Fascination -and- Charmed (39 page)

“No. The time’s come, that’s all.”

For an instant Arran couldn’t think what Struan meant. “The time? Calum ... You mean he’s decided he wants to find out?”

Struan nodded once. “He knows his life did not begin when he was, as a sick child, abandoned on our doorstep. He has vague memories from before. You know that all through the years he’s insisted he didn’t want to find out who he really is, but now he’s changed his mind. That’s what he wanted me to tell you.”

“Good enough. I’ll help him all I—”

“No.” Struan settled a hand on Arran’s shoulder. “He’s going alone, and he doesn’t know how long it’ll take or if he’ll ever find anything at all.”

“Going?” Arran cast about to make sense of what Struan was saying. “You mean
leave
Kirkcaldy?”

“His life began somewhere else. He intends to find out exactly where he was born, and to whom—and why strangers eventually left him to die in our stable yard.”

“As if it mattered!” Arran threw up his arms. “He has
everything
here.”

“Everything but what matters to him most, as it would to you, dear brother. Everything but his own history. That already cost him a woman he loved enough to want to marry.”

“Alice Avery wasn’t worthy of him.”

“He loved her. She married someone else because he’s no one.”

“No one?” Arran exploded. “There’s none better than—”

“In God’s name, keep your voice down,” Struan said urgently. “Here he comes.”

“He can’t leave me,” Arran hissed. “He’s needed here.”

“Later.”

Calum entered the chapel with the elderly vicar from Kirkcaldy village, a white-haired man who smiled around as if he were accustomed to being called to the castle chapel to marry the lords of Stonehaven.

Arran glared at Calum, who met his eyes directly. Between them passed the knowledge that more than one new era was about to begin. “We appear to be ready,” Calum said, offering Arran his hand.

After a brief hesitation, Arran grasped his old friend’s hand in both of his. “Struan told me.” He bowed his head and said, “Do it if you have to, Calum. But come back to us when you can.” He looked up and smiled. “Did someone go for Grace?”

“McWallop gave the nod to her maid. They’ll be along soon enough.”

“Shall we prepare ourselves?” the vicar said, positioning himself before the shining brass altar rail. A gold cross shone upon the lace-draped altar, and rays of the setting sun glowed crimson, purple, and emerald through brilliant stained-glass windows.

Arran looked at Calum and Struan. “I haven’t done any of this as I should. I’m supposed to ask—”

“Calum will stand for you,” Struan said, smiling and backing away. “I’m the lucky man who will give away your bride. Be good to her.”

“Isn’t it late for that lecture?”

“I think not,” Struan said. “She is gentle and kind.”

“And heartbreakingly untouched,” Calum added. “A generous soul like Grace’s is easily crushed.”

Arran’s lips twitched. “She should be perfectly safe with champions such as you.”

“I doubt we shall be welcome to accompany her to your wedding night.”

“Good God!” Fists on hips, Arran looked upward into the chapel’s lushly painted domed ceiling. “I am not an animal bent on tearing her apart. Go, Stuan. I’m impatient.”

Struan left. Calum fidgeted at Arran’s side.

“You have the ring?” Arran asked.

“Yes.”

“The license is in order?”

“Yes.”

“Our wedding supper is prepared and ready in my rooms?”

“Yes. Damned strange, too.”

“Strange?”

“Not sharing the moment with friends and relations. Locking yourself away.”

Arran smiled broadly. “Locking myself away with my bride? Strange? I believe, Calum, that you and I have entirely different interpretations of what is most desirable at such times.”

“They’re coming.”

Arran’s stomach swooped and didn’t seem inclined to return to its correct position. “Good God.”

“What is it?” Calum whispered.

“Nothing ... Everything. I’m ... Dammit, this is most unsettling.”

“Terrifying, d’you mean?”

“I’ll thank you—” He stopped, absolutely unable to continue. Grace entered the chapel on Struan’s arm.

Arran noted his brother as if for the first time. Tall, broad-shouldered—too handsome and youthful to have committed himself to so limited a life.

But it was Grace who smote a near fatal blow to Arran’s heart. A garland of deep blue forget-me-nots wound through the crown of silver braids atop her proudly held head. She was soon close enough for him to see her trembling smile, the light in her eyes, the bloom on her smooth skin.

