Bride (29 page)

Or
—the letter continued—
I may decide that I have no need of human sacrifice.

Human sacrifice? Mad! What sickening possibilities did the creature contemplate? To rape them? To steal them away never to be returned to him? To
kill
them?

Yes, that is it. I want what you have, my lord Riches and respect. To look upon the land and know it is mine and that every man I see will bow and every woman beg to be taken to my bed.

Struan's throat dried and he couldn't swallow. What would appease this monster? What did he truly intend?

It is time. Very soon it will begin. You will do exactly as I order you to do, when I order you to do it Be prepared to give me whatever I ask for. If you offer no resistance you will be allowed to remain where you are. If not, you will find it necessary to go elsewhere. And certain arrangements will have been made to pass the ownership of a portion of Kirkcaldy— including your present home—to me.

You will think me foolish. No portion of Kirkcaldy is yours to give. It is, however, your brother's. When the time arrives— not yet—you will take him and none other into your confidence. You will tell him that if he wishes to help you preserve the safety of your loved ones, he will assist you in what must be done. If that does not persuade him, remind him that he has a succulent wife of his own and a charming baby daughter. And I know where they are. I will not touch them unless you and your brother leave me no alternative. I advise you both to keep your own counsel.

Why did he not simply ask for money? Why did he insist upon drawing out this agony of waiting? Struan knew why— to torture him. If he could only catch the creature out, surprise and overpower him. The letter continued:

There can be no hiding from me, Hunsingore.

Sending your lovely fiancée to Cornwall with dearest Ella and Max, or trying to hide them anywhere else, would be a waste of time. I shall find them.

And, no, you may inform Stonehaven that it will not be as simple as disposing of me when I appear.

Since opening the letter late that morning, Struan had regretted not drawing Arran into his confidence sooner. Now he must decide whether to take the risk of defying the letter-writer and doing so now.

I shall not announce my arrival.

You will hear from me again very soon. I shall remain near, as I have been near—so near you have looked into my eyes and not known me.

If you attempt to force my hand you will discover what manner of man I am—after the deed is done. If you force my hand my decision will be difficult but far from devoid of pleasure.

Force my hand and I shall have to decide which of your beloved ones to take from you first.

Chapter Eighteen

“W
ell,”
Blanche Bastible said, one pudgy hand spread upon the very exposed swell of her plump bosom, the other wafting a sugared confection in emphasis. “I must say that I'm disappointed. Far too small. Far too quiet. Not at all the kind of affair I should have expected.”

Justine eyed the chocolate-dipped figs on her plate with distaste and reached for wine instead.

“As I remember, Mother-in-law,” Arran said from his place at the beautifully decorated table in a dining room off the red salon. “As I remember, you chose not to be present at all for your own daughter's wedding.”

Blanche pouted and raised a fan made of the same ivory satin as her fussy gown. “You seem to forget that I was about to be married myself at the time. This is quite a different matter. I can't see why we couldn't have waited for Grace to come from Yorkshire for this occasion, and for the Duchess of Franchot. And ever so many other people. Don't you agree, Mr. North?”

Devlin, who had arrived bearing Saber's apologies for not attending, made an unintelligible noise in response to Blanche.

“I should have thought the reason for simplicity obvious,” the dowager said. She had already spoken her mind on the subject of Blanche's rapid and “amazing and utterly deplorable abandonment of mourning.

“Both of my weddings were simple,” Blanche persisted. “But, I assure you, there was no hint of
haste
in either case.”

“I hardly think this is the moment to discuss any wedding but the one that has just taken place,” Struan said coldly, leaning aside to allow an under butler to pour champagne.

Justine smiled valiantly and was grateful for the warmth the wine brought. She had done everything within her power to avoid this marriage—and failed. Struan had simply refused to be dissuaded from the course he had chosen and, together with Arran, Calum, and Grandmama, had orchestrated the austere ceremony without her assistance.

Seated at her side, Struan said, “Are you comfortable, my dear?”

“Very,” she lied.

