locked, so they say, and made his wife promise never to unlock them until his return.
What happened?
He died in the Battle of Sheriffmuir. His wife had the gates unlocked for his corpse to pass through in its coffin, but Innes broke off, shaking his head. No, theres enough here already to give you nightmares without adding a walking, wailing, clanking ghost to the mix.
.
.
, (https://www.litres.ru/marguerite-kaye/strangers-at-the-altar/) .
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Marguerite Kaye
The secrets behind the wedding veil.For penniless widow Ainsley McBrayne marriage is the only solution. Vulnerable, yet fiercely independent, she thinks shackling herself to another man seems horrifying! Until handsome stranger Innes Drummond tempts Ainsley to become his temporary wife.Once theyre married, Ainsley hardly recognises the rugged Highlander Innes is transformed into! He sets her long-dormant pulse racing, and shes soon craving the enticing delights of their marriage bed. She has until Hogmanay to show Innes that their fake marriage could be for real
If only you could find a woman to marry who has no interest in actually being your wife, your problems would be solved.
She spoke flippantly, more to divert his attention from her own tragic situation than anything else, but Innes, who had been in the act of taking another sip of whisky, stopped, the glass half-way to his lips, an arrested look in his eyes.
Say that again.
What? That you need to marry?
A woman who has no interest in being my wife, he finished for her with a dawning smile. A woman who is in need of a home and has no fixed plans, who might actually be looking for a respite from her current life for a wee while. Youre rightthats exactly what I need. And I know exactly the woman.
You do? You cannot possibly mean
His smile had a wicked light in it. I do, Innes said. I mean you.
AUTHOR NOTE (#ulink_4555bf0e-d4de-5f64-8f0b-f9d80d31139a)
After I finished writing UNWED AND UNREPENTANT, which had a Clyde shipbuilder as its hero, I decided I wanted to stay close to home for my next story.
I started in Edinburgh, my favourite city second only to Paris, but the majority of Ainsley and Inness story is set in Tighnabruaich, on the west coast of Argyll. I renamed it Strone Bridge, but anyone familiar with the area will recognise it. The view of the Kyles of Bute which Ainsley comes to love is one of my own favourites. Ostell Bay, with its golden sands and crystal-clear though icy sea, is a childhood haunt. And the weatherthe wet, driech, grey west-coast weatherthats very true to life.
I hope that my love for the place where I was brought up, and where I now live and write, resonates in Ainsley and Inness story. I hope it will inspire some of you to visit. More than anything, I hope that Ive done justice to it, and that the romance of the place has enhanced the romance Ive written.
Enormous thanks once again to all my Facebook and Twitter friends who have helped and encouraged me while writing this book. Thanks to all who suggested names for Ainsleys Agony Aunt alter ego, and in particular to Keira, who gave me Madame Hera, whose letters I had such fun dreaming up.
Strangers at the Altar
Marguerite Kaye
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Born and educated in Scotland, MARGUERITE KAYE originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practise. Instead, she carved out a career in IT and studied history part-time, gaining first-class honours and a masters degree. A few decades after winning a childrens national poetry competition she decided to pursue her lifelong ambition to write, and submitted her first historical romance to Mills & Boon
. They accepted it, and shes been writing ever since.
You can contact Marguerite through her website at: www.margueritekaye.com (http://www.margueritekaye.com)
HISTORICAL NOTE (#ulink_2d45ac98-8f7a-5536-8f77-54ae00511ed1)
Paddle steamers and the railways brought tourism to the west coast of Scotland at around the time when Ainsley and Innes decided to set up their hotel. Though the original and most popular destinations doon the watter on the Clyde were Rothesay, Largs and Dunoon, Tighnabruaich (aka Strone Bridge) had its share of excursionists. The engineer David Napier, whose Loch Eck tours inspired Ainsley, built a pier on the Holy Loch in the 1830s, not far from my own home.
Numerous versions of the Rothesay Castle paddle steamer made the journey from Glasgow, Gourock and eventually Wemyss Bay railway terminals to the Isle of Bute. Today, the last sea-going paddle steamer, the Waverley, makes the same journey from Glasgow to Bute and down the beautiful Kyles all the way to Tighnabruaich.
Strone Bridge Castle is actually based on Panmure House, the seat of the Maules near Dundee, which was demolished in 1955. The story which Innes tells Ainsley of the locked gates following the 1715 Jacobite rebellion belongs to Panmure, details and pictures of which are in Ian Gows beautiful book Scotlands Lost Houses. The chapel attached to Strone Bridge Castle, though, is based on the one belonging to Mount Stuart in Rothesay.
Agony Aunts existed, astonishingly, as far back as the seventeenth century, though they reached their peak in the mid-Victorian eraa little after Madame Hera was writing. There are some fantastic examples of their letters in Tanith Careys book Never Kiss a Man in a Canoe.
As to the traditions and customs in this bookwell, I must admit that Ive let my imagination loose a wee bit. All the Hogmanay customs are traditional, but the Rescinding ceremony is not. I actually invented it for an earlier book set in Argyll, THE HIGHLANDERS REDEMPTION, and I liked it so much I thought Id start a tradition of my own and re-use it.
Contents
Cover (#u582d62a2-b6d1-53c6-93e8-1eb7252c11ae)
Introduction (#u98ff1a8c-7008-53c6-9fb2-136aac6cfc5b)
Author Note (#u2f30d55d-42a5-5356-81c8-27e07735ac76)
Title Page (#uffffa166-95f6-569e-9e26-eb0102d44da4)
About the Author (#u0d557c3e-f1d6-57b3-9568-409804117258)
Historical Note (#u04e3bf93-6a7a-596f-93da-82ede8b66259)
Contents (#uaa43ddc2-3c9d-5dc4-8ed0-48a17b83524b)
Chapter One (#u95a35117-a249-51b6-b4fe-05a42c980662)
Chapter Two (#uef5e7723-0e1e-550b-9bdc-13ccc1904b56)
Chapter Three (#u11f9f873-9757-56d3-85b3-82a3271bf22d)
Chapter Four (#u2035a8be-d96a-5979-ae9b-19083fdd9098)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_3e2d1d5e-de38-5b38-99b2-19ab0c5a5561)
Dear Madame Hera,
The other day, while taking a walk in the Cowgate district of Edinburgh, I was approached by a young man who gave me some assistance with my umbrella. Since he was very well dressed, seemed most polite, and the rain was coming down in torrents, it seemed churlish of me not to offer to share my shelter. He accepted with some alacrity, but the small circumference of my umbrella forced us into a somewhat compromising intimacy, of which the gentleman was not slow to take advantage. He stole a kiss from me, and I permitted him to take several more while we found respite from the downpour in the close of a nearby tenement. By the time the rain stopped, we were rather better acquainted than we ought to have been.
We parted without exchanging details. Alack, when he left me, the young man took not only my virtue but my umbrella. It was a gift from another gentleman, who is bound to question me most closely when he discovers its loss. I fear he will not understand the peculiar effect the combination of rain, a good-looking young man and a very small umbrella can have on a womans willpower. What should I do?
Drookit Miss
EdinburghJune 1840
I am very sorry, Mrs McBrayne, but there is nothing to be done. Both your fathers will and the law are perfectly clear upon the matter. Could not be clearer, in actual fact, though if you insist upon a second opinion, I believe my partner is now free.
You, Mr Thomson, are my second opinion, the woman said scornfully. I have no intentions of spending more money I dont have, thanks to that spendthrift husband of mine and that trust of my fathers, simply to hear what you have already made perfectly plain. The law is written by men for men and administered by men, too. Be damned to the law, Mr Thomson, for it seems to be forcing me to earn my living in a profession even older than your own, down in the Cowgate. I bid you good day.
Mrs McBrayne! Madam, I must beg you...
The Fury merely tossed her head at the lawyers outraged countenance and swept across the narrow reception hall of the office, heading for the door. Innes Drummond, who had just completed a similarly entirely unsatisfactory interview with Thomsons partner, watched her dramatic exit admiringly. The door slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the pane of glass on which the names Thomson & Ballard were etched. Innes could hear her footsteps descending the rackety stairs that led out into Parliament Square. She was as anxious to quit the place as he was himself. It struck him, as he flung the door behind him with equal and satisfying force, how ironic it was, that they both, he and the incandescent Mrs McBrayne, seemed to be victims of very similar circumstances.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and heaved open the heavy wooden door, only to collide with the person standing on the step. I am terribly sorry, Innes said.
No, it was my fault.
She stood aside, and as she did so, he saw tears glistening on her lashes. Mortified, she saw him noticing, and scrubbed at her eyes with her glove, averting her face as she pushed past him.
Wait! Instinctively knowing she would not, Innes caught her arm. Madam, you are upset.
She glared at him, shaking herself free of his reflexive grip. I am not upset. Not that its any of your business, but I am very far beyond upset. I am...
Furious, Innes finished for her with a wry smile. I know how you feel.
I doubt it.
Her eyes were hazel, wide-spaced and fringed with very long lashes. She was not pretty, definitely not one of those soft, pliant females with rosebud mouths and doe-like gazes, but he was nonetheless drawn to her. She eyed him sceptically, a frown pulling her rather fierce brows together. She was not young either, perhaps in her late twenties, and there was intelligence as well as cynicism in her face. Then there was her mouth. No, not a rosebud, but soft all the same when it ought to be austere, with a hint of humour and more than a hint of sensuality. He noticed that, and with some surprise, noticed that hed noticed, that his eyes had wandered down, over the slim figure in the drab grey coat, taking a rapid inventory of the limited view and wanting to see more, and that surprised him, too.
Innes Drummond. He introduced himself because he could think of nothing else to say, and because he didnt want her to go. Her brows lifted haughtily in response. For some reason, it made her look younger. A fellow victim of the law, of his father and of a trust, he added. Though Im not encumbered with a wife, spendthrift or otherwise.
You were listening in to a private conversation between myself and Mr Thomson.
Ought I to have pretended not to hear? The tone of your voice made that rather difficult.
She gave a dry little laugh. A tone I feel sure Mr Thomson found most objectionable. Bloody lawyers. Damned law. You see, I can swear as well as shout, though I assure you, I am not usually the type who does either.
Innes laughed. I really do know how you feel, you know.
She smiled tightly. You are a man, Mr Drummond. It is simply not possible. Now, if you will excuse me?
Where are you going? Once again, he had spoken without thinking, wanting only to detain her. Once again her brows rose, more sharply this time. I only meant that if you had no urgent business But I spoke out of turn. Perhaps your husband is expecting you?
My husband is dead, Mr Drummond, and though his dying has left me quite without resources, still I cannot be sorry for it.
You dont mince your words, do you, Mrs McBrayne?
Though he was rather shocked at this callous remark, Innes spoke flippantly. She did not smile, however, nor take umbrage, but instead paled slightly. I speak my mind. My opinions may be unpalatable, but at least in expressing them, there can be no pretending that I have none.
