Samantha James (18 page)

But there was no solace. No sanctuary. No hiding anymore.

She swallowed. “Alec,” she whispered. “We are not wed.”

The silence that followed was brittle. Brutal.

He released her.

Her eyes opened. There was no evading his. He stared at her, his features fierce. The touch of his eyes was an icy blue, as chilling as the northern seas. One look from those icy blue eyes sent a shiver running through her—but hardly one of delight.

Maura felt cut to the bone. It was all she could do to brave such chilling regard. Alec was again the peremptory duke.

His mouth was a taut, straight line. “Explain yourself, if you please.”

Her pulse clamored. She discovered she was
shaking inside and out. Damn the man, but he could be quite intimidating when he chose!

“Deacon O’Reilly…Murdoch found him. You were right, you see. We—I—paid him to perform the ceremony. But he had no authority to preside over our wedding. Over any wedding. He was stripped of all privileges in the Church when he was discovered stealing from the church fund.”

He offered no reply. Maura had the fleeting sensation he didn’t dare speak.

That he was furious, there was no question. His lips were ominously thin. His quiet fury was almost worse than if he’d shouted. She had never realized that quiet could be so unnerving.

She swallowed. “It was never meant to come this far.”

Alec’s regard skidded to the bed. It was no accident his gaze lingered on the stain where they had lain. “Clearly,” he bit off, “it wasn’t.”

Maura winced at his icy barb. “I thought it would be easy to find the Circle. I thought to return to Ireland long before this. A week, at most. I—I thought you could explain my departure by saying I died in the crossing back to Ireland.”

His eyes seemed to sizzle. The silence spun out. Maura stood still while he walked pointedly around her to stand at the window, his profile
forged in iron. She had the feeling he was gathering himself in hand.

At length he turned. “Well, then,” he stated coolly, “there’s nothing else to be done, is there? We’ll marry. At once.”

Maura was stunned. “What?”

“As soon as it can be arranged.”

Her head was spinning. “You want to marry me?”

“It’s not a question of want. It’s a question of needs-must.”

She stiffened. “Why, thank you, your grace, for that reassurance.”

His tone turned sharp. “It must be done, Maura. You know it as well as I.”

“I know of no such thing. You think that because you are the Duke of Gleneden, that I must heed you. Well, I think not, Scotsman.” Anger overrode caution. It banished all else. “You may be master of Gleneden, Alec McBride, but you will not master me. You forget, I am not your wife, nor will I ever be your wife.”

“You refuse my proposal?”

“That was a proposal? I perceived it as a demand. Besides, do you expect me to be flattered? I came to recover the Circle, which was stolen,” she stressed, “by your ancestor, the bloody Black Scotsman.”

“So you would bed down with me yet not marry me?”

Maura flinched inside. Must he make it sound sordid?

“Ah, but it was never supposed to happen, was it?”

“Aye. All the more reason we must forget.” Her tone was very low. Her reality was painfully acute. “I belong in Ireland. My clan needs me, now more than ever since my father is dead.” A faint bitterness crept in. “And you certainly did not hide your aversion for our marriage when we stood in the baron’s garden. I should think you’d be glad we are not wed. That I am not after your title or riches or any of your—” She broke off.

His gaze homed in on hers. “What, have you spirited away the silver?”

Maura swallowed.

“Dear Lord, you have, haven’t you?”

Her chin lifted. “A few pieces from the attic. Some of the rooms. The pin money you said I might have. Nothing you will ever miss. We need the money far more than you.”

“Let me guess how you accomplished this.” His brows lifted. “Murdoch?”

There was no point in lying. “Aye, he is near. So you see, he did not abandon me after all.”

The air was charged and crackling. He gave a
bitter laugh. “Oh, but this is rich! My own wife—who was really never my wife—is a plundering thief!” He paused. “But I will soon know the truth for myself, Irish. Whether or not your lands are as barren as you say.”

“What the devil does that mean?”

“Oh, come, sweet. You cannot deny the circumstances of our ‘marriage’ warranted suspicion…and warrant confirmation.”