He had eaten no more of the extraordinary wedding breakfast than Justine. His left hand touched hers on the snowy linen cloth scattered with wildflower petals. Justine felt nothing but that contact—his skin on hers—and wanted to feel nothing else.

Grateful for the shield provided by many-tiered golden epergnes spilling luscious fruits, and tall vases of flowers from she knew not where, Justine dared to regard her new husband. He returned her attention with steady intensity, as he had during the simple ceremony performed in the Kirkcaldy chapel.

The perfect elegance of his dark clothes and white linen served only to echo the forceful presence of the man who wore them.

“You look wonderful,” he told her very softly. “The subtlety of ivory becomes you. The gown is a delight. I hope it pleases you, too.”

“It is a marvel.” She had been required only to submit to measurement and fittings. A modiste and four assistants who had miraculously appeared at the lodge had accomplished the seemingly impossible within three days. Of tulle over silk, the square-necked gown had been pleated, each pleat edged with a row of seed pearls and the same pearls used at the wrists of long, full sleeves.

Struan turned in his seat and framed her face. He behaved as if they were alone, or as if he did not care who saw them behaving as if they were alone. “My wife,” he said. “I find I like the sound of those words very well.”

Her eyes filled with silly tears. “Your burden,” she told him. “If you allow such a travesty to occur.” So far he had given no sign of responding to her insistence that she was perfectly fit, and capable of living life as a normal wife. “Do you understand what I tell you, Struan?”

His smile did nothing to halt the hardening of his eyes. “You must leave these matters to me. You must be led by me.”

This was not the moment to assert her independence, but the moment
would
come.

With his thumbs, Struan wiped tears from her cheeks. He brought his brow to rest upon hers and whispered, “I love you.”

Justine's heart turned and seemed to stop beating. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands over his against her face.

“There is nothing about you that does not please me,” he told her. “I think I shall always want to see pearls in your hair as they are today. And flowers. You should be forever surrounded by beautiful things, and so you shall be.”

“I intend to leave for Cornwall in the morning,” the dowager announced suddenly. “Calum will accompany me.”

Justine, intent upon staring into Struan's eyes, did not respond to the woman she could not see clearly for the screen of precious metal, fruits, and flowers.

“We will certainly be ready to receive you as soon as possible, Justine.”

Never, it would never be possible.

“My wife will be otherwise occupied for some time,” Struan said. He turned a strained face to the company and held Justine's hand tightly on the table. “Eventually we shall of course make the journey to Cornwall together.”

Justine watched the figs removed.
My wife.
He regarded her as his. Finally, she was truly a bride. She smiled at him and he smiled in return. How long must they wait to be alone?

“Certain things to be taken care of,” Calum said, his voice not quite hiding the emotion of the moment. “Pippa is beside herself that she could not reach Scotland in time for the wedding. But she sent a rider with a suggestion for what we might give Struan and Justine to mark this occasion. Naturally her suggestion is perfect.”

How very much she loved this serious brother of hers, Justine thought.

Calum stood. “As you know, Cloudsmoor has been in Pippa's family for generations. The property borders ours in Cornwall, and we shall always require safe passage for our tin to the port that is part of that estate. But we have no need of the house. We wish you, Struan, and you, Justine, to make it your home whenever it pleases you. A parcel of land to the south—abutting the ocean—goes with the gift and we hope you and your children will enjoy it from now on. We shall certainly relish having you so close as often as you choose to come.”

Justine found she could not swallow. She breathed through her mouth.

“Too much,” Struan said.

“Never too much,” Calum said. “Nothing is too much for my sister and the man who is as close as a brother to me.”

“Then we thank you,” Struan said.

Justine noted an edge to his voice that she didn't understand. His face revealed nothing but reserved pleasure.

“My turn,” Devlin North said, standing as Calum resumed his seat. “I bring you Saber's gift to Justine. He is recuperating well, by the way, and hopes to feel like receiving company soon.” He gave a velvet box to Shanks, who progressed at a stately pace around the table.

“For myself,” Devlin continued. “Please accept the spices that will be delivered within the week. One of the benefits of attachment to shipping.” As he spoke he looked steadily at Ella, who never raised her eyes from her lap.