Nor, Innes thought, could there be any denying that a wealth of bitter experience lay behind her words. He was intrigued. If you are in no rush, Id very much like it if you would take a glass of something with me. I promise I dont mean anything in the least improper, he added hurriedly, I merely thought it would be pleasantcathartic, I dont knowto let off steam with a kindred spirit Her astonished expression forced him to break off. Forget it. Its been an awful day, an awful few weeks, but I shouldnt have asked.
He made to tip his hat, but once again she surprised him, this time with a faint smile. Never mind weeks, Ive had an awful few months. No, make that years. The only reason Ive not taken to drink already is that I suspect Id take to it rather too well.
I suspect that you do anything well that you set your mind to, Mrs McBrayne. You strike me as a most determined female.
Do I? I am now, though it is by far too late, for no matter how determined I am to get myself out of this mess, in truth I can see no solution.
Save to sell yourself down the Cowgate? I hope it doesnt come to that.
She gave him what could only be described as a challenging look. Why, are you afraid I will not make sufficient to earn my keep?
What on earth do you know of such things? Innes asked, torn between shock and laughter.
Oh, I have my sources. And I have an umbrella, she added confusingly.
She spoke primly, but there was devilment in her eyes, and the smile she was biting back was doing strange things to his guts. You are outrageous, Mrs McBrayne, Innes said.
Dont you believe me?
I have no idea what to make of you, and right at this moment, I dont really care. You made me laugh, and honestly, after what that lawyer told me, I didnt think that was possible.
Her smile softened sympathetically. It sounds like I am not the only one in need of a dram, she said. Why not! Ive nothing at home waiting for me except final demands and most likely a few bailiffs. Buy me a drink, Mr Drummond, and we can compare our woes, though I warn you now that mine will far outweigh yours.
* * *
Ainsley McBrayne wondered what on earth had come over her. There had been ample time in the short walk from Parliament Square over the North Bridge for her to change her mind, but she had not. Now here she was, in a secluded corner of the coffee room at the Waterloo Hotel, waiting while a complete stranger bribed one of the waiting staff to bring the pair of them something stronger than tea.
She had surrendered her coat at the door, and her bonnet, too, for they were both wet with that soft, mist-like mizzle that was not quite rain, in which Edinburgh specialised. Her hair, which even on the best of days was reluctant to succumb to the curling iron, was today bundled up into a careless chignon at her nape, and no doubt by now straggling equally carelessly out of it. On a good day, she would tell herself it was chestnut in colour, for it was not red enough to rate auburn, and she was fairly certain there was no such thing as mahogany hair. Today, it was brown, plain and simple and the colour of her mood. At least her gown was one of her better ones. Navy blue worked with silver-grey stylised flowers formed into a linking pattern, the full skirts contrasted with the tightly fitted bodice, with its long narrow sleeves and shawl neck. The narrow belt showed off her slender waist; the crossover pleating at the neck was cut just low enough to allow a daring glimpse of bosom. It had been designed to be worn with a demure white blouse, but this morning Ainsley hadnt been interested in looking demure. This morning she had not, however, intended to take off her coat. Now, she tugged self-consciously at the pleated shawl collar in an effort to pull it a little closer.
She had been angry when she left the lawyers office, though she should not have been, but it seemed, despite all, that shed not managed to lower her expectations quite enough. There had been a tiny modicum of hope left in her heart, and shed been furious at herself for that. Hence the tears. Stupid tears. If Mr Innes Drummond had not seen those stupid tears, hed more than likely have gone on his way and she wouldnt be here. Instead, shed be at home. Alone. Or in the company of yet another bailiff. And it wasnt going to be her home for much longer. So she might as well be here. With a complete stranger. About to imbibe strong liquor, just like one of the loose women shed claimed she would become.
Not that that was so far-fetched either, given the state of things, except one thing she was absolutely sure about was that she had no talents whatsoever for that sort of thing. In fact, she had not even the skill to interest a man if he didnt have to pay, if her husband was anything to go by.
Ainsley sighed. Second to tears, she hated self-pity. Giving her collar a final twitch, she forced herself to relax. Mr Drummond was still conferring with the waiter, so she took the chance to study him. His hair, which was cut unfashionably short, was glossily black. He was a good-looking man; there was no doubt about it, with a clean-shaven jaw, and none of the side whiskers gentlemen preferred these days. A high forehead spoke of intelligence, and lines fanning out from his eyes and forming a deep groove from nose to mouth spoke of experience. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, perhaps five years older than herself. A confident man, and well dressed in his dark coat and trousers, his linen impeccably white. Judging by appearances, money was not one of his worries. But then, if one could have judged John by appearances, money had not been one of his worries either. Not that her husband had ever been at all worried by moneyor the lack of. No, that was not true. Those sullen silences of his spoke volumes. And latterly, so, too, did his habit of simply disappearing when she challenged him.
Ainsley sighed again, irked with herself. She was absolutely sick and tired of thinking about John. Across the room, Mr Drummond, having concluded his business with the waiter, glanced up and smiled at her. His eyes, under heavy dark brows, were a deep, vivid blue. She felt it then, what she had ignored before, a tug of something quite basic. Attraction. It made her stomach do a silly little flutter. It made her pulses skitter and it made her mouth dry, that smile of his, and the complicit look that accompanied it, as if the pair of them were in cahoots. It made her forget her anger at the injustice of her situation, and it reminded her that though she might well be a penniless widow with debts so terrifying they could not be counted, she was also a woman who had not known the touch of a man for a long time. And this man, this Mr Innes Drummond, who was seating himself opposite her, this man, she was pretty certain, would know exactly how to touch her.
So, ladies first.
Colour flooded her face. She stared at him blankly, horrified at the turn her mind had taken, praying that none of those shocking thoughts were visible on her countenance I beg your pardon?
Your tale of woe, Mrs McBrayne. You tell me yours, and then Ill tell you mine, and we can decide which of us is worst off.
He had very long legs. They were stretched out to the side of the table that separated them. Well-made legs. Not at all spindly. And really rather broad shoulders. Well built, that was the phrase she was looking for. Athletic, even. And yes, his face and hands were rather tanned, as if he spent a deal of his life out of doors. What is it you do? she asked. I meando youare you a resident here in Edinburgh? Only, you do have an accent, but I cannot place it.
Instead of taking offence, or pointing out that she had changed the subject, Innes Drummond gave a little shrug. Im originally from the Highlands, Argyll on the west coast, though Ive lived in England most of my adult life. Im an engineer, Mrs McBrayne.
A practical man.
He smiled. You approve.
I do. It is none of my business, butyes. She smiled back. What do you build?
Railway lines. Tunnels. Canals. Bridges and aqueducts. There is a very high demand for all these things, thanks to the steam locomotive. Though I dont actually build the things myself, I design them. And even that Business is very good, Mrs McBrayne. I am afraid I employ a rather large number of men to do most of the real work while I spend too much of my time in the boardroom, though I still like to think of myself as an engineer.
A very successful one, by the sounds of it. I did not think that money could be an issue with you.
He gave her an enigmatic look before turning his attention to pouring them both a glass of whisky from the decanter that the waiter had deposited. Sl?inte! he said, touching her glass with his.
Sl?inte! Ainsley took a sip. It was a good malt, peaty and smoky, warming. She took another sip.
I take it, then, that money is an issue for you, Innes Drummond said.
She nodded. He waited, watching her, turning his glass round and round in his hand. One of the many things shed learned from her marriage had been how to keep her own counseland how to keep her own secrets. Her failures, and the trusting, timid nature that had contributed to them, made her ashamed. She confided in no one, not even Felicity, and Felicity was the best friend she had. But confiding in this stranger, what harm could it do? Whatever had brought him to Edinburgh, he wasnt likely to be stopping long. Ifhoweverhe judged her, shed be spared the pain of seeing it. Who knew, perhaps articulating her problems might even help her see a path to resolving them.
Catching sight of her wedding band, Ainsley tucked her left hand into the folds of her gown. It is money, she said, it comes down to money, and though I tell myself its not fair, for I did not spend the money, I know at heart its just as much my fault as his.
* * *
Mrs McBrayne took another sip of whisky. Dutch courage, she said, recklessly finishing the amber liquid and replacing the glass on the table before straightening her back and taking an audible breath. Innes wondered what on earth was to come, and wondered if he should stop her confidences, but dismissed this idea immediately. She was steeling herself, which meant she wanted to talk. Besides, he was interested, and it was good to have his mind concentrate on someone elses woes rather than his own for a while. He took a cautious sip of his own whisky and waited.
I will need to go back a bit, she said. Are you sure you want to hear this? When he nodded, she smiled an on-your-head-be-it kind of smile. So, she said, I met my husband, John McBrayne, when I was twenty. Nearly a decade ago. He was very much the gentleman, respectable, handsome, presentable, popular. She counted her husbands assets off on her fingers. He was also what they call a charmer, and I was charmed. I met him at the Assembly Rooms. He was the friend of a friend. He seemed to be a man of means. Within six months, he had proposed, and I was delighted. I was happy. I was in love. Another smile, only this one was a bitter little twist. John spoke to my father. My father asked me if I was sure, he told me there was no hurry, that if I wanted to change my mindbut I didnt, and I didnt thinkI thought Papa was just being his usual cautious self, thats all. He was always polite to John, never said a word against him to me, and But Im getting ahead of myself.
Innes swallowed the rest of his malt. Do you want another? he asked, indicating her glass, and when Mrs McBrayne shook her head, resisted the urge to pour one for himself. Go on.
We were happy. I find I have to remind myself of that, but for a year or so we were happy. Then the bills started to go unpaid, and when I asked John, he told me not to worry. But I did, and when I eventually looked into matters properly, I discovered we owed a monstrous amount. My husband was furious when he found out that I knew, he told me it was a temporary situation, he told meach, he told me all sorts, and I believed some of it, because I wanted to. Id never enquired about his income until then, I had assumed my fatherbut there, you see, Im putting the blame on others when it was my own fault. I should have asked right at the start. I should have made it my business, but by the time I did, it was too late.
You mean that by that time, your husbands debts were unmanageable?
I mean it was too late for me to persuade my husband that his debts were not only his business but mine, too, Mrs McBrayne responded wryly. I think I will have another, if you dont mind.
She was pale despite the whisky, her mouth thinned, her eyes focused inwards. When she sipped her drink, her hand trembled. Noticing that, she placed the glass carefully down. It was a common enough tale, but the way she told it was not at all common. Her feelings ran very deep. Innes was struggling to understand why.
I told you you wouldnt understand, she said, taking him aback by seeming to read his thoughts.
He made no attempt to deny it. Explain it, then, Innes said.
