Samantha James (10 page)

She felt her face flame scarlet. Her breath halted in her throat as a shocking image filled her mind—that of Alec sprawling naked on the bed, tugging her down between the vise of his thighs. Every inch of her naked skin touched his. Her breasts on his chest, her legs molded the entire length of his, one knee nested against his.

She tried and failed to clamp the thought shut. Never mind that they had already lain together naked, though not in such a blatantly erotic way as the one that filled her mind, praise heaven! Even more shocking, in her mind’s eyes her expression was warm and seductive as she willingly offered her lips—

Never mind that such was the very thing to be avoided at all costs.

“There’s also a path through the forest from the house to the loch,” Alec said. “I’ll show you another time.”

Maura scarcely heard. His thigh slid against hers at every little jostle. It was distracting. She couldn’t help it. She was helplessly aware of it. Of him. Everything about him.

He had dressed much as a working gentleman might. Dark boots encased his calves. His breeches were tight, leaving no doubt as to the shape of muscle beneath. The breeze molded his shirt against his chest, reminding her of the night at Lord Preston’s. It was open at the throat, revealing a dark tangle of hairs. Every inch of him was long and hard and taut. Ah, but then she already knew that from the night spent in his chamber when she’d had to divest him of his clothes. Oh, yes, now there was a sight that would linger forever in her mind! Long limbs, netted with curly black hair, thicker and darker on the broad wealth of his chest…and lower as well, where it grew wiry and dense around—

Squeezing her eyes shut, she banished the image. But still the night of the masquerade remained with crystal clear clarity.

In the gig, the wind whipped his hair; he
wore no hat. She could almost feel those jet-black strands against her lips once more. Nor did he wear gloves. He handled the reins with capable strength, his fingers tightening when necessary, gentling as he gave the horse its head.

Her heart gave an odd little flutter. Her gaze was riveted on his hands. She felt her face heat. His fingers were lean and strong. Those hands had touched her, bared her breasts, shockingly intimate. Remembering the way he’d made her touch him, curling her fingers around—

She must have made some sound. He glanced over at her.

“What’s that, Irish?”

“I…” She sought to dismiss her awareness, and managed to drag her gaze away from his hands. To the east lay the forest. To the west…

“I smell the sea.”

“Indeed.” They rounded a bend, and a broad expanse of water came into view. “Shall we go down to the beach?”

Maura nodded.

He guided the gig off the road, jumped down and secured the horse and carriage. By then she had already climbed down herself. Tugging up her skirt—she’d forgone her petticoats when he’d advised wearing something suitable for the outdoors—she followed him through a fringe
of tall grasses. She stopped at the edge, peering down. The beach was perhaps a hundred feet below.

“You aren’t frightened of heights, are you, Irish?”

Maura’s head came up. A challenge? “Certainly not! I grew up near the sea. High above the sea, I might add.”

“Somehow I didn’t think you’d be afraid.” A half smile curled his lips. Their eyes met. “My brave, fearless Irish wife. Let us go, then.”

Maura would have led the way, but Alec stopped her with a shake of the head. “Let me go first. The path is steep and rocky, and wide enough for only one.” His smile turned devilish. “That way I’ll be there to catch you if need be, like the pirate in your dream this morning.”

Oh, but he was a rogue! She considered it a challenge, one she would not lose. The path wound down the hillside, but sure-footed as a goat, she followed him down. She was feeling triumphant when the pebbles began to give way beneath her feet.

Alec turned at that moment, and catching her hands, pulled her upright, saving her from falling on her bum.

But he didn’t let go. Instead a long arm slid around her waist. With him a foot below her,
caught up against him like this, they were literally face-to-face. His gaze drifted slowly over her features, dwelling for ages on her lips.

Maura’s heart lurched. Her breath thinned to a wisp. She had the oddest sensation that he wanted to kiss her. Oh, but then a sudden gleam in those beautiful blue eyes appeared, a wicked gleam, of course. She had the feeling he knew precisely the effect he had on her. Oh, bother! What the devil was wrong with her? She was being utterly ridiculous. He had made his feelings toward her perfectly clear. He did not welcome a wife. He did not welcome her.