Maura was still grappling with a dawning awareness. She would soon know the truth herself.

Her eyes never left his face. “You sent someone to Ireland? You sent someone to spy on me?”

“I would hardly call it spying, Irish. I consider it more of a mission to ascertain the truth.”

She was too furious to speak.

Alec’s gaze slid down her body. “You do realize there now exists the possibility that you may soon carry my heir?”

“Your heir! Need I remind you we are not wed?”

“Precisely the reason we should be.” His tone was clipped and abrupt. “Or does Toothless Nan have a potion for that, too?”

Maura caught her breath. Oh, but that was cruel of him. “Then my heir will grow up in the land you so fondly call that soggy bog of an isle.”

He looked at her. “Has it occurred to you that I have every right to pitch you out this very day?”

A jolt went through her. She felt herself pale.

“Yes, Irish, I see that you do.”

Her anger eroded. Her lungs burned, yet it was as if she were frozen in place. She could only watch numbly as he shoved his legs into his trousers, then reached for his shirt.

Despair shattered her. “Alec.” His name was half strangled. “Alec, please do not! Aye, I deceived you. Aye, I lied! But I beg you, please let me stay and find the Circle. Help me find the Circle. Then I will be gone. Out of your life forever.”

He shoved his feet into his boots, stood and started toward the door.

“Alec. Alec, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

His features were grim, his voice clipped and distinct. “Since you are not my wife, I certainly don’t expect that you care where I go—or what I do.”

The door slammed, and then he was gone.

Maura erupted into tears.

Alec planted his hands on the back of the chair in his study. Lowering his head, he squeezed hard, struggling to control the heat that still swirled
in his body. He inhaled deeply, but it did little to quell the upheaval inside him.

Maura was right. He told himself he should be glad she wasn’t his bride. She had schemed. Lied. With no qualms whatsoever. It was just as he’d said. He had every right to cast her out.

But it gave him no satisfaction knowing that he’d been right after all. That his so-called marriage to the lovely Maura happened because she wanted something from him—the chance to search for some mythical object that no doubt had ever existed!

But his fury vied with a heart in torment.

I belong in Ireland.

No. She belonged here. With him.

But she had refused his proposal. Refused it! Refused him!

He was stung to the marrow of his bones. His mind—his very soul—was in turmoil.

He could almost believe she was an Irish witch. He was bewitched. Bedazzled. Beguiled.

As if she’d cast some spell over him!

It would also account for her belief in such nonsense as the Circle of Light, he decided with black humor.

Just when he’d begun to trust her, he learned the truth.

It wasn’t him she wanted, but this damned
Circle of Light. How she could believe in something so absurd, he had no idea.

But she had trembled against him. Burned for him in passionate surrender.

The thought nearly brought his rod rising once again.

With an impatient exclamation, he headed outside to the stable. He needed a good long ride to clear his head.

Before he knew it, he was at the cove where he’d taken her that first day at Gleneden, and climbed over the rocks to where he could sit. He recalled telling her how he and Aidan played at being pirates when they were young.

Never in his life would he have guessed that his lovely bride believed in a pirate called the Black Scotsman—and his ancestor yet!

Never in his life would he have guessed that she had come to Gleneden to seek out a treasure this pirate had claimed.

What was it she had said?

A curse should never be taken lightly, Scotsman.

For a fraction of a moment an eerie tingle danced along his spine.

He shook it off and stared out across the water, listening to waves lap at the shoreline. He watched the sun blaze on the horizon, then plummet beneath. For an instant it was as if he saw some
thing he’d never seen before—a hazy silhouette of a pirate’s vessel, cutting through to the south and west.

To Ireland.

A long time later he got to his feet and mounted his horse for the ride back to Gleneden. He recalled Maura’s face when he told her he had every right to pitch her out.

Her expression had been utterly stricken, her beautiful green eyes shadowed and dark. It was an image that would not leave him.

He searched the stormy seas in his heart. He would help on her foolish quest for her precious Circle. Oblige her until her belief was laid to rest. And then…and then…

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that the very thought of letting her go tore at his heart as nothing had ever done before.