Imagine how you would feel if someone else was given control of your business. Imagine how youd feel if they could make decisions about it over your head, without consulting you. Decisions that had consequences for you, but that you had no say in. Now imagine that at first you dont realise this is going on. Then when you do realise, and you challenge this person, they tell you that theyre only doing what is expected of them. Then they tell you that youve no right to challenge them. And then they simply turn a cold shoulder. As a businessman, you can do something about it. You can even take action in court, if that persons been fraudulent. As a wife... Mrs McBrayne spread her hands and gave him another of those bitter smiles. As a wife, you can choose to make both your lives a misery with constant nagging, or you can put up and shut up. What you cant do is change a thing. Not a single damn thing.
Innes felt slightly sick. Having sworn all those years ago never to marry, he had never actually considered the state of matrimony from any point of view. Mrs McBraynes perspective was horrible, and all the more so for the almost cool way she described it. Almost coolfor he was willing to bet that her fist was tightly clenched in the folds of her gown, and there was hurt in those hazel eyes as well as anger. He felt angry on her behalf, though he knew her husband had done nothing that society would condemn. In fact, more likely society would condone, for a man was expected to take care of his wife, and a wifewas it true, that a woman was expected simply to put up and shut up, as Mrs McBrayne so succinctly put it?
Innes put his glass down, and ran an agitated hand through his hair. Youre right, if I were in such a situation It sounds intolerable.
And yet I bore it, she said bitterly. I wonder if things would have been different had I not. I thought of leaving him, but lack of funds made that impractical, and I would not go to my father. Edinburgh might appear to be a large town, but in practice it is not much more than a village. My leaving my husbands protection would have caused quite a scandal. Besides, I was I was ashamed. She glared at him as she said this. I was under the misapprehension that if Id behaved differently I could have changed my husband, she said. It took me some time to realise that since he would never change, then I must.
She concluded with a small, satisfied smile that made Innes wonder how, exactly, she had changed and what, exactly, the effect had been on her spendthrift husband, but before he could ask, her smile had faded. She took a sip of whisky. Her hand was quite steady now. I remained with my husband, but matters between us were extremely strained. John devoted himself to myriad schemes he found to lose money, and II pursued a new interest of my own which was distracting and made me feel not quite so useless, but ultimately, I was burying my head in the sand. And then my father died, and his will dealt our marriage a death blow.
The trust?
She nodded. I discovered later that John had asked him for money. Neither of them saw fit to inform me of that fact. Her eyes blazed. My own father! I thought he trusted me. I thought But there, I was wrong. Money is a matter for the man of the house, apparently. The fire disappeared from her eyes as quickly as it had come. To cut a long and tedious story short, my father changed his will so that my entire inheritance was put into trust for my first child. He did not specify the sex, so at least I should be grateful for thatnot that it makes any difference, since there is no child. When John found out, he... Her voice wavered, but she quickly got it back under control. He was furious. He wanted to break the trust. He wanted me to find a way to break the trust, to use the law to go against my own fathers wishes. It was not exactly conducive to marital harmony. Not that there was much of that by then. When I wouldnt cooperatewell, it seems I didnt have to, for what was mine was actually my husbands. Fortunately for my fathers wishes, though not so fortunately for my husband and his creditors, the trust could not be broken. And then my husband died.
Her voice was hard. Obviously, the love shed felt for the man she had married was long gone. How? Innes asked, wondering fleetingly if she was about to confess to killing him. There was a bit of him that would not have been surprised. A bit of him that would have approved.
Pleurisy, she replied. They found him dead drunk down in the Cowgate, out cold in a puddle. Heaven knows how long hed been there or where hed been before. He had not been home for three days.
Was that what shed meant when she implied she knew more than any respectable woman ought, about the women who plied their business in that scurrilous area? He wanted to ask, but he didnt want to distract her. Despite the sorry tale shed told him, she was defiant, and he couldnt help but admire her for that. I take it then, that your husband left you with nothing? Innes said.
Nothing but debts. Not even my jointure, for it was to be sourced from investments that are now worthless. There is a mortgage on our house that becomes due in a month, a year after his death, and my fathers trust is so watertight that, as Mr Thomson confirmed this morning, not even my utter ruin can break it. But you know, its not even the money that bothers me. Its the extent to which I have been kept in the darkallowed myself to be kept in the darknot just by John, but by my father. It makes me feel about this size. Mrs McBrayne held her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. Thats how much of a say they gave me in my own life.
I am sure your father meant only to protect you.
Because Im nothing but a frail female without a mind of my own? she snapped. It made me wonder how many hundreds, thousands more of us poor wee souls there are out there, living life blindfolded.
You make it sound like a conspiracy.
Thats because it feels like one, and not even Madame He...
Madame He?
Never mind. Mrs McBrayne shook her head and picked up her glass, swirled the contents, then replaced it without drinking. I beg your pardon. I did not mean to become so emotional. I have made my bed, as they say, and now I must lie on it. Or not, for it is to be sold. She smiled tightly. Like all sorry tales, this one comes with a moral. Whatever happens, I shall never again allow anyone to make my decisions for me. For good or ill, my fate will be of my own determination in the future. And now that is quite enough of me. It is your turn.
He had a hundred questions, but she had folded her hands and her lips together, and was making a great show of listening. Innes was not fooled. Her eyes were overbright, her fingers too tightly clasped. She had taken quite a battering, one way or another. A lesser woman would have cried, or flung herself on some mans mercy. He could not imagine Mrs McBrayne doing either. He wanted to cheer her. He wanted to tell her she would be fine, absolutely fine. He was very tempted to offer her money, but she would be mortified, to say nothing of the fact that he was pretty certain shed also see it merely as a transfer of obligation, and he didnt want her to feel beholden. What he wanted was for her to be free. It wasnt so much that he felt sorry for her, though he railed at the injustice of it all, but he feltyes, that was itan affinity.
What have I said to make you smile?
Your situation, Mrs McBrayne, has struck a great many chords.
I do not see how. I dont know you, but you have told me yourself youre a self-made man and a success. Men such as you will never brook any interference in your life.
Actually, thats not true. Unfortunately, I know very well indeed what its like to have someone else try to bind you to their rules, to dictate your life without you having a say.
He was pleased to see that he had surprised her. What do you mean? she asked.
Did I not say at the outset that we are both the victims of fathers and trusts? Innes replied. Its a strange coincidence, but I while you were consulting Thomson on the finer points of your fathers will, I was consulting Ballard on the very same thing. I too have been left the victim of a trust fund, only my fathers intention was not to protect me but to call me to heel, and unlike your trust, mine can be broken, though only in a very particular way.
What way, Mr Drummond?
Innes smiled thinly. Marriage, Mrs McBrayne. An institution that I assure you, I abhor every bit as much as you do yourself.
Chapter Two (#ulink_77a3a42f-24fb-54e4-beb9-0eeee82499c1)
Ainsley stared at him in astonishment. Your fathers will sets up a trust that requires you to marry?
No, it establishes a trust to control the family lands that will remain in effect until I marry, Innes replied.
Lands? She only just managed to prevent her jaw dropping. As inwhat, a country estate?
A little more than that. Im not sure what the total acreage is, but there are about twenty tenanted farms as well as the home farm and the castle.
Good heavens, Mr Drummonda castle! And about twenty farms. Is there a title, too?
He shook his head. My father was known as the laird of Strone Bridge, but it was just a courtesy.
Laird. The title conjured up a fierce Highland patriarch. Ainsley eyed the impeccably dressed gentleman opposite her and discovered it was surprisingly easy to imagine him in a plaid, carrying a claymore. Though without the customary beard. She didnt like beards. And these lands, they are in Argyll, did you say?
When he nodded Ainsley frowned in puzzlement. Forgive me, Mr Drummond, but did you not tell me you had spent most of your life in England? Surely as the heir to such a substantial propertyI know nothing of such things, mind youbut I thought it would have been customary for you to have lived on the estate?
His countenance hardened. I was not the heir.
Oh?
She waited, unwilling to prompt him further, for he looked quite forbidding. Innes Drummond took a sip of whisky, grimaced and put the glass back down on the table. Dutch courage, he said, with a shadow of her own words and her own grim little smile. I had a brother. Malcolm. He was the heir. It is as you saidhe lived on the estate. Lived and breathed it, more like, for he loved the place. Strone Bridge was his world.
He stared down at his glass, his mouth turned down in sorrow. But it was not your world? Ainsley asked gently.
It was never meant for me. I was the second son. As far as my father was concerned, that meant second best, and while Malcolm was alive, next to useless, Mrs McBrayne.
He stared down at his glass, such a bleak look on his face that she leaned over to press his hand. My name is Ainsley.
I dont think Ive heard that before.
An old family name, she said.
He gave her a very fleeting smile as his fingers curled around hers. Then you must call me Innes, he said. Another old family name, though it is not usually that of the laird. One condition I have been spared. My father did not specify that I change my name to Malcolm. Even he must have realised that would have been a step too far. Though, then again, it may simply have been that he thought me as unworthy of the name as the lands.
He spoke viciously enough to make Ainsley recoil. You sound as though you hate him.
Rather, the boot was on the other foot. He said it jeeringly. She wondered what hurt lay behind those words, but Innes was already retreating, patently regretting what he had revealed. We did not see eye to eye, he tempered. Some would call him a traditionalist. Everyone had a place in his world. I did not take to the one he allotted me. When I finally decided to forge my own way, we fell out.
Ainsley could well imagine it. Innes was obviously a man with a very strong will, a modern man and an independent one who clearly thrived in the industrial world. It would be like two stags clashing. She wondered what the circumstances had been that had caused what was obviously a split, but curious as she was, she had no wish to rile him further. Tell me about the trust, she said. Why must you marry, and what happens if you do not?
Innes stared down at his hand, the one she had so abruptly released, his eyes still dark with pain. As to why, that is obvious. The Strone Bridge estate has been passed through the direct line back as far as records exist, and I am the last of the line. He wanted an heir.
But he only specified that you must take a wife? That seems rather odd.
We Drummonds have proved ourselves potent over the generations. My father no doubt assumed that even such an undeserving son as I would not fail in that most basic of tasks, Innes said sarcastically.
You dont want children?
I dont want a wife, and in my book, one must necessarily precede the other.
This time Ainsleys curiosity overcame her caution. Why are you so against marriage? she asked. You dont strike me as a man who hates my sex.
You dont strike me as a woman who hates men, yet you dont want to get married again.
It is a case of once bitten with me.
While I have no intentions of being bitten for a first time, Innes retorted. I dont need anyone other than myself to order my life, and I certainly dont want to rely on anyone else to make me happy.
He spoke with some vehemence. He spoke as if there was bitter experience behind his words. As there was, too, behind hers. Your fathers will has put you in an impossible situation, then, Ainsley said.
As has yours, Innes replied tersely. What happens to your trust if you have no children?
It reverts to me when I am forty and presumably deemed to be saying my prayers. She could not keep the bitterness from her voice. She had loved her father, but his unwitting condemnation of her was still difficult to take. I have only to discover a way of avoiding my husbands creditors and surviving without either a roof over my head or food in my belly for the next ten years in order to inherit, since I have no intentions of marrying again.