Alec swung her that last foot to the sand. “There. Delivered safe, sound, and unharmed.”

Maura stepped back hurriedly. The beach here was wide, skirting the headland to the south. She pointed that way. “What lies beyond? Another beach?”

He nodded. “Much of the coastline here is a series of headlands and coves.”

“Can we walk there?”

“If you like.”

She caught her skirt up in her hands and trudged along beside him. The wind as they came to the headland was fierce, whipping strands of her hair across her face, even beneath her bonnet. She tried brushing them back but finally stopped
fighting it. But the winds calmed once they neared the cove.

Despite the gray skies, it was stunningly beautiful. The beach surrounding the cove was but a narrow strand, dotted with boulders and trees here and there. Gentle waves lapped the shore.

Hands on his hips, Alec glanced around. “Lord, I haven’t been here in ages.” A faint smile rimmed his lips. “Aidan and I used to come here and race each other across—to this day, my mother doesn’t know it. And while we were here, we’d pretend we were pirates.” He pointed to an outcropping of rocks. “There’s even a cave behind those rocks.”

“And I suppose you were the fierce pirate captain.”

He grinned suddenly, a grin that made her breath catch. “Of course. I’m the eldest.”

Maura stilled the clamor of her heart. “By how many years?”

“Two.”

“Well, then,” she concluded dryly, “I rather suspect it wasn’t so much that you were older, but simply that your brother was smaller than you.”

“Well, there is that.”

Fluffing her skirts, she sat on a rock shaped
rather like a chair. “Is that why you came to the masquerade dressed as a pirate?” she asked daringly.

“Perhaps.” Brazenly, his gaze slid down and settled on her breasts. “Certainly I never expected to find one in kind.”

Maura ignored the jibe—and crossed her arms over her breasts. “It seems the perfect place from which to sail a pirate’s ship. Perhaps one of your ancestors was a pirate?” She held her breath.

“Now there’s a tale I’ve never heard. Though supposedly there’s treasure buried somewhere near Gleneden. Oh, and let me not forget! There are also rumors of a family curse, though I’ve no idea precisely what this curse is supposed to be.”

She gazed at him steadily. “Why aren’t you wary?”

“Of what?”

“A curse should never be taken lightly, Scotsman.”

He didn’t hide his amusement. “Be serious.”

Maura’s lips compressed.

“Good heavens, you are serious.”

She thought of the Circle. “There are things in this world that cannot be explained, sir.”

“Like pixies and faeries and banshees?”

A shiver shot through her. Through the window in her mind, she remembered the moment her father had passed to the afterlife. It wasn’t the cry of a banshee, but the eerie howl of a wolf.

“Next you’ll be telling me you believe in ghosts!” He glanced at her, then laughed outright. “My word, I cannot believe it! Only the Irish would believe in such things!”

Her eyes flashed. “Do not amuse yourself at my expense, Scotsman. And do not insult me or my countrymen.”

He held up both hands, a gesture of defeat. Ha! She suspected Alec McBride was a man who would never admit defeat.

“No insult intended, Maura. But I’ve told you of my family. Now tell me about yours. You said you grew up near the sea.”

“Aye.”

One dark brow quirked up a fraction. “The whole of Ireland is surrounded by the sea, Irish. Where in Ireland did you grow up?”

“Inishowen.”

“And your schooling?”

Maura hesitated. Caution warned that she must be judicious with what she revealed. She didn’t want him looking closer and delving into her background. She knew he already considered her a fortune-hunter. “My father was my tutor.”

“And did you then attend a school for young ladies?”

She shook her head.

Both his brows shot up. “An earl’s daughter? And no finishing school?”

Her chin climbed high. “A title does not always command riches such as yours, your grace,” she said quietly.

Their eyes caught. “I meant no offense,” he said softly.