Despite her protests, he’d insisted upon seeing the wedding gown the wretched Cuthbert woman had chosen, and had pronounced it impossible. Grace had promptly told him she would choose a suitable dress from among those she owned.

“Look at her,” Calum murmured.

“What man could do otherwise?” Arran replied.

Grace’s gown was ice white satin with its own almost blue sheen and overlayed with patent net. As she moved toward him, he recognized the gown as the one Theodora had selected, but that tasteless woman could never have envisioned it like this.

Gone was every frill and bow, every loop of satin ribbon. By stripping away fussy ornamentation, a gown of startling simplicity had been created. Sleeves tightly fitted to the wrist, the bodice hugging small breasts, the skirt a slim fall that spread to a modest train behind; more could only have made the gown less.

She arrived before him and stood, looking up into his face.

Arran drew his bottom lip between his teeth. Trust, the trust of a tender creature, was an awesome burden.

By the device of adding a piece of pleated muslin, her neckline had been made demurely high. Arran almost smiled. She would do well to hide her
most female skin
from him, not that she would be successful once they were married and alone.

He picked up the enameled bluebird on its simple chain around her neck. “The lady has rubies, yet she chooses her little bluebird.” Not waiting for her response, he added. “Of course she does. The lady is not concerned with
things,
is she?”

“I am concerned only with you, my lord.”

His skin prickled.

“Are we ready?” the vicar asked.

They were ready. Arran had not thought his jaded heart could beat so, or that it could swell with the wanting of his soul for the woman who took him as her husband. Her clear voice accepted him and her golden eyes did not flinch away from his when he gave her his name, his protection, and his body for as long as they both might live.

“Take her and feed her,” Calum said, but Arran continued to kiss his wife’s soft lips.

Whispering, a few feminine giggles, and the rustle of skirts finally made him raise his head. The servants of Kirkcaldy were assembled at the back of the chapel. Arran bowed to them, and Grace turned to dip a little curtsy. The girls giggled afresh and the men smiled. Even Mrs. Moggach and Shanks appeared enormously pleased.

Arran offered Grace his arm. “Shall we, Lady Stonehaven?”

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, but she placed her hand on his.

“A moment, my friend.” Calum slanted glinting dark eyes at Arran. “A kiss for the bride, I think.” He touched her cheek and brushed his mouth lightly over her brow. “If this fiend is ever anything but your champion, you have only to tell me, Grace. It will be my pleasure to steal you from him.”

She laughed gaily, accepted Struan’s formal kiss on her hand, and made a royal procession at Arran’s side past the Kirkcaldy staff.

The chapel was in the west wing. By the time Arran had ushered Grace through many long corridors toward those leading past the Eve and Adam Towers and on to Revelation, Calum and Struan had absented themselves, as had the staff. The only sound to break the silence was the click of Arran’s boots on stone, the soft shush of Grace’s skirts—and his own breathing, which he was almost certain she must hear.

Soon they would be together.

“I am sorry your mother ... You should have had some family in the chapel.”

Her step checked, but only for an instant. “I hope Mama will be happy with her Felix. The only one I needed was in the chapel.”

He did not deserve this joy. Even now he knew the lingering shreds of dark fear that this perfect creature would somehow be torn from him.

“I have something for you,” Grace said as they emerged into the entrance hall. “May I give you a present now? You have given me so much.”

“I have not begun to give to you.”

From a tiny pocket in a seam of her gown, she withdrew a little leather pouch. This she placed in his palm. “It has no worth, but you may like it.”

The pouch yielded a perfectly smooth shell, its surface delicately striped pink and brown. Arran looked expectantly at Grace.

“Once, when I was very small, my father took Mama and me to the beach, and I found that shell. It has been a great treasure. Hold it to your ear.”

He did so and heard the lightest whispering, as of surf upon sand. “I never heard anything like it,” he told her.

“Oh, yes.” Her face was serious and she sounded most matter-of-fact. “It is quite like one of your pieces of music, the second one Mr. Plethero played at the Muirs’ last night. Can that have been only last night?”

“Only last night,” he agreed, drawing her into his arms and kissing her deeply. When he paused for breath he said, “How well you understand me. I wrote that piece after a visit to the seashore.”