Nor any intention of producing a child out of wedlock, I take it? No need to look so shocked, Innes said, it was a joke.
A poor one.
Im sorry.
She forced a smile. I do not really intend to sell myself down the Cowgate, you know.
Innes covered her hand. Are your debts really so bad?
There will certainly still be sufficient of them to pay off when I finally do come into my inheritance, she said.
His fingers tightened around hers. I wish I could be of some help to you.
You have been, simply by listening, Ainsley replied, flustered by the sympathy in his look. She no longer expected sympathy. She had come to believe she did not deserve it. A problem shared and all that, she said with a small smile.
Its a damnable situation.
He seemed much bigger, this close. There was something terribly comforting in those broad shoulders, in the way his hand enveloped hers, in the way he was looking at her, not with pity at all but with understanding. Close-up, his irises were ringed with a very dark blue. She had never seen eyes quite that colour.
Realising her thoughts were once more straying down a most inappropriate path, Ainsley dropped her gaze. If my father had not left my money in trust, my husband would have spent it by now, and Id have nothing to look forward to in what he clearly thought of as my forty-year-old dotage. The money might have postponed my husbands demise, but I doubt very much it would have been for more than a few years, and frankly I dont think I could have borne a few more years married to him.
I confess, at one point I thought you were going to tell me you had killed him yourself, Innes said.
Ainsley laughed. I may not be the timid wee mouse he married, but I dont think Ive become a monster.
I think you are a wonder. She looked up, surprised by the warmth in his tone, and her pulses began to race as he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. There was no mistaking it for one of those polite, social, nothing kisses. His mouth lingered on her skin, his lips warm, his eyes looking deep into hers for long, long seconds. You are a most remarkable woman, Ainsley McBrayne.
Thank you. I Thank you.
I really do wish there was some way that I could help you, but I know better than to offer you money.
I really do wish there was a way I could accept it, butwell, there we are, I cannot, so there is no point in discussing it. In fact, we have talked far more about me than you. Im still not clear about what happens to your lands if you remain unmarried. What does this trust entail?
She was pleased with how she sounded. Not a tremor to betray the quickening of desire his lips had stirred, and she hoped the flush she could feel blooming had not reached her cheeks.
However Innes Drummond felt, and she would have dearly liked to have known, he took his cue from her. A trustee appointed by that lawyer, Ballard, to manage them, and all monies associated with them banked. I cant touch a penny of it without a wife, he replied, and even with a wife, I must also commit to living for a year on Strone Bridge.
Is it a great deal of money?
Innes shook his head. Ive no idea, since Im not even entitled to see the accounts, but the money isnt the point, I have plenty of my own. I havent a clue what state the place is in at all. It could be flourishing, it could have gone to rack and ruin, for all I know.
So the fall out between yourself and your father then, it was...
More like a complete break. I told you, he was an old-fashioned man. Do as I say, or get out of my sight.
Innes spoke lightly enough, but she was not fooled. How long is it since you were there?
Almost fourteen years. Since Malcolmsince I lost my brother. Innes shuddered, but recovered quickly. Youre wondering why Im so upset about the trust when Ive spent most of my adult life away from the place, he said.
I think this has all been much more of a shock than you realise, Ainsley answered cautiously.
Aye, mayhap youre right. His accent had softened, the Highland lilt much more obvious. I had no inkling the old man was ill, and hed no time to let me know. Not that I think he would have. Far better for me to be called to heel through that will of his from beyond the grave. I dont doubt hes looking downor maybe upand laughing at the mess hes put me in, Innes said. He knew just how it would stick in my craw, having to choose between relying on someone else to run what is mine or to take up the reins myself under such conditions. Be damned to him! I must find a way to break this trust. I will not let him issue decrees from beyond the grave.
He thumped his fist on the table, making his glass and Ainsley jump. Im beginning to think that your situation is worse than mine after all.
Ach, thats nonsense, for I at least dont have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. Its a sick coincidence, the way the pair of us are being punished by our parents, though, Innes said. What will you do?
Oh, Im beyond worrying right now. Ainsley waved her hand in the air dismissively. The question is, what will you do? If only you could find a woman to marry who has no interest in actually being your wife, your problems would be solved.
She spoke flippantly, more to divert his attention from her own tragic situation than anything, but Innes, who had been in the act of taking another sip of whisky, stopped, the glass halfway to his lips, an arrested look in his eyes. Say that again.
What? That you need to marry...
A woman who has no interest in being my wife, he finished for her with a dawning smile. A woman who is in need of a home, and has no fixed plans, who might actually be looking for a respite from her current life for a wee while. Youre right, thats exactly what I need, and I know exactly the woman.
You do? You cannot possible mean...
His smile had a wicked light in it. I do, Innes said. I mean you.
Ainsley was staring at him open-mouthed. Innes laughed. Think about it, its the ideal solution. In fact, it could almost be said that we are perfectly matched, since you have as little desire for a husband as I have for a wife.
She blinked at him owlishly. Are you drunk?
Certainly not.
Then I must be, for you cannot possibly be proposing marriage. Apart from the fact that weve only just met, I thought I had made it plain that I will neverabsolutely never againsurrender my independence.
Im not asking you to. Im actually making it easier for you to retain it, because if we get married, I can pay off all those debts that bastard of a husband of yours acquired and then you really will be free.
But Id be married to you.
In name only.
I owe a small fortune. I couldnt take it from you just for the price of putting my name on a bit of paper.
Youd have to come with me to Strone Bridge. The clause that specified my spending a year there doesnt actually include my wife, but all the same, I think youd have to come with me for a wee while, at least.
That would not be a problem since, as you have already deduced, Im going to be homeless very shortly, and would appreciate a change of scene, but I simply couldnt think of accepting such a huge amount of money and give so little in return.
What if you saw it as a wage? Innes asked, frowning.
For what?
A fee, paid for professional services, he said, and a retainer to be paid in addition each year until you are forty, which you could pay me back if you wish, when you eventually inherit, though there is no need.
But Im not a professional. Her eyes widened. You cannot possibly mean I told you, I was joking about the Cowgate.
Innes laughed. Not that! I meant a business professional. She was now looking utterly bewildered. Innes grinned. The more I think about it, the more I see how perfect it is. No, wait. He caught her as she made to get up. I promise you, Im neither drunk nor mad. Listen.
Ainsley sat down, folding her arms, a sceptical look on her face. Five minutes.
He nodded. Think about it as a business proposal, he said. First of all, think of the common ground. To begin with, you need to pay off your debts and I am rich enough to be able to do so easily. Second, you are a widow, and I need a wife. Since we are neither of us in the least bit interested, now or ever, in marrying someone else...
How can you be so sure of that?
How can you? He waited, but she made no answer, so he gave a satisfied nod. You see? We are of one mind on that. And we are of one mind on another thing, which is our determination to make our own way in life. If you let me pay off your debts, I can give you the freedom to do that, and if you marry me, youll be freeing me to make up my own mind on what to door notabout my inheritance.
But well be tied to one another.
In name only, Ainsley. Tied by a bit of paper, which is no more than a contract.
Contracts require payment. What professional services can you possibly imagine I can provide?
An objective eye. An unbiased opinion. I need both. Innes shifted uncomfortably. Not advice, precisely, he said.
Because you do not like to take advice, do you?
Are you mocking me?
Another thing youre not used to, obviously. Ainsley smiled. Not mocking, teasing. Im a little rusty. What is it, then, that involves my giving you my unbiased and objective opinion without advising you?
When you put it like that! He was forced to smile. What Im trying to say is, Id like you to come to Strone Bridge with me. Not to make my decisions, but to make sure when I do make them, Im doing so without prejudice.
Is that possible? Its your birthright, Innes.
He shook his head vehemently. Thats the point. Its not. It pains me to admit it, but I dont know much about it, and I havent a clue what I want to do with it. Live there. Sell it. Put in a manager. I dont know, and I wont know until I go there, and even when I dowhat do you say?
Thats the price? Thats the professional services Im to render in order to have my life back?
You think its too great a cost? Innes said, deflated.
Ainsley smiled. Then she laughed. I think its a bargain.
You do? You understand, Strone Bridge is like to bewell, very different from Edinburgh.
A change from Edinburgh, a place to take stock, is, as you pointed out, exactly what I need.
Im not asking you to stay the full year. A few months, until Ive seen my way clear, thats all. And though Im asking you toto consult with me, that does not mean Ill necessarily take your advice, Innes cautioned.
Im used to that. Ainsleys smile faded momentarily, but then brightened. Though being asked is a step in the right direction, and I will at least have the opportunity of putting my point across.
Glancing at the decanter of whisky, the level of which had unmistakably fallen by more than a couple of drams, Innes wondered if he was drunk after all. Hed just proposed marriage to a complete stranger. A stranger with a sorry tale, whose courage and strength of mind he admired, but he had met her only a couple of hours ago all the same. Yet it didnt seem to matter. He was drawn to her, had been drawn to her from that first moment when shed stormed out of the lawyers office, and it wasnt just the bizarre coincidence of their situations. He liked what he saw of her, and admired what he heard. That he also found her desirable was entirely beside the point. His instincts told him that theyd fare well together, and his instincts were never wrong. So we are agreed? Innes asked.
Ainsley tapped her index fingers together, frowning. Were complete strangers, she said, reflecting his own thoughts. Do you think well be able to put on enough of a show to persuade your people that this isnt a marriage of convenience?
Im not in the habit of concerning myself with what other people think.
Dont be daft. Youll be thetheirlaird, Innes. Of course theyll be concerned.
She was in the right of it, but he had no intentions of accepting that fact. He was not the laird. The laird was dead, and so, too, was his heir. Innes would not be branded. They must take meusas they find us, he said. Ainsley was still frowning. Strone Bridge Castle is huge. If its having to rub shoulders with me on a daily basis youre worried about, I assure you, we could go for weeks without seeing each other if we wanted.
That is hardly likely to persuade people were living in domestic bliss.
I doubt domestic bliss is a concept that any laird of Strone Bridge is familiar with. My ancestors married for the getting of wealth and the getting of bairns.
Then that puts an end to our discussion. Ainsley got to her feet and began to head for the door of the coffee room.
Innes threw down some money on the table and followed her, pulling her into a little alcove in the main reception area of the hotel. I dont want either of those things from you. I dont want to be like them, he said earnestly. Cant you see, thats the point?
This is madness.
He gave her arm a little shake, forcing her eyes to meet his. Madness would be to do what youre doing, and thats walking away from the perfect solution. Stop thinking about what could go wrong, think about what it will put right. Freedom, Ainsley. Think about that.
Her mouth trembled on the brink of a smile. I confess, its a very attractive idea.
So youll do it?
Her smile broadened. The light had come back into her eyes. I feel sure there are a hundred reasons why I should walk very quickly in the other direction.