Her room was dark when he let himself in, shortly before midnight. Quietly, he approached the bed.

Maura stirred. “Alec?”

His gut twisted. He silently cursed himself, for her voice carried the thready sound of tears.

He sat. Through the dark, his gaze captured hers. With the back of his fingers, he grazed the softness of his cheek, the merest caress.

“After we search for your Circle, it is your wish to return to Ireland?”

He was careful to keep all trace of emotion from his voice.

Her lashes swept down. “I must,” she said softly.

His thumb brushed across her lips. “Then so be it.”

He rose and started toward the door between their rooms.

“Alec?”

He half turned. “Yes?”

She slipped from beneath the covers and walked to him. Slender arms stole about his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Alec went very still as she raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his mouth—the contact almost fleeting.

But it was a kiss that seared him to the core of his being.

Maura withdrew her arms. Her bare feet eased to the floor. Alec gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

He wondered if she would ever know it cost him heaven and earth to walk away.

Four days came and went. It was a time of rising temperatures, of rising heat…of rising passion.

Ready to ignite at any time.

For Alec and Maura were equally aware of the other. Having tasted of the other merely sharpened their hunger. And living together under the same roof, knowing the other slept at night with but a single wall between them…

Tension simmered, smoldered.

Alec called himself a fool a hundred times over. Why hadn’t he insisted that Maura marry him if she wanted to continue her search?

Yet if she despised him for it…

He couldn’t stand the thought.

Nor did he want her under those circumstances. If she stayed, it must be of her own free will.

Nothing less would satisfy either of them.

Thomas Gates had sent a note that the unexpected arrival of his sister and her children had delayed his trip to Ireland—to McDonough lands. Alec wondered if he’d reacted too hastily in engaging Thomas. No, he decided. He needed the truth.

So it was that his mood was unsettled.

Maura, however, was utterly driven. Intent. As if she could not wait to be away from him. But not for the reason Alec believed.

It was no longer just because of her promise to her father that she wanted so desperately to find the Circle.

It was for Alec, too.

She dreaded what might happen if she did not. Fear clutched at her. She feared for Alec’s safety. She had to find the Circle so the curse that bound their families together would finally be broken.

She couldn’t bear the thought that something terrible might befall him.

She relived the night he’d come and sat on her bedside. The immeasurably gentle way he’d caressed her cheek. Every time she thought of it, her heart turned over.

She reminded herself that when she found the Circle, she must return to Ireland.

And never see Alec again.

All the more reason to resist him.

All the more reason to deny her own traitorous longing.

The search now renewed, she was grateful for Alec’s help. He knew Gleneden as no one else did. But four days of searching in the hall and outside turned up nothing.

Maura was undaunted. Even though the servants had emptied the shelves in the library, she returned there one morning. Alec came upon her sliding her hands over the paneling beside the fireplace.

“Looking for hidden passages? Secret stairways?” he inquired.

She shot him a murderous look.

“Maura, for heaven’s sake, have done with it!”

She spun around to face him. She was insistent, her conviction unwavering. “It’s here,” she cried. “I just haven’t figured out where.”

“My ancestors were honorable people.”

“And so are mine. Certainly none of mine were pirates!”

“Well, let me think. Suppose you are right. Why would my pirate ancestor—provided I do have such a rogue in my lineage—have hidden such a treasure? Wouldn’t he display it? He certainly wouldn’t hide it.”

There was a mutinous tilt to her chin. “Perhaps not something so precious as the Circle of Light. Everyone would know then that he truly was a plundering pirate. Everyone would know the Black Scotsman was the Duke of Gleneden. I have thought on this a great deal, Alec—”

“I’m quite aware of that, Irish.”

Maura scowled at him, but went on. “I imagine he would put it somewhere where he could savor it—”

“The mythical object that no one in this century or the last has ever seen. Whose existence cannot be proven—”

“I don’t expect you to care,” Maura cried. “It’s here. Somewhere. I feel it with every breath. I know it’s here at Gleneden.”