“None taken.” Nonetheless, her tone remained stiff with pride.

“Any brothers? Sisters?”

“No. My mother died when I was very young. My father, more recently.” An ache settled around her heart. There had been no time to mourn. To grieve over the loss of her father. Through some miracle, her voice remained steady. “So you see, there’s just me.” Hastily she amended the statement. “And Uncle Murdoch, of course. He was my mother’s only brother.”

“Is your uncle married?”

His interest was keen. Too keen for curiosity? she wondered.

“No,” she lied. “When my father died, I took up residence with Uncle Murdoch.”

She pushed herself to her feet and stood, looking out to sea. Alec rose and stood beside her.
All at once her insides knotted. She swallowed a rush of awareness. His nearness was distracting. Disturbing. Not even an inch separated them. She was keenly aware of his height, his size. She heartily prayed that he would move.

He did not. Instead she felt his gaze on her profile, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Such avid concentration,” he said. “May I ask what you are thinking about, your grace?”

She was thinking that he shouldn’t be calling her “your grace,” for one thing. “You may ask, but that doesn’t mean I must answer.”

“Oh, come, we are husband and wife. May I not be privy to your thoughts?
Should
I not be privy to your thoughts?”

“Only if I am privy to yours,” she said lightly.

“Touché,” he said dryly.

Maura glanced up at him. “Very well, then. There’s a promontory near my home. Sometimes I would climb there. It took nearly half a day since it’s very near the most northernmost part of Ireland. You cannot imagine…It has the most unparalleled view.”

“I think I can imagine.” She had no idea that Alec’s gaze was trained solely on her.

“The sea was all around,” she went on. “To the north. The east and west. It was like being on top of the world, and I used to fancy I could see
clear to the Arctic. It rained sometimes, but still I stayed. Because when the sun came out, there was always the most glorious rainbow. It looked like it stretched around the world.” A faint wistfulness crept into her voice. “It was like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”

“Oh, but you’ve not yet seen a Scottish rainbow.”

“The sky is too gray here for a rainbow proper,” she informed him primly. As if to prove it, she gestured upward where the entire sky was locked in cloud cover.

He gave a raucous laugh. “You’re touting the beauty of an Irish rainbow? On that soggy bog of an island?”

Maura wrinkled her nose at him.

Together they turned and started toward the headland. The wind gusted furiously now, stinging her eyes so that she could scarcely see. She led the way up the rocky pathway to the lane carefully, with Alec close behind. One particularly fierce blast sent her reeling back. His hand at her back was all that kept her upright. Once again he rescued her.

The rain began the instant they were seated in the gig. It pummeled them like ice. Maura grabbed the strings of her bonnet. They ripped through her fingers and her bonnet sailed away.
Her cloak flapped high, like the wings of a gigantic bat.

It seemed to take forever to get back to Gleneden, though it was little more than a mile or so. Near the entrance, a groom took hold of the bridle. Lifting her down, Alec held her hand as they climbed the stairs.

Once they were behind closed doors, he turned to her. “I’ll boast no more about our Scottish sunshine. Now, why don’t you have a bath, a nap if you like, since you didn’t sleep well last night. Or if you wish, I can show you your new home.”

Her new home. Guilt prodded her. Gleneden would never be her home, but for the time it took to find the Circle. “I’d love to see the house,” she said quickly.

“We’re both in need of dry clothing. I must sign a few documents with my estate manager as well, so it may be half an hour or so. Shall I knock on your door when I’m ready?”

She detected a slight derision on his part. At least he’d asked this time. She walked away, concealing her excitement. This would give her the chance to determine where to begin her hunt for the Circle.

It was Mrs. Yates who came to fetch Maura. She explained that Alec awaited her in his study; he was still conferring with the estate manager. An endearing woman, Maura learned that Mrs. Yates had been with the household since she was a young girl. She proudly informed Maura that she was appointed housekeeper when Alec’s mother—the Dowager Duchess since Alec had wed—had been a bride herself.