But you will not? He was just close enough for her skirts to brush his trousers, to smell the scent of her soap, of the rain in her hair. She made no attempt to free herself, holding his gaze, that smile just hovering, tempting, challenging. Tension quivered between them. You would regret it if you did, Innes said.
Do you know, Mr Innes Drummond, I think you may well be right.
Her voice was soft, there was a tiny shiver in it, and a shiver, too, when he slid his hands from her shoulders down her arms, closing the space between them and lowering his mouth to hers. It was the softest of kisses, the briefest of kisses, but it was a kiss. A very adult kiss, which could easily have become so much more. Lips, tongues, caressed, tasted. Heat flared and they both instinctively recoiled, for it was the kind of heat that could burn.
Ainsley put her hand to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at him. Innes looked, he suspected, every bit as shocked as she. Im sorry, he said.
Are you?
Not really, but I promise that was not in any way part of the bargain Im proposing.
She slanted him a look he could not interpret as she disentangled herself from his loose embrace. That was merely the product of too much whisky on top of too much emotional upheaval. It was like aa valve to release the steam pressure on one of those steam engines you build bridges and tunnels for, nothing more.
He laughed. He couldnt help it, because she was right in a way, and she was quite wrong in another, but in every way she was wholly unexpected and a breath of much-needed fresh air. Im thinking that my return to Strone Bridge is going to be a source of constant emotional upheaval, Innes said. We might need to do a lot of kissing.
Youre an engineer, Ainsley replied primly, though her eyes were sparkling. I suggest you invent a different kind of safety valve for yourself.
* * *
Ainsley, what a nice surprise. Felicity Blair, editor of the Scottish Ladies Companion, greeted her friend with a warm smile, waving her into the shabby chair on the other side of the huge desk that dominated her tiny office. Ive just been reading Madame Heras latest advice. I am not at all sure we can publish this reply, not least because its rather long.
Which one is that? Ainsley asked.
In response, Felicity picked up a piece of paper from the collection that Ainsley recognised shed handed in to the office a week ago, and began to read:
Dear Anxious Miss,
Simply because you are more mature than the average bride-to-beand I do not consider two-and-thirty to be so olddoes not mean that you are exempt from the trepidation natural to one in your position. You are, when all is said and done, setting sail into unchartered waters. To put it plainly, no matter how well you think you might know your intended, you should be prepared for the state of matrimony to alter him significantly, for he will have secured his prize, and will no longer be required to woo you. This might mean calm, tranquil seas. But it might prove to be a stormy passage.
My advice is to start the way you mean to go on and take charge of the rudder! Give no quarter, Anxious Miss; let your husband see that he cannot set the course of the matrimonial vessel to suit only himself. Do not allow yourself to be subsumed by his nature nor his dictates simply because you have assumed his name. Do not allow your nerves, your maidenly modesty or your sex to intimidate you. Speak up for yourself from the first, and set a precedent that, if not immediately, will, I am sure, eventually earn your husbands respect.
As to the more intimate matters with which you are concerned. You say your intended has indicated a lack of experience, and you are worried that this mightonce again, I will revert to the seafaring metaphorresult in the becalming of the good ship wedlock. First, I would strongly advise you to muster your courage and have a frank chat about the mechanics of your wedding night with a married lady friend, thus eliminating the shock of the complete unknown. Second, I would advise you equally strongly to give your husband no inclination that you come to the wedding night armed with such information, lest he find it emasculating. Third, remember, if he really is as innocent as he claims, he will be as nervous as you. But he is a man, Anxious Miss, and thus a little flattery, some feminine admiration and a pliant female body, will ensure the success of your maiden voyage.
Good luck!
Madame Hera
Ainsley smiled doubtfully. I admit, the sailing metaphor is rather trite, but if I had not used it, I would have been forced to invent something else equally silly, else you would have deemed it too vulgar to print.
At least you did not surrender to the obvious temptation to talk about dry docks in the context of the wedding night, Felicity replied acerbically.
No, because such a shocking thing did not occur to me, Ainsley replied, laughing. Though to be serious for a moment, it is becoming quite a challenge for Madame Hera to advise without entirely hiding her meaning behind the veil of polite euphemisms. The whole point of the column is to provide practical help.
Felicity set the letter down. Ive been pondering that very issue myself. You know how limited the space is for Madames column each month, yet we are now receiving enough correspondence to fill the entire magazine.
Arent you pleased? I know I am. It is proof that I was absolutely right about the need for such a thing, and you were absolutely right to take the chance to publish it.
Yes, the volume of mail is a true testament to the quality of Madames advice but, Ainsley, the problem is we cant publish most of it, for our readers would consider the subjects far too warm. Even with your shipping metaphor, that reply to Anxious Miss is sailing close to the wind. Oh, good grief, youve got me at it now! Felicity adjusted the long ink-stained cuffs that protected her blouse. Im glad you stopped by, because Ive got an idea Id like to discuss. You know it will be exactly two years since we launched Madame Heras column next month?
Of course I do. It had been the first step away from self-pity towards self-sufficiency Ainsley had taken. She remembered it vividlythe thrill of dreaming up the idea after one particularly dispiriting evening with her husband. Its funny, she said to Felicity, at first it was the secret of Madames existence that I enjoyed most, knowing I had something all mine that John knew nothing about. But these days, it is the hope that some of Madame Heras advice actually helps the women who write to her that I relish. Though of course, one can never really know if one has helped.
You do, Felicity said firmly. You know you do, just by providing an ear. Now, as I said, there are a great deal more people asking for Madames advice than we can cover in our column, which brings me to my idea. A more personal service.
What on earth do you mean by that? Ainsley wondered, for a startled moment, if her friend had somehow heard of her remark about earning a living in the Cowgate the other day.
Felicity gave a gurgle of laughter. Your face! I do not mean anything immoral, never fear. I mean a personal letter service. For a price, of course, for matters of a more sensitive nature, we can offer a personal response from Madame. Well split the fee between the journal and yourself, naturally. Depending on how many you can answer in a month Id say your earnings from the journal could triple at least. What do you say?
Im getting married, Ainsley blurted out.
Felicitys dark brown eyes opened so wide as to appear quite round. Youre doing what?
I know, its a shock, but its not what you think. I can explain, Ainsley said, wondering now if she could. Shed hardly slept a wink these past few nights wondering if she had been an idiot, and coming here this morning had been a test shed set herself, for if practical, outspoken, radical Felicity thought it was a good idea...
* * *
Half an hour and what seemed like a hundred questions later, her friend sat back at her desk, rummaging absent-mindedly for the pencil she had, as usual, lost in her heavy chignon of hair. And youre absolutely sure that this Mr Drummond has no ulterior motives?
As sure as I can be. Hes started the process of paying all of Johns debts.
At least youd no longer be obliged to call yourself by that mans name. Does he include the mortgage on Wemyss Place in the debts?
Ainsley shook her head. Innes wanted to pay it, but as far as Im concerned, the creditors can have the house. It has nothing but unhappy memories for me. Besides, I have every intention of repaying it all when I inherit my trust fund, and that mortgage would take up nearly all of it.
So, you are going to be a Highland lady. The chatelaine of a real Scottish castle. Felicity chuckled. How will you like that, I wonder? Youve never been out of Edinburgh.
Its only a temporary thing, until Innes decides what he wants to do with the place.
And how long will that take?
I dont know. Weeks. Months? No more, though he must remain there for a year. Im looking forward to the change of scenery. And to feeling useful.
It all sounds too good to be true. Sadly, in my experience, things that are too good to be true almost always are, Felicity said drily.
Do you think its a mistake?
I dont know. I think youre half-mad, but youve had a raw deal of it these past few years, and Ive not seen you this animated for a long time. Perhaps getting away from Edinburgh will be good for you. Felicity finally located her pencil and pulled it out of her coiffure, along with a handful of bright copper hair. What is he like, this laird? Are you sure hell not turn into some sort of savage Highlander wholl drag you off to his lair and have his wicked way with you the minute you arrive on his lands?
There is no question of him having his wicked way, Ainsley said, trying to ignore the vision of Innes in a plaid. The same one shed had the first day shed met him. With a claymore. And no beard.
Youre blushing, Felicity exclaimed. How very interesting. Ainsley McBrayne, I do believe you would not be averse to your Highlander being very wicked indeed.
Stop it! I havent the first idea what you mean by wicked, but...
Felicity laughed. I know you dont, she said, and frankly, its been the thing thats worried me most about this idea of mine for Madame Heras personal letter service, but now I think youve solved the problem. I suppose youve already kissed him? Dont deny it, that guilty look is a complete giveaway. Did you like it?
Felicity!
Well?
Yes. Ainsley laughed. Yes, I did.
Was it a good kiss? The kind of kiss to give you confidence that your Mr Drummond would know what he was doing? The kind of kiss that made you want him to do more than kiss you?
Ainsley put her hands to her heated cheeks. Yes. If you must know, yes, it was! Goodness, the things you say. We did not Our marriage is not That sort of thing is not...
Youre going to be out in the wilds. Youve already said that youre attracted to each other. Its bound to come up, if youll forgive the dreadful double entendre. And when it doesprovided you take care there are no consequencesthen why not? Felicity said. Do you want me to be blunt?
What, even more than youve been already?
Ainsley, from what youve told meor not told meabout your marriage, it was not physically satisfying.
I cant talk about it.
No, and you know I wont push you, but you also know enough, surely, to realise that with the right man, lovemaking can be fun.
Fun? Ainsley tried to imagine this, but her own experience, which was ultimately simply embarrassing, at times shameful, made this impossible.
Fun, Felicity repeated, and pleasurable, too. It should not be an ordeal.
Which was exactly how it had been, latterly, Ainsley thought, flushing, realising that Felicity had perceived a great deal more than she had ever revealed. Is it fun and pleasurable for you, with your mystery man?
If it were not, I would not be his mistress.
It was only because she knew her so well that Ainsley noticed the faint withdrawal, the very slight tightening of her lips that betrayed her. Felicity claimed that being a mistress gave her the satisfaction of a lover without curtailing her freedom, but there were times when Ainsley wondered. She suspected the man was married, and loved her friend too much to pain her by asking. They both had their shameful secrets.
Ainsley picked up the latest stack of letters from the desk and began to flick through them. What Felicity said was absolutely true. As Madame Heras reputation spread, her post contained ever more intimate queries, and as things stood, Ainsley would be hard-pressed to answer some of them save in the vaguest of terms. She replaced the letters with a sigh. No. Even if Innes was interested...
You know perfectly well that he would be, Felicity interjected drily. Hes a man, and, despite the fact that John McBrayne stripped you of every ounce of self-esteem, youre an attractive woman. What else will you do to while away the dark nights in that godforsaken place?
Regardless, Ainsley persisted, it would be quite wrong of me to use Innes merely to acquire the experience that would allow Madame Hera to dispense better advice.
