PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (13 page)

“Not like that. Face sideways again. Lean back. There. This might work. If I’m lucky.”

She must have moved too slowly, because he gripped one arm about and pulled her against him, before nudging Dragonbreath forward. She’d been right. Dragonbreath was a wise choice. The horse had a great stride. Seemingly tireless. Strong. His canter resembled a rocker chair. It would be easy to sleep atop him.

And especially easy to pretend to it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The duchess’s suite at Castle Straith was a spectacular set of rooms. Ainslee had been awestruck when she’d first seen them. Everything was designed in an ivory tone with golden accents. The walls were wainscot, light oak on the bottom, while the tops were papered with ivory silk, overlaid with golden filigree. They soared to a height close to two-stories. The ceiling was plastered with three flower-themed circles, each holding a chandelier. Little ropes led across the ceiling and down the walls and were secured in loops around ornate holders to allow the lighting or extinguishing of the tapers.

The chandeliers were dark at the moment, although crystals glinted occasionally from the mass of shadow as candlelight reached them.

The bed frame, armoires, wardrobes, and bureaus had been designed with the same light oak wood, and were decorated with more filigree. Settees graced the walls, while a chaise lounge rested just past the footboard. The furniture pieces were upholstered in ivory and gold silk damask that had streaks of red woven through it. They matched the bedding, except for the coverlet. That item was crafted of scarlet-shaded material, and heavily embroidered with gold threads.

There were three doors in the bedroom. One led directly to the hall outside, and from there to the massive staircase leading to the great hall. One door led to a dressing area. The other opened into a salon, with more carved wooden furniture, although it was of a darker hue and much heavier. That room had a door at the end of it that led directly to the chieftain’s bedchamber. She knew because she’d once peeked.

The duchess suite in Castle Straith was spacious, beautiful, awe-inspiring.

Majestic.

Ainslee had snuck about this room once. She hadn’t touched anything. She was afraid to. Even now, ensconced in the bed, high on its own pedestal, clad in a nightgown borrowed from the housekeeper’s niece, she was almost afraid to move.

A linen sheet, so finely woven it was slick-feeling, covered the mattress beneath her, while another one, edged in lace, tucked her in. Woolen blankets in the Straith colors added weight and warmth. Four enormous pillows, each of a size she could sleep atop, were along the headboard, two directly behind her, propping her up. The scarlet coverlet had been folded down and moved to a stand. A candelabra with two lit candles flickered from her night stand, giving glimpses of the treasures accumulated in the room. It was after two in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep. She should be exhausted. It had been an incredibly long day full of all sorts of emotions and tribulations, not the least of which was her presence right here.

She was in the duchess suite at Straithcairn Castle!

In the actual bed!

Sitting atop the bed as if she belonged there!

It felt like any moment the door would open and she’d be denounced as a fraud and chastised for taking liberties. A door did open - the one leading to the salon. Ainslee’s eyes widened as the duke walked in, turning to face the door as he closed it behind him. The latch clicked in the stillness.

Ainslee’s hands went to the area just above her breasts, touching on a lace-edged neckline so new it scratched, and a little row of buttons that were all fully fastened. It didn’t help. She still wore a nightgown. She was
en-dishabille
.

With a man
.

The duke took a breath that lifted his shoulders, turned around, and walked toward her. Her jaw dropped. She’d been impressed by how he looked this morn in Sassenach clothing. She’d been awed by his appearance in Highland attire, especially the Straithcairn
feile-brecan
. There wasn’t a description for what she felt when seeing him in this.

He wore a floor-length robe, fashioned of material in the Straithcairn plaid. His belt and lapels looked to be red velvet. He had his hair tied back and a bit of bare chest on display at the junction of his robe. Everything about his attire was masculine. Virile.

Vaguely threatening.  

“What…are you doing here?” she asked, with a voice that trembled.

“Not what you think. Trust me.”

“But—”

“I have little choice in the matter. Mason is in there.”  He pointed back toward the door he’d used.

“Ma...son?”

“My valet. Surely you recall the man. He knows enough of you.”

“Oh. Mason Millbourne. Aye. I ken him.”

“He had a fellow named Barnes assisting him. I didn’t know there was such a thing as an under-valet. Bother it.”

“Oh. That’s Thomas Barnes. He was elevated from footman upon your arrival. He’s verra full of himself over it. Verra proud.”

“Trust you to know.”

“Is that...bad?”

“Hardly. But that’s not the point. I have two personal servants. And while that’s odd, it gets worse. Both men are fonts of propriety and correct behavior. That Mason is the worst. By far.”

“Propriety?”

“The man’s a stickler about it. Everything needs to be right and proper and in its place. He actually stayed up this late to make certain I was properly seen to. And that everything’s as it should be. He’s not the lone one, either. The entire castle is filled with them. Hovering about. Seeing to every whim. They’re everywhere.”

“What are you talking of?”

“Servants. Roaming about the place. As if it isn’t the middle of the night and everyone should be abed. This is ridiculous. I could employ every type of servant I wished, but there’s a huge loss of privacy involved. Servants mean you have to deal with a lot of eyes and ears about. And all of them are taking note.”

“The estate could hardly run without them.”

“You’re not listening, Ainslee. Or I should be a bit more direct. Mason is in my chamber. Right now. He’s even whistling as he putters around. Whistling. Some damnable tune that is now stuck in my head. In an off-key. At this time of night. And that means I had to come in here, for...uh…a bit.”

“You did?”

He smiled slightly. “Remind me not to send a messenger ahead of my arrival again. Especially one capable of raising the dead. What? You think they had the entire front of the castle lit up, and everyone at full attention, for just anyone’s arrival? In the midst of a monsoon? In the dead of night?”

“You’re the duke. They were waiting your return.”    