Another needle of guilt. Alec’s mother was still the Duchess of Gleneden.

Alec was bent over a map spread out on a monstrous-sized table, along with another man. When he saw Mrs. Yates and Maura by the door, he beckoned Maura inside.

He straightened. “Maura. Mr. Campbell, may I present my wife, Duchess of Gleneden. Maura, this is my estate manager, Malcolm Campbell. We don’t hold it against him that he was born into the Campbell Clan, but neither do we let him forget it.” Alec’s tone was wry.

Mr. Campbell chuckled. “Och, and ye know, yer grace, ’tis lucky ye are to have a Campbell who will deign to work fer ye.” The man turned to Maura and bowed his head low. “Yer Grace.”

Maura held out her hand and shook his soundly. “Mr. Campbell, a pleasure.”

Alec glanced at her. “Stay if you like, Maura. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

She walked to the bank of windows across the room, pretending to stare at the courtyard. Deliberately, she kept her back to the men. Foolish, unexpected tears burned the back of her throat. She fought to stanch them, to compose herself. Seeing Alec tease Mr. Campbell, the comfortable air between them wrought painful—yet, oh so endearing!—memories of Murdoch and her father. Like Murdoch, Mr. Campbell was a tall man, though he carried more girth than Murdoch’s rangy frame.

And her father…oh, Lord, how she missed him! Remembering the night of his death was like
a knife through the heart. A twisting ache rent her breast when she thought of him. The hurt was still too fresh, the emptiness in her soul a yawning, gaping wound.

As for Alec, she remembered the way he’d teased her the night of the masquerade. She had yet to see his teasing air return, not until now, with Mr. Campbell. Of course, his aim had been to entice her into his bed, but she couldn’t fault him for that, now, could she? Not when she had played the coquette in equal measure.

It brought home her deceit even more, the way she had tricked him so she could come to Scotland. How she regretted her deceit! But it couldn’t be avoided. She must continue to be strong. She couldn’t allow such feelings to get in the way.

A pair of strong hands descended on her shoulders. Maura started. She hadn’t heard Mr. Campbell leave.

“Are you ready?” Alec asked lightly.

Maura turned. She kept her head high, her gaze downcast—not that it mattered, she soon discovered.

She was aware of him peering down at her. “What is it?” he asked.

“What is what?”

“Are you crying?” He sounded incredulous.

“No.” Maura gritted her teeth.

“You are.” With the pad of a finger, he swept up a trail of wetness and held it before her, as if it were a trophy.

“Look. You
are
crying.”

The oaf! Did he think she needed evidence? “I am not, Scotsman. I am done crying.”

For an instant his expression was utterly perplexed. Why, she wondered, were men always so astonished when a woman cried?

He persisted. “Why were you crying?”

She said nothing.

“If you’re unwell—” he began.

“I am not,” she said. When he showed no sign of moving, she waved a hand. “I—I was thinking of my father,” she admitted haltingly. “His study was much like this.” In truth, it was. Warm wood covered the walls. A large desk, leather chairs. The difference was that Alec’s was meticulously maintained, and furnished just as meticulously. Her father’s was minimally maintained, whenever she or Jen managed to get round to dusting it, and sparsely furnished. Last year they’d sold off a valuable painting to see to the tenants’ wintering.

There was a yawning silence. “I’m sorry,” Alec said finally. “I’d forgotten. You mentioned it earlier. And I remember now that your uncle said something about your father being the late earl.”

It was a supremely awkward moment.

“If you like, we can certainly postpone—”

She shook her head. “There is no need. I am perfectly fine. I should hate to lose my way to the dining room again and die of starvation.”

He smiled slightly. “We can’t have that now, can we?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

Maura wiped away the traces of tears, blew her nose, and passed it back to him.

“I suppose my nose is bloody red now, isn’t it?”

He paused, as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Go on,” she muttered. “Just say it. It’s bloody red.”

He smiled, the first true smile she’d seen since they’d arrived in Scotland.