Advice that would make such a difference to all these poor, tormented women, Felicity said, patting the pile of letters. Wasnt that exactly what you set out to do?
Stop it. You cannot make me feel guilty enough to Just stop it, Felicity. You know, sometimes I think you really are as ruthless an editor as you pretend.
Trust me, I have to be, since I, too, am a mere woman. But we were talking about you, Ainsley. I agree, it would be wrong if you were only lying back and thinking of Scotland for the sake of Madame Hera and her clients. Though I hope youve more in mind than lying back and thinking of Scotland.
Felicity!
Fun and pleasure, my dear, require participation, her friend said with another of her mischievous smiles. You see, now you are intrigued, and now you can admit it would not only be for Madame Hera, but yourself. Confess, you want him.
Yes. No. I told you, it...
Has no part in your arrangement. I heard you. Methinks you protest just a little too much.
But do you approve? Ainsley said anxiously.
Felicity picked up her pencil again and began to twist it into her hair. I approve of anything that will make you happy. When does the ceremony take place?
The banns are being called on Sunday for the first time. The ceremony will be immediately after the last calling, in three weeks. Will you come, Felicity? Id like to have you by my side.
Will you promise me that if you change your mind before then, you will speak up? And if you are unhappy at this Strone Bridge place, you will come straight back here, regardless of whether you feel your obligations have been met?
I promise.
Felicity got to her feet. Then I will be your attendant, if thats what you want. She picked up the bundle of letters and held them out. Make a start on these. I will draw up the advertisement, well run it beside Madames column for this month and I will send you a note of the terms once I have them agreed. Will you be disclosing your alter ego to the laird?
Absolutely not! Good grief, no, especially not if I am to He will think...
Felicity chuckled gleefully. I see Ive given you food for thought, at the least. I look forward to reading the resultsin the form of Madames letters, I mean. She hugged Ainsley tightly. I wish you luck. You will write to me, once you are there?
Ainsley sniffed, kissing her friend on the cheek. Youll get sick of hearing from me. She tucked the letters into the folder, which was already stuffed with the bills she was to hand over to Mr Ballard, Inness lawyer.
Just one thing, Felicity called after her. Ill wager you five pounds that if your Highlander ever discovers that you are Madame Hera, hell be far more interested in finding problems for the pair of you to resolve together than taking umbrage.
Since I shall take very good care that he never finds out, you will lose, Ainsley said, laughing as she closed the door behind her.
Chapter Three (#ulink_04cd1a5f-6b97-5eb2-b0f6-3c283f15a4f0)
Dear Madame Hera,
I have been married for three months to a man whose station in life is very superior to my own. Having moved from a small house with only two servants to a very large manor with a butler and a housekeeper, I find myself in a perfect tizzy some mornings, trying to understand who I should be asking to do what. My husband has suggested turning to his mother for advice, but she obviously thinks he has married beneath him and would see my need for guidance as evidence of this. As it is, I am sure the housekeeper is reporting my every failure in the domestic sphere to my mother-in-law. Only last week, when I committed the cardinal sin of asking the second housemaid to bring me a pot of tea, the woman actually chastised me as if I were a child. Apparently, such requests should be relayed through the footman, and I should not desire to take tea outside the usual hours, whatever these might be.
I love my husband, but I am being made to feel like an upstart in my new home, and I dare not tell him for fear he will start to take on his mothers opinion of me. Is there some sort of school for new wives I can attend? Please advise me, for I am beginning to wonder if my housekeeper would have made a better wife to my husband than I can.
Timid Mouse
Argyll, July 1840
It was cold here on the west coast. Despite the watery sunshine, a stiff breeze had blown up in the bay at Rhubodach. Innes shivered inside his heavy greatcoat. Hed forgotten how much colder it was here, and it would be colder still in the boat. Sitting on a bandbox a few feet away, Ainsley was reading a letter, clutching the folds of her travelling cloak tightly around her and staring out over the Kyles of Bute. These past three weeks there had been so much business to attend to theyd barely had time to exchange more than a few words. Standing before the altar beside him just a few days ago, she had been almost as complete a stranger to him as the day hed proposed. Yet in a very short while, theyd be on Strone Bridge, playing the part of a happily married couple.
The dread had been taking a slow hold of him. It had settled inside him with the news of his fathers death. It had grown when he learned the terms of his inheritance, then became subdued when Ainsley agreed to marry him, and even suppressed as they made their arrangements and their vows. But on the coach from Edinburgh to Glasgow it had made itself known again. Then on the paddle steamer Rothesay Castle as they sailed from the Broomilaw docks to the Isle of Bute it took root, and by this afternoons journey from Rothesay town to the north part of the Isle of Bute where they now stood waiting, it had manifested itself in this horrible sick feeling, in this illogical but incredibly strong desire to turn tail and run, and to keep running, just as he had done fourteen years before.
He was Innes Drummond, self-made man of fortune and some fame in the business he called his own. He was a man who made his living building bridges, engineering solutions to problems, turning the impossible into reality. Yet standing here on the pebbled shores of Rhubodach bay, he felt as if none of this mattered. He was the second son, his fathers runt, the upstart who had no right to be coming back to Strone Bridge to claim a dead mans property. The memories of his brother he had worked so long to suppress were lurking just across the water to claim him. On Strone Bridge, Malcolms absence would make his death impossible to deny. Guilt was that sick feeling eating away at his stomach. Fear was the hard, cold lump growing inside of him. He had no right to be here. He was afraid that when he arrived, hed be subsumed, that all he thought he was would be peeled ruthlessly back to expose the pretender beneath.
Innes swore under his breath, long and viciously. And in Gaelic. He noticed that too late, and then swore again in the harsher, more familiar language of his construction workers. Picking up a handful of pebbles, he began to launch them one after the other into the water, noting with faint satisfaction that they fell far out.
Impressive.
He hadnt heard her moving. How long had she been standing there, watching him? The boat is late. Innes made a show of shading his eyes to squint out at the Kyles.
You must be nervous, Ainsley said. I know I would be, returning after such a long period of time. I expect youll be wondering how much has changed.
Her tone was light, almost indifferent. She was studiously avoiding his gaze, looking out at the water, but he was not fooled. She was an astute observer. One of those people who studied faces, who seemed to have the knack of reading the thoughts of complete strangers. Nothing will have changed, Innes said with heavy certainty. My father prided himself on maintaining traditions that were hundreds of years old. Youll feel as if youve stepped back into the eighteenth century.
Her brows lifted in surprise. He could see the wheels turning in her clever brain, but she chose merely to nod, and perversely, though he knew he would not like it, he wanted to know what she was thinking. Go on. Say it.
It is nothing. Onlyyou are very much a man of the nineteenth century.
You mean youre not surprised I left such a backward place.
Such a backward place must be crying out for a man like you. Ainsley pushed her windswept hair out of her eyes. I meant that I am not surprised you and your father could not see eye to eye.
She slipped her gloved hand into his, in the folds of his greatcoat. He twined his fingers around hers, glad of the contact. Ainsley Drummond, his wife. A stranger she might be, but he was glad of her presence, and when she smiled up at him like that, the dread contracted just a little. I think thats the boat, she said, pointing.
It was, and he could see already that Eoin was at the helm. With a determined effort, Innes threw off his black mood. Are you ready? he asked, sliding his arm around Ainsley to anchor her to his side.
You sound like youre standing under the gallows, if you dont mind my saying.
Innes managed a rigid smile. Judgement Day is what it feels like, he said wryly, and I suspect it will be a harsh one.
* * *
Looking out over the bay, Ainsleys nerves made themselves known in the form of a fluttering stomach as she watched the little boat approaching. Until now, she had lost herself in the bustle of arrangements, the thrill of the journey. Her first time on a paddle steamer, her first time on the west coast and now her first time in a sailing boat was looming. Then would be her arrival at Strone Bridge with the man who was her husband. She worried at the plain gold band on her finger, inside her glove. She still couldnt quite believe it. It did not feel at all real. She was now Mrs Drummond, wife of the laird of Strone Bridge, this stranger by her side whose dawning black mood had quite thrown her.
Innes didnt want to be here, though he was now doing a good job of covering it up. There was a lot going on below the surface of that handsome countenance. Secrets? Or was it merely that he had left his past behind and didnt want to be faced with it again? She could understand that. It was one of the reasons shed been happy to leave Edinburgh for a while. Perhaps it was resentment, which was more than understandable, for unlike her, the life Innes was leaving behind was one he loved.
As he hefted their luggage down to the edge of the shoreline, Ainsley watched, distracted by the fluidity of his movements, the long stride over the pebbles, the smooth strength in the way he lifted even the heaviest pieces so effortlessly. She recalled Felicitys joke about him being a wild Highlander, and wondered if he would wear a plaid when he was back at Strone Bridge. He had the legs for it. A prickle of heat low in her belly made her shiver.
Feasgar math. The bump of the boat against the tiny jetty made her jump.
Ainsley stared blankly at the man. Good day to you, Mrs Drummond, he repeated in a softly lilting accent, at odds with the curt nod he gave her before starting to heave the luggage Innes was handing him into the boat.
Oh, good day, Ainsley replied.
This is Eoin Ferguson, Innes told her, an old friend of mine. Eoin, this is my wife.
Im afraid I dont speak any Gaelic, Ainsley said to the boatman.
Have the Gaelic, he said to her. We dont say speak it, we say have it.
And theres no need to worry, almost everyone on Strone Bridge speaks English, Innes said, frowning at the man he claimed for a friend, though Ainsley could see no trace of warmth between the two men.
I have never been to the Highlands, she said with a bright smile.
Strone Bridge is not far north of Glasgow as the crow flies, Eoin replied. If youre expecting us all to be wandering around in plaid and waving claymores, youll be disappointed. Are you getting in or not?
Oh, right. Yes. She could feel herself flushing, mortified as if he had read her earlier thoughts. He made no move to help her. Seeing Inness frown deepen, Ainsley gave him a slight shake of the head, clambering awkwardly and with too much show of leg into the boat. Eoin watched impassively, indicating that she sit on the narrow bench at the front of the dinghy, making a point of folding his arms as she then proceeded to clamber over the luggage stacked mid-ship.
She tried not to feel either slighted or crushed, reminding herself she was a stranger, a Sassenach, a lowlander, who spokeno, hadno Gaelic and knew nothing of their ways. Innes, his mouth drawn into a tight line, had leaped into the boat, and was deftly untying the rope from the jetty as Eoin tended the sail. She watched the pair of them working silently together as they set out into the water, the contrast between the harmony of their movements stark against the undercurrent of tension that ran between them. It spiked as Innes made to take the tiller.
The tide is against us, and I know the currents, Eoin said, keeping his hand on the polished wood.
I know them every bit as well as you.
You used to. Eoin made no attempt to hide his enmity, but glared at Innes, his eyes, the same deep blue as Inness own, bright with challenge. Its been a long time.