A gust of cool air whipped about them, and Arran straightened. No member of the staff was in sight, but the door had been flung open.

“Dash me,” Mortimer said, waving Theodora and Melony before him into the castle. “It’s cold out there.”

“Oh!” Theodora stopped before Arran and Grace. “Are we just in time for the ceremony? What are you doing together here—alone?”

Arran felt the blackest rage he had felt since learning of the loss of the daughter he would never know. But satisfaction tempered that rage, and he managed a parody of a smile. “You are just in time to congratulate us on our marriage, Theodora. The ceremony is over.”

“Oh, I do not believe this. Your own family, Arran. How could you exclude us? You said you intended to be married as quickly as possible, but this?” Theodora clapped her hands to her cheeks and rocked as if in pain.

“I say, old chap,” Mortimer said. “Bit highhanded, what? Not that I blame you for being in a hurry to—well—in a
hurry?
”
He aimed a lascivious grimace at Arran.

“I do not recall inviting you to return to Kirkcaldy.”

Grace drew in a sharp breath.

This wife of his was far too gentle a soul. “In fact, I’m sure I did not.”

“Well!” Theodora’s response was to snap her bonnet strings undone. “The slight of being excluded from your wedding is bad enough. But did you honestly think I would not return to ensure that my diamonds are found and returned to me?”

He’d forgotten the diamonds. A glance at Grace confirmed that she had also forgotten them. They had not been among the items Blanche produced.

“Mortie’s convinced I misplaced them somewhere here. I can’t begin to imagine how that could have happened, but we must certainly search. And if they are not found, then further steps must be taken.”

“By all means,” Arran said. “Search away. I’m sure you’ll understand if my wife and I excuse ourselves.”

Mortimer guffawed. “Excuse away. We men understand these things, what?” He frowned and raised a forefinger. “But before you go, there was a message I was supposed to give you—from a Mrs.
Foster?
”

Arran locked his knees. “This is my wedding night, Mortimer. I am hearing messages from no one.” How the hell did Mortimer know Mrs. Foster?

“Oh, won’t take but a moment. She came to Charlotte Square to let you know she wouldn’t be, er,
available
to you in future.” Mortimer leered. “Too bad from what I could see. Fetching piece.”

Arran felt Grace shift. “Thank you for the message,” he said shortly, and made to walk on.

“The lady seemed particularly keen that you should know she’s also about to be married. ‘Tell him we’ll each be finding solace elsewhere,’ is what she said. But she’ll miss your times together. Yes, that was all of it.”

Melony Pincham had remained quietly near the door. She wore unusually subdued colors, and her hair was drawn severely back. Now she came forward, her eyes downcast. “Come, Mortimer. Theodora. We should leave these people to make the best they can of this arrangement of theirs.”

The movement Arran saw was Grace’s hand winding in the folds of her skirts. He knew she was watching his face but avoided looking at her. Getting her away from these people was essential, but it must be done with the minimum of fuss.

“I’m sure your rooms are still in readiness,” he said, controlling his voice with the greatest difficulty. “We bid you a good night.”

“Oh, you poor, poor things,” Melony wailed suddenly. “Caught by such sad circumstances.”

The woman was insane. “Good night, Mrs. Pincham,” Arran said.

“Yes, indeed,” Melony said with evident deep dejection. “Good night—although I know you will not sleep with the bliss that should be yours on the night of your marriage.” Abruptly she grasped Grace in a tight embrace. “You poor, dear thing. You have my sympathies.”

“Did someone die?” Arran asked, almost inaudibly.

“Fate can be so evil,” La Pincham droned on. “But for one as gentle and dear as you, it is truly not to be borne. You of all women should not have been forced by circumstance to enter into a loveless marriage.”

Arran saw Grace grow stiff in the other’s arms. Her face had lost every trace of color. “Why would you presume to call our marriage loveless?” she asked in a small, clear voice.

“What else would you call an alliance made with a man who only wants one thing?”

“Come, Grace,” Arran said, but she continued to stare at Melony.

“It will be all right, Grace,” Melony continued. “Arran is not as hard a man as he makes most people believe. He will not be unduly unkind to you ... as long as he gets what he must have from you ... very soon.”