“I was going to say charmingly pink, but that would be an inaccuracy. Yes, it’s bloody red.”

Oddly, that seemed to lighten the air.

He extended a hand, indicating that she precede him. “Shall we?” he murmured.

They were just stepping out the door when a sudden shaft of sunlight chanced to catch Alec’s face. Maura’s breath caught, for he reminded her of a god come to life. His hair was thick and richly black, cropped so a lock fell forward onto his forehead. His brows were just as black, the arch pronounced; a perfect frame and foil for eyes
so startlingly light blue given the darkness of his hair. His nose could only be called patrician, his jaw squarely sculpted. His mouth was beautifully masculine, unsmiling at the moment. Each feature in itself was one of perfection. In sum, Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden, was a man of arresting masculinity, so strikingly handsome as to be unforgettable. Was it any wonder that flirting with him the night of the masquerade had been so easy?

Be careful,
cautioned a voice in her mind. It wouldn’t do to find herself smitten with Alec McBride. Aye, he was a most fetching man to look upon. But other than the night they had met, and today, if she were honest with herself, she’d found his character rather despicable.

She had but one goal here in Scotland, she reminded herself.

To find the Circle of Light and bring it home—home to Ireland.

Nothing or no one would stop her from honoring her promise to her father—and with that vow came courage and resolve.

Several hours later Maura’s head was spinning at the size and arrangement of the house. It was shaped like an E, with the centrally located great hall giving way to long hallways that angled into
several wings. She counted no less than six staircases, including the grand staircase in the hall. This was the oldest part of the house; dating from the time of Robert the Bruce, as Alec had told her yesterday. Numerous additions such as the north and south wing had been made throughout the centuries, with comforts added and rooms changed so that, in truth, things were never outdated.

The central wing was for entertainment and formal events. It included the ballroom and music room, as well as the library. The north wing was designated for family. In it were the duke and duchess’s suite, other bedchambers, Alec’s study, the schoolroom, and various rooms generally used for the family. The south wing was primarily designated for guests.

Maura couldn’t help the avenue to which her mind strayed. There were antiques, vases, numerous items of extreme value, she was certain. How many, she once again wondered furiously, had the Black Scotsman acquired during his pirating days?

And where would such a man hide the Circle of Light? She disguised her cursory search as curiosity. In one bedroom, she opened a glossy, almost gaudy chest from the Orient and peered inside. A quarter hour later she peered into the drawer of
an elaborate French secretaire. In another room, she slipped a toe beneath the edge of an intricately stitched Turkish carpet and cast an unobtrusive glance beneath.

Or so she thought.

She was startled to see Alec leaning leisurely against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest. “What are you looking for, Irish?” he asked, his tone rife with amusement. “I mentioned a curse this morning. Have you decided I’m concealing hidden treasure? Odd, but at a family dinner in London earlier this year, we talked about that very thing—that if there were treasure here at Gleneden, Aidan and I—and Annie, too—would have discovered it long ago.” He held up both hands. “But if you know some Irish superstition or spell that will make it magically appear, I invite you to find it. Indeed, I will applaud you if you find it.”

Maura muttered an old Irish curse.

They ended strolling down the long corridor that led back toward the great hall. Alec clearly took great pride in his heritage. He was pleased by her numerous questions and interest. There were portraits on each wall, the family through various generations.

Maura stopped before the one just outside the ballroom.

“That was painted several years before my father became ill,” Alec told her.

She smiled at the chestnut-haired young girl, standing near her father, who looked ready to burst into laughter.

“My sister Anne,” Alec said. “Or Annie, as we call her. And yes, she is every bit as vivacious as she appears.” Maura felt a momentary wistfulness. There was an air about Anne in the portrait that made her want to laugh along with her. She’d have liked Anne, she decided.

Alec gestured. “My brother Aidan.”

There was no mistaking the pair as brothers. Both were extremely tall, of matching height. Aidan’s hair was a shade lighter than Alec’s, whose jaw was also more square, his build lean but powerful.