Inness fists clenched and unclenched. I know exactly how long its been.
A gust of wind took Eoins words away. When Innes spoke again, it was in a soft, menacing tone that made the hairs on the back of Ainsleys neck stand on end. And it was in Gaelic. Eoin flinched and made to hand over the tiller, but Innes shook his head, joining Ainsley in the prow, turning away from her to stare out at the white wake, his face unreadable.
The wind that filled the sail blew in her face, whipping her hair from under her bonnet, making her eyes stream. Innes had not worn a hat today, a wise move, for it would surely have blown into the sea. Though he was, as ever, conservatively dressed, his trousers and coat dark blue, his linen pristine white; compared to Eoins rough tweed trews and heavy fishermans jumper, Innes looked like a dandy. She had watched the other man noticing this when he docked, but couldnt decide whether the twitch of his mouth was contempt or envy.
The boat scudded along, the keel bumping over the waves of the outgoing tide. While the paddle steamer had feltand smelledrather like a train that ran on water instead of rails, in this dinghy, Ainsley was acutely conscious that only a few planks of wood and some tar separated her from the icy-cold strait. Spray made her lips salty. The sail snapped noisily. She began to feel nauseous, and looking up, catching a cold smile on Eoins face as the boat lifted out of the water and then slapped down again, began to suspect that he was making their voyage deliberately rough.
Youre from the city, I hear. Youll not be used to the sea, he shouted.
Ainsley gripped the wooden seat with both hands, determined to hold on to the contents of her breakfast. She wished she hadnt had the eggs. She mustnt think about the eggs. How did you know that? she asked.
Himself told Mhairi McIntosh, the housekeeper, in the letter he sent.
Innes snapped his head round. Well, it wouldnt have done me any good to write to you.
Eoin, to Ainsleys surprise, turned a dull shade of red, and looked away. Innes swallowed whatever else he had been about to say and resumed his staring out at the sea. The undercurrent of emotion that ran between the two men was as strong as the ebb of the tide that was making their entrance into the bay a battle.
* * *
The pier was old and crumbling, extending far out into the bay. The low tide forced them to berth right at the very end of the structure, where Innes threw the rope neatly over a post to make fast. It was only as he put one foot on the first rung of the ladder that Eoin spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder, making him freeze.
Youll find the place much changed.
If you tell me once again that its been fourteen years... he said through gritted teeth.
Its not that. Eoin pulled his hand away, a bleak look in his eyes. You know Mhairis got the Home Farm ready for you? The big houseach, youll see for yourself soon enough. Give Angus a shout; I can see hes there with the cart. Ill see to the luggage.
Innes ascended the worn ladder quickly, then turned to help Ainsley. She was eyeing the gap between boat and pier with a trepidation she was tryingand failingto disguise. Her cheeks were bright with the wind, her hair a tangle. She looked endearing. She was most likely wondering what the hell shed let herself in for, with the enmity between himself and Eoin almost palpable. He swore under his breath. Whatever was going on in Eoins head, there would be time enough to sort it out. Right now, he needed to get poor Ainsley, who might well be his only ally, out of that boat before she fell out of it. Put one foot on the bottom rung and give me your hand, he said, leaning down over the end of the pier.
She looked at the seaweed-slimed lower struts of the ladder pier dubiously. I cant swim.
Innes went down on his knees and leaned over. I can. If you fall, I promise Ill dive in right behind you.
And walk up the beach with me in your arms, dripping seawater and seaweed.
Just like a mermaid.
Ainsley chuckled. More like a sea monster. Not the grand entrance that the laird and his lady are expected to make. Its as well weve no audience.
I told Mhairithats the housekeeperthat we did not want a formal welcome until we were settled. I must admit, Im surprised she listened, though, Innes said, looking about him. Save for Angus, making his lumbering way down the pier, there was not a soul in sight. Perhaps hed maligned his friend after all. Eoin knew how much he hated the pomp and ceremony of the old ways that his father had gone to such pains to preserve. He looked over Ainsleys shoulder to thank him, but Eoin was busying himself with the ropes.
Shrugging inwardly, Innes held out his hand to Ainsley, pulling her up without a hitch and catching her in his arms. Welcome to Strone Bridge.
She smiled weakly, clutching tight to him, her legs trembling on the wooden planking. Im sorry, I think my legs have turned to jelly.
You dont mean your heart? Im not sure what youve let yourself in for here, but I am pretty certain things are in a bad way. Ill understand if you want to go back to Edinburgh.
Your people are expecting you to arrive with a wife. A fine impression it would make if she turned tail before shed even stepped off the pieror more accurately, judging by the state of it, stepped through it. Besides, we made a bargain, and I plan to stick to my part of it. Ainsley tilted her head up at him, her eyes narrowed, though she was smiling. Are you having cold feet?
Not about you. He hadnt meant it to sound the way it did, like the words of a lover, but it was too late to retract. He pulled her roughly against him, and he kissed her, forgetting all about his resolution to do no such thing. Her lips were freezing. She tasted of salt. The thump of luggage being tossed with no regard for its contents from the boat to the pier made them spring apart.
Ainsley flushed. It is a shame we dont have more of an audience, for I feel sure that was quite convincing.
Innes laughed. I wont pretend that had anything to do with acting the part of your husband. The truth is, you have a very kissable mouth, and Ive been thinking about kissing you again since the first time all those weeks ago. And before you say it, its got nothing to do with my needing an emotional safety valve either, and everything to do with the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it, though I know perfectly well its not part of our bargain.
Save that it can do no harm to put on a show, now and then, Ainsley said with a teasing smile.
Does that mean youll only kiss me in public? I know there are men who like that sort of thing, but I confess I prefer to do my lovemaking in private.
Innes! I am sure we can persuade the people of Strone Bridge we are husband and wife without resorting toto engaging in public marital relations.
He gave a shout of laughter. Good grief, I hope not. That makes it sound like a meeting of foreign ministers.
It does? Really? They began to make their way slowly to the head of the pier.
Really, Innes said.
Oh. What is your opinion on undergoing a husbands ministrations?
That it sounds as if the husband is to carry out some sort of unsavoury medical procedure. You may as well talk about performing hymeneal duties, which is the sort of mealy-mouthed and utterly uninformative phrase I imagine any number of poor girls hear from their mothers on the eve of their wedding. They probably think theyre going to be sacrificed on the matrimonial altar. Whatever they imagine, you can be damned sure they wont be looking forward to it.
Oh, I couldnt agree more. The belief that innocence and ignorance must go hand in hand seems to me quite perverse. I wonder sometimes if there is a conspiracy by society to keep young girls uninformed in order to encourage them into marriages they would not otherwise make.
The sparkle had returned to her hazel eyes, but it was no longer teasing. Rather, Innes thought, studying her in some surprise, it was martial. Are you speaking from experience?
My mother died when I was twelve, and I had no other female relative close enough to divulge the pertinent facts before my wedding night. It was aa shock.
He was appalled, but she was bristling like a porcupine. Perhaps there should be some sort of guidebook. An introduction to married life; or something of that sort.
He meant it as a joke, but Ainsley seemed much struck. That is an excellent idea.
Though if what you say about the conspiracy is true, then mothers will surely forbid their daughters from reading it.
More likely fathers would.
Most definitely martial. Intrigued, he could not resist pushing her. Since the shops that would sell such a thing are the kind frequented by men and not women, then your plan is defeated by the outset, Innes said.
That shows how little you know, Ainsley said with a superior smile. Shops are not the only outlet for such information.
Above them the white clouds had given way to iron-grey. The wind was picking up as the tide turned, making white crests on the water, which was turning the same colour as the sky. While theyd been talking, the luggage had been loaded onto the cart, where Angus was now waiting patiently. Of Eoin there was no sign. Reluctantly, Innes abandoned this intriguing conversation. Whatever else has changed, he said, the weather is still as reliably fickle as ever. Come on, lets get out of this wind before you catch a cold.
* * *
Ainsley woke with a start and sat up, staring around her at the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was panelled and sparsely furnished. It had the look of a place hastily put together, and it felt as if the fires had not been lit for some time. Shivering as she threw back the covers and stepped onto the bare floorboards, she could feel the cold begin to seep into her bones.
Though it was July, it felt more like April. She made haste with her ablutions. Without the help of a maid, she laced her corsets loosely and tied her hair into a simple knot before pulling a woollen dress from her trunk. The colours, broad stripes of cream and turquoise, made her think of a summer sky that bore no resemblance to the one she could see through the window. The narrow sleeves were long, the tight-fitting bodice made doubly warm with the overlapping kerchief-style collar that came to a point at her waist. Woollen stockings and boots completed her toilette in record time. Reluctantly, she abandoned the idea of wrapping her cloak around her, telling herself that a lesson in hardiness was in order.
The corridor outside was dark and windowless. The fading daylight darkened by the deluge that had erupted as she arrived yesterday had prevented her from gaining any perspective of her new residence. Exhaustion had set in once she had eaten, and Ainsley had retired almost immediately afterwards.
Start the way you mean to go on. Muttering Madame Heras own advice like a charm, she stumbled her way towards the door where she had dined last night, cheered by the faint smell of coffee. The room looked much more attractive in the daylight, and the fire, which last evening had smouldered, today was burning brightly. Good morning, she said.
Innes was seated at the table, staring moodily at his empty plate, but he stood when she came into the room. His jaw looked raw. Most likely hed shaved in water as cold as shed used to wash. Perhaps he simply wasnt a morning person. Ainsley hovered at the door.
Are you staying or going? Innes asked, and she gave herself a little shake.
Staying, she said, seating herself opposite.
I didnt know if youd want tea or coffee, so I had Mhairi bring both.
Coffee, thank you.
He sat down and poured her a cup. Theres crowdie and oatcakes, but if youd prefer a kipper, or some ham or porridge?
No, that will be fineat least What is crowdie?
Cheese.
Thank you. She took the oatcakes and creamy cheese. This looks delicious. Innes poured himself a cup of tea. Have you eaten? she asked, cringing as she spoke, for she had already noticed his empty plate, and she sounded as if she was making polite conversation over the tinkling of teaspoons in an Edinburgh drawing room.
Yes, Innes said.
Ainsley bit into an oatcake. The crunch was embarrassingly loud. She took a sip of coffee. It sounded like a slurp. This was ridiculous. Innes, would you prefer...?
Ainsley, if you would prefer...?
He stopped. She stopped. Then he laughed. Im not used to having company at breakfast. I dont know whether youd prefer to be left in peace, or What?
I dont know. Im not any more accustomed to it than you. Its silly, I know its silly, but it feels strange.
Would you rather I went?
No. Unless youd rather She broke off, laughing. For goodness sake, Id like you to stay, and Id like to talk, but not if were going to make polite chit-chat for the sake of it.