He moved closer and stood looking down at her, elevating the temperature and making her heart thud so heavily it was probably noticeable. She still had her hands in place atop her chest, however. He wouldn’t know.

“Mason is very pleased with events. He also told me he is not overly surprised. Just pleased. As is everyone else in the castle. Or so he assures me.”

“With what?”

“My selection of duchess, of course.”

“Me?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, making it shimmy with the move. Ainslee did her best to pretend not to notice.

He’s sitting on the bed!

“Who else have I been speaking of? Of course, you. They’re supremely pleased with my choice of wife and thoroughly impressed with the method I employed to gain one. According to Mason, I may hearken back to one of my ancestors. The second duke. Rakish fellow, he was. Mason is full of tales of valor and…well, romance. I’m telling you, I had to vacate my chamber. The man’s gone soft, regaling me about the romance of it all. They’re all quite pleased to have you as their new duchess. I suppose I should be grateful. That’s one less worry.”

“What…are you worrying over?”

“Leaving.”

She started. He saw it.

“We had to discuss it at some point. I can’t stay. It’s almost a crime. And my intentions are—not of a higher nature, trust me. You don’t understand. Things...are not as they appear.”

“They’re na’?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, stilling everything, even time. Ainslee didn’t even miss it. He moved his gaze away. And somewhere clocks started ticking seconds off again.    

“You’ve got Mason. Barnes. The Honor Guard, led by Iain Straithmore. The comptroller, MacGruder, and his wife. The head housekeeper, a Missus Paige. The head groom, MacCreary…countless groomsmen, maids, a lot of stable hands that you probably already know. They’re all ready to assist you.”

“With...what?”

Her voice caught. She couldn’t help it. She already felt like a charlatan. It was deflating to realize how much she must appear it, as well.

“Running the estate. Watching over things. Taking care of the Straith legacy. Subverting Garrick and his ilk. Oh. You’ll need access to funds. I’ll put that on the list for tomorrow. I’ll find where the accounts are and make certain you have access.”

“You’ll set up accounts? For me?” 

“I don’t know the extent of the finances, but it won’t be long before you’ll have enough for anything you want. I’ll have to wire it from—oh. Crap. There’s no such thing yet. Damn it! This just keeps adding up.”

“What does?”

“All the things I have to do, so you’ll have what you need.”

“Where…will you be?”

He tilted his head and looked back at her, seizing her eyes with the expression in his. The lighting gave his eyes a silver hue, almost like polished mirrors. A flash of something went through her ribcage, startling and yet thrilling. It elevated her pulse rate. Her breathing. She couldn’t move. Not even to blink.

“Anywhere...but here.”

Ainslee gasped. She didn’t dare speak. She was afraid of what might come out if she opened her mouth.

“You don’t understand. And I can’t explain.”  He stopped, and everything about him went strangely quiet, tense. “Please don’t look at me like that. Please? This is already...”  He stopped again. It sounded like he gulped. “Well. It’s late. I’ve got a trip to plan. And you’re the Duchess of Straithcairn now. I understand there’s a lot of responsibility facing you. Think you can handle it?”

She nodded again. Swallowed. Blinked. Swore she wouldn’t say anything to make him regret picking her. He moved his gaze to the fists he’d made of his hands. He didn’t seem to move for the longest time. He just sat there, statue-still. He might even be holding his breath.

“You ever read about New York. In the...United States of America?”

“New York?”  She didn’t have to feign the confusion.

“Mason tells me you read prodigiously. You claim to have read most of the books in your family library and even started on those here. Surely you’ve read something about New York. If not, find some and purchase them.”

“I’ve…read about it.”

“I believe I’ll take a trip that way. I’ll try and send you a missive or two. Move over.”

He shoved the blankets toward her, and leaned forward to grab one of her pillows. Then he stopped and looked right at her, close enough to touch, far enough apart she didn’t dare. The way he’d positioned himself put a light crease in his forehead. The candlelight was being fickle, too. It put most of his face in shadow. Except the tip of his nose, slight cleft of his chin. He was incredibly handsome. This view was going to be imprinted on her memory whether she wished it or not. Ainslee swallowed.
    

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Her eyes went wide. “Uh…”

“Come on, Ainslee. It’s our wedding night. I already proclaimed to all and sundry how impatient and eager I am. You’ve been about the stables. You know what happens between a stallion and mare.”

“But—” 

Her voice stopped. It matched her heart.

“You got me into this. Now, you’re just going to have to help me finish it.”

He grabbed two pillows and tossed them onto the floor. And then he dropped onto them, disappearing from her view except for his head.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He was back to his feet before launching onto the bed, making it rock with his entrance. Then he was on hands and knees, and giving her an expression that looked like a snarl. And then he started pushing himself up and landing hard over and over all about the center of the mattress, dislodging her and the other pillows with each bounce.  

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You’re jumping on the duchess’s bed!” 

She was shocked. Horrified. It sounded not just in her voice, but was demonstrated as she slid out from beneath the covers to stand at the other side, staring at him, wide-eyed. Her words stopped him in mid-bounce. He landed, arms and legs splayed awkwardly, and just stayed there, his bare feet creasing one end of the duchess’s ivory-shaded sheets, while his hands crunched sections of plaid fabric into balls.

“No. I’m jumping on
your
bed, Ainslee.”

He went to his knees, swinging one of the pillows at her as he did so. Those pillows were large. They were over-stuffed, and he was accurate. Ainslee slammed onto her buttocks, and that hurt.

She was on her feet a moment later and now she was angry. “Why don’t you just go jump on yours?” she demanded.

“Because Mason’s in there! I already…told you!”

He sent the other pillow at her. It wasn’t coming as quick or hard. She caught it although it knocked her backward a step.