Maura blinked at Alec’s mother. Dainty and dark-haired, she wondered how such a tiny woman had borne such towering sons. It was clear Alec and his brother came by their height from their father, a deep-chested man with ruddy cheeks and chestnut hair. The artist had captured a closeness, a sense of genuine love, and for an instant Maura experienced a fleeting regret that she would never meet the rest of his family.

It also made her wonder how Alec had come by his disagreeable nature.

She glanced at him. “Your father,” she ventured. “Forgive me for asking, but what illness did he suffer?”

Alec shook his head. There was no denying the pain that shadowed his expression. “That’s the thing,” he said. “Countless physicians saw him. They argued and fought as to the cause. They disagreed on his treatment. My father was healthy and robust. Yet he simply woke one morning, deathly sick, unable to gather the strength to rise. He remained deathly sick for over a year. Each day, every day, we feared might be his last.”

Maura felt herself sway. Sheer strength of will kept her upright. Just like her father. Oh, sweet heaven, just like her father. Perhaps it was a blessing that he had suffered but a single day.

“To this day,” Alec said quietly, “no one can really say what illness claimed my father.”

Maura knew. A fierce certainty took hold. It was the curse. The curse that plagued the clans McDonough and McBride—the Clan McDonough as punishment for failing to guard the Circle of Light.

And the McBrides for stealing it.

They moved on to view several more portraits. All at once a queer sensation seized hold of her. It was as if some force outside her body made her turn to the opposite wall.

She nearly cried out.

It was like her dream reborn.

A man with a black feathered hat stared down at her, over hair as black as midnight. His eyes were blue, hard as rock; they gleamed as if to mock her. As if he knew something no one else did. As if he knew something she did not.

Her heart pounded quick and hard, almost painfully. The Black Scotsman, she realized. Beneath a dark, heavy moustache, his lips pulled back in a leer. It was like being drawn back into her dream. She could swear that eerie laughter spilled forth. On his hand—his left hand only—he wore a black leather glove, clamped over his sword. A chill spread over her, a chill that seemed to ice the very air in her lungs.

Alec stepped up beside her.

Maura heard herself whisper, “Who is he?”

“That is James, the seventh Duke of Gleneden. Nasty looking fellow, isn’t he?”

Evil was the word that came to her. She stared at that black-gloved hand. A shiver went through her, a shiver she felt in her very heart. It was as if she could feel that hand wrapped around her throat, choking the life from her.

“I would have to check the family annals, but I believe he endured some sort of family tragedy. He had but one son, I think. Luckily for that,”
Alec said dryly, “else I wouldn’t be here with you now.”

The curse again.

“I would love to look at the family annals sometime,” she said. “Such things can be fascinating reading. One should take pride in one’s family origins, don’t you think?”

“I quite agree. When I was young, no doubt I could have told you his wife’s name, if he had brothers or sisters, all of those things. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten some of it,” Alec admitted.

Perhaps it was true, then, that the Black Scotsman had concealed his identity even from his family. Or perhaps Alec wouldn’t own up to having a black sheep in the family.

Dragging in a deep breath, Maura turned away. She could no longer bear to look at James, seventh Duke of Gleneden.

Her breath was still quick and hard. She fought to calm her heart. She fought to regain vision of the Circle of Light, the way it appeared in this morning’s dream. Silver and glowing. Floating on a bed of nothingness. Reflecting every color in the world.

Somehow she had to find it.

And pray it would end this curse once and for all.

When it came time for supper, she donned the crimson taffeta gown she had worn the day after the masquerade, when she and Murdoch met with Alec in the baron’s study. The color, she had discovered, lent her strength.

Nor was Alec’s demeanor disagreeable. Quite the contrary. He was as amiable as he’d been this morning, and supper was not the ordeal she had feared it might be.

Yet she was under no illusions as to Alec’s behavior. She had the uneasy feeling that during the afternoon, while they were together, he’d been digging, prying into her background. She prayed he was satisfied with her answers; she was fairly sure she had given him no reason to doubt her.