Innes grinned. I am more than happy to promise never to make polite chit-chat, though I would like to know if your bedchamber was comfortableand please, give me the real answer, and not the drawing-room one.
Ainsley chuckled. One does not mention a ladys bedchamber in the drawing room.
Actually, that very much depends on the drawing room, Innes said, smiling. Let me put it another way thendid you manage to sleep, or were you frozen to death?
I slept, but I confess I dressed very quickly.
Im sorry about that. It seems that my father had the main part of the castle shut up and took to living in just two or three rooms. This place is sound and dry enough, but its been empty awhile, and Mhairi had little notice of our arrival, as you know. She gave you that bedchamber because it was the best of a bad bunch.
She apologised for the fact it was several rooms away from your own, Ainsley said, flushing. I got the impression she was worried the effort it would take to walk the distance would put you off. I confess, it did not do my ego much good to think my husband would be so easily deterred.
If I thought I would be welcomed into your bedchamber for a bout of debauchery, not even a chastity belt would deter me, Innes said wickedly.
Tis a shame I cannot lay my hands on such an item, else I would be tempted to test your resolve.
Dont be too sure, there are all sorts of things in the armoury, Innes replied. Debauchery and chastity beltswhod have thought that conversation over the breakfast cups could be so interesting?
I did not introduce the topic of debauchery, Ainsley said, spluttering coffee.
No, but you did say you didnt want to make polite chit-chat.
Innes Drummond, you should have considered entering the legal profession, for you can twist an argument better than any lawyer Ive dealt withand believe me, Ive dealt with a few.
He gave a theatrical sigh. Very well, we will change the topic, though it is your own fault, you know.
She eyed him warily. I am very sure I should not ask what you mean by that.
Then do not.
Ainsley took a sip of coffee. Innes folded his mouth primly. She took another sip, trying not to laugh, then finally cast her cup down in the saucer with a clatter. Oh, for goodness sake, you win. Tell me what you meant.
No, for it is not true, its not debauchery I think of when I look at that mouth of yours, its kissing.
Just kissing.
Not just kissing. Innes leaned forward over the table and took her hand. Kissing. Theres a difference.
He was teasing. Or was it flirting? She wasnt sure. She didnt think she was the kind of woman that men flirted with. Did she amuse or arouse? Was it possible to combine the two? Ainsley had no idea, but she knew he was not laughing at her. There was complicity in the way he was looking at her, and something in those beguiling blue eyes of his that made her tingle. What difference? she asked, knowing she ought not, sure that if she did not she would regret it.
Innes lifted her hand to his mouth, just barely brushing the back of it with his lips. That, he said, was just a kiss. He turned her hand over. This, he said softly, is the difference.
His lips were warm on her palm. His tongue flicked over the pad of her thumb, giving her the most delicious little shiver. When he enveloped her thumb with his mouth and sucked, she inhaled sharply. You see, he said, his voice husky. There is only one problem with those kinds of kisses.
She knew exactly what he meant. She was experiencing that very problem. More? Ainsley said, meaning it as an answer, though it sounded like a request.
More, Innes said, taking it as a request, pushing back his chair, leaning across the table, doing just as she asked.
* * *
He hadnt intended to kiss her, but he couldnt resist, and when she did not either, when she opened her mouth to him and twined her arms around his neck with the most delightful little sigh, his teasing kiss became something deeper. She kissed him back. The tip of her tongue touched his, triggering the rush of blood, the clenching of his muscles, the shiver of arousal. He slid his hand down to her breast under the shawl that formed part of her bodice, only to find himself frustrated by the bones of her corset, by the layers of clothes. A knife clattered to the ground, and they both jumped.
He was hard. He was very glad that the table lay between them. Ainsleys face was flushed, her lips soft, eyes dark with their kisses. The urge to pull her across the table and ravage that sinful mouth of hers was unbearably tempting. What the devil was wrong with him that he couldnt seem to keep his hands off her! Sitting carefully back down in his chair, Innes thought ruefully that it had been the same right from their first meeting. Why hadnt he realised it would be a problem? Was it a problem?
Mhairi could have come into the room at any moment, Ainsley said.
Innes ran his fingers through his hair. Is that why you kissed me?
She picked up a teaspoon and began to trace a pattern on the table. Actually, you kissed me, though I cannot deny that I kissed you back, she said, looking at him fleetingly from under her lashes. I dont know why, save that I wanted to, and I havent wanted to for... And ever since I met you I have andand so I did.
I cant tell you how relieved I am to hear that, because its been exactly the same for me. Innes swallowed a mouthful of cold coffee and grimaced. I never was one to toe the line, you know. Maybe its because our bargain precludes it that Im so tempted.
You mean you want to kiss me because it is illicit?
Oh, no, I want to kiss you because you have a mouth that makes me think of kissing. But perhaps its so difficult not to because I know its not permitted, even though were married. Innes shook his head and jumped to his feet. I dont know. Maybe we should check the armoury for a chastity belt.
Maybe we should stop worrying about it, and discussing it and analysing it, Ainsley said. We are adults. We are neither of us interested in becoming attached. There is no harm in us having somesome fun.
Fun? You say that as if you are taking a dose of Mr Rushs patented pills for biliousness.
I am sure that they too are healthful.
Innes burst out laughing. You say the strangest things. Healthful! Its the first time Ive heard it referred to in that way.
You think its an inaccurate term to use?
She was frowning, looking genuinely puzzled, just as she had yesterday, now he thought about it, when shed mentionedwhat was itmarital relations? I think its best if we think about something else entirely, Innes said. Delightful as this breakfast has been, the day is getting away from us. First things first, well start with a tour of the castle. I warn you, its a great barrack of a place and like to be as cold as an icehouse.
Ainsley got to her feet. Ill go and fetch a shawl.
The door closed behind her. Innes gazed out of the window, though the view was almost entirely obscured by an overgrown hedge. It looked as if it had not been cut for a good many years. Like everything hed seen at Strone Bridge so far, from the jetty to the stables, it was neglected. Eoin had warned him that things had changed. He wondered, if the state of the house and grounds were anything to go by, what had happened to the lands. He was surprised, for though his father had been old-fashioned, archaic even in his practices, he had never been negligent. He was also angry, though guiltily aware he had little right to be so. These were Malcolms lands. If Malcolm was here, he would be appalled at the state of them. Yet if Malcolm were here, Innes would not be. If Malcolm was here, he would not have allowed the place to fall into decline, and Innes...
He cursed. He could go round in circles for ever with that logic. He was not looking forward to this tour of the castle. It wasnt so much the state of disrepair he was now certain hed find in the rooms, it was the history in those rooms, all his history. He didnt want anyone to see him copingor not copingwith that history, and Ainsley was a very astute observer. It had been fourteen years. Surely that was long enough for him to at least put on a show of disaffection. Yet here he was, feeling distinctly edgy and wondering how to explain it away.
The castle was just a building. A heap of stones and wood of dubious aesthetic value. There was no ancient law that said he must live there if he chose to remain on Strone Bridge after a year, which was highly unlikely. No, he would have the Home Farm made more comfortable, because nothing would persuade him to play the laird in the castle, not even for a few weeks.
The vehemence of this thought took Innes so aback he did not notice Ainsley had returned until she spoke his name. Right, Innes said, sounding appropriately businesslike. Lets get on with it.
Chapter Four (#ulink_e681ad8a-1247-531d-9132-cff738966b02)
The sun shone weakly from a pale blue sky dotted with puffy clouds, the kind a child would paint. Following in Inness wake along the narrow path of damp paving slabs, Ainsley could see that the gloom inside the Home Farms lower rooms was largely due to the height of the untended hedge. Emerging through an extremely overgrown arch, she came face-to-face with Strone Bridge Castle for the first time.
They were standing at the side of a long sweep of carriageway with what must have been a huge lawn on either side, though at present it was more like the remnants of a hayfield, part long yellowed grass falling over, part fresh green pushing through. The building loomed over them, such an imposing structure she could not imagine how she had missed its hulk yesterday, though the stone was indeed the grey colour the sky had been.
Ainsley walked backwards to gain some perspective. This is the rear of the house, Innes said. The drive meets the main overland road, which cuts over to the other side of the peninsula and Loch Fyne, though to call it a road... Its far easier to travel by boat in this neck of the woods.
We did not come this way yesterday?
He shook his head. The front of the house faces down to the shore. We came up that way. Ill show you, well go in by the main entrance, but I wanted you to see the scale of this damned monstrosity first.
Strone Bridge Castle was indeed enormous, and though it was not precisely charming, Ainsley would not have called it a monstrosity. An imposing construction with a large tower at each corner, and another central turret projecting from the middle of the main building, it was like a castle from a Gothic novel. The sturdy turrets had unexpected ogee roofs, adding a hint of the east into the architectural mix, each roof topped with tall spires and embellished with slit windows. The turrets looked, with their rugged masonry walls and stolid, defensive air, quite at odds with the central part of the building, which was considerably more elegant, mostly Jacobean in style, with four storeys of tall French-style windows, a low Palladian roof ornamented with a stone balustrade and a huge portico that looked as if it had been added on as an afterthought. The overall effect was certainly not of beauty, but it was striking.
It looks, Ainsley said, studying it with bemusement, as if someone has jumbled up three or four different houses, or taken samples from a book of architectural styles through the ages.
Youre not far off, Innes said. The main house was built about 1700. The roof and that central tower were added about fifty or sixty years after that, and my own father put those corner towers up. Theres no rhyme nor reason to it. As I said, its a monstrosity.
Thats not what I meant at all. It is like nothing I have ever seen.
One of a kind. That, thank heavens, is certainly true, Innes said grimly.
You are not fond of it, then? Ainsley asked. Though there must be some interesting stories attached to a building so old. And perhaps even a few ghosts.
He had taken her arm as they made their way over the untended lawn around the building, and now slanted her a curious look. Do you believe in such things?
Honestly, Ive never considered the question before, but looking at this place, I could easily be persuaded.
There is a tale of one of the lairds who went off to fight in the 1715 Jacobite uprising. He was for the Old Pretender. Theres a set of gates, right at the end of the carriageway, which he had locked, so they say, and made his wife promise never to unlock them until his return.
What happened?
He died in the Battle of Sheriffmuir. His wife had the gates unlocked for his corpse to pass through in its coffin, but Innes broke off, shaking his head. No, theres enough here already to give you nightmares without adding a walking, wailing, clanking ghost to the mix.
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Marguerite Kaye
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The secrets behind the wedding veil.For penniless widow Ainsley McBrayne marriage is the only solution. Vulnerable, yet fiercely independent, she thinks shackling herself to another man seems horrifying! Until handsome stranger Innes Drummond tempts Ainsley to become his temporary wife.Once they’re married, Ainsley hardly recognises the rugged Highlander Innes is transformed into! He sets her long-dormant pulse racing, and she’s soon craving the enticing delights of their marriage bed. She has until Hogmanay to show Innes that their fake marriage could be for real…