Saber's gift was a necklace of diamonds and aquamarines Justine recognized as having belonged to his mother. “He should have kept them for his own bride,” she murmured. There was no note.

“That is a situation we must explore as soon as possible,” Struan said softly, referring, she knew, to Saber's strange withdrawal from his family.

With self-conscious haste, Ella presented Justine with a length of lace she'd made herself. Max gave her a roughly carved footstool and said, “To rest your leg when it's tired. Robert found the wood for me.”

Justine kissed the boy and managed not to smile when he turned as red as his hair.

“I grow tired,” the dowager said. “From me you will receive your mother's Bible.”

“Thank you, Grandmama.”

“Don't thank me,” the old lady said. “She died after giving birth to your brother. A worthy cause. Given the viscount's position, the cause served by your following her example would be virtually pointless. You would do well to consider her plight as you read the pages she turned to for solace.”

Arran said, “Preserve us all,” quite loud enough for everyone to hear. “Grace is also upset that she could not be here for this occasion. However, she'll return as soon as her doctors say it's safe enough for her to travel. Struan. Justine. This is for you.”

Shanks made another trip around the table, this time to deliver a sheaf of papers into Struan's hands. He perused them and frowned.

Justine waited.

“Well,” Arran said. “Can't you read, man?”

“The lodge?” Struan finally said. “You're deeding the lodge to me?”

“As of last Friday. And acreage surrounding the lodge. Also a house I have secured in Edinburgh. You will be our neighbors in Charlotte Square. I have no doubt the ladies in particular will enjoy that.”

“Oh, Arran,” Justine murmured. “You are too good to us.”

“Too good by far.” This time Struan's voice sounded decidedly odd. “We will be more than glad to be allowed to live in the lodge, Arran. This isn't necessary.”

“It is done,” Arran said, grinning. “And it gives us great pleasure.”

“Thank you,” Struan said.

He did not, Justine decided, seem grateful at all. His surly tone made her uncomfortable. “We all love the lodge,” she said, gushing more than was her habit. “Thank you so much, Arran. You and Grace.”

Caleb Murray entered the room, went to Struan's shoulder, and bent to whisper in his ear.

Struan leaned close to Justine and said, “Some of the tenants wish to give us a mark of their joy in this day.”

“Then let them,” Justine said, turning to Murray. “We shall be delighted to receive their gift.”

Caleb nodded to a maid, who left the room.

It was Gael and Robert Mercer who timidly entered. Mairi followed holding the Mercer children's hands.

Red-faced, his fair hair tidily brushed, Robert came forward.

Justine got to her feet and Struan was instantly at her side. Gael wore a lovely lace collar over her simple brown dress and a gold cross on a fine old chain about her neck.

“We hope ye'll not think us forward,” Robert said. He carried a bundle draped with white woolen cloth. “This is some-thin’ we've passed down in the Mercer family, and now we'd like t'give it t'ye because ye've allowed the Mercers their livin’ and a good livin’ it's been.” He set his burden on the floor and removed the cloth covering.

An intricately carved oak cradle was revealed.

Justine took a step backward and came against Struan's hard, restraining arm.

“There's many who made the wee garments inside,” Gael said anxiously. “And the coverings. I hope we've not offended ye.”

“Never,” Struan said. “And we thank you all. There are refreshments in the servants’ hall for everyone who cares to come. Will you convey that message for me?”

“Aye,” Robert said.

“Thank you,” Justine managed to say. She could not look away from the cradle and its piles of tiny, carefully stitched garments. “Thank you.”

She felt the Mercers retreat, heard the door close.

“Effrontery,” Grandmama exclaimed. “Take the thing away. At once.”

“Have it taken to the lodge,” Justine said. “It's beautiful. It's their treasure and they've given it to us.”

“They are special people,” Arran told her. “The best.”

Justine blinked several times and raised her face. “Thank you, everyone.” If she held her back very straight and met no one's gaze, she would get through this. “If you'll excuse me, I'm a little tired. Please enjoy yourselves.”