Chapter Nine
It is a marriage nonetheless…I merely wish to set about the bedding of my bride with husbandly vigor…I promise you, you’ll not be disappointed.
Like the ringing of bells, Maura heard his voice, tolling through her mind.
It cost her much to admit that the encounter had left her nerves scraped raw. Shaken, her heart still pounding violently, she threw on her nightgown and practically leaped into bed.
She didn’t deceive herself. Alec McBride was a formidable presence. He exuded power. Self-confidence. He was not a man one could underestimate, she conceded silently. Not a man one should underestimate.
She was very much afraid she had made a grave miscalculation.
Alec left her in no doubt as to his feelings about this marriage. He resented it. He believed she’d married him for his wealth.
Which was all well and good, she thought shakily.
But what if he found out Murdoch had paid the deacon?
What if he discovered that Deacon O’Reilly was no deacon at all?
Oh, once upon a time he’d been a clergyman.
But that was before he was caught pilfering from the church funds and stripped of all privilege.
What if Alec discovered their marriage was a sham?
The thought sent panic tracing through her. When Alec left tonight, she’d never seen eyes so cold and icy. She had only sought to make her way into the house of the Black Scotsman. She hadn’t counted on the man himself.
He was shrewd. She hadn’t expected him to stroll into her room as he had. That, she acknowledged with a faint hint of panic, was a mistake on her part. She’d cautioned herself not to let down her guard. But she certainly hadn’t expected him to strip her naked, the wretch!
It wasn’t wise to provoke him, she scolded herself soundly. She must learn to curb her tongue. But he himself provoked her reaction, with his goading little speeches. The man was beastly and arrogant! How dare he barge into her room unannounced!
You are the interloper here, charged a niggling little voice in her mind.
She stared up at the ceiling. She could still hear his voice.
I promised you a night of marital bliss.
She had been lucky tonight. Whether or not he truly intended to follow through, she couldn’t be sure. She thought he didn’t. There had been too much anger in his kiss. Too much angry pride, she acknowledged shakily.
Her emotions were wildly erratic. She was both excited and afraid. At least she was here. In Scotland. Murdoch had warned her, however. If you dig a grave for others, you might fall into it yourself.
Alec McBride might well prove her downfall. One false move and all would be lost.
Maura didn’t deceive herself as to his behavior. His message tonight had been clear. This was his home and he would do as he pleased. She was his, and he would do as he pleased with her.
It was his way of telling her he would not be manipulated.
But she could not yield, she thought. She must endeavor to stay out of his bed. She had to believe she could. As angry as he’d been over being forced to marry her, he was still a gentleman. A rather wild and wicked one, and there was the rub.
He believed their marriage had been consummated, or he would never have consented to wed her. And now she was charged with the task of keeping him convinced they were truly wed, without arousing suspicion that they were not.
That angry pride might well prove an advantage.
A way of keeping him from her bed. But how long would it continue?
She must somehow find a balance so she could hunt for the Circle without him knowing it.
She must charm him just enough that he would not become suspicious, yet all the while keep him at bay.
If he discovered her virtue intact, he would discover the truth.
He would discover her ruse.
An hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her.
How very impossible it seemed!
It didn’t help knowing that all this had occurred as a result of her machinations. She’d thought herself so clever when everything had come off without a hitch in Ireland.
But they were in Scotland now, and she was no longer sure of anything. And one thing was becoming excruciatingly clear.
Alec McBride was no fool.
It was late before Maura finally slipped into the land of dreams. But they were not pleasant dreams. Quite the contrary.
She was racing through the forest, darting between the trees.
Shadows loomed all around. Someone was behind her, calling.
Giving chase. Her pursuer grew closer. The Black Scotsman, she realized.
His image loomed in her mind. He wore his pirate’s garb, a feathered hat over hair that was black as the night.
Beneath a dark, heavy moustache, his lips pulled back.
Chilling laughter spilled forth, for he was almost upon her now.
On his hand—his right hand only—he wore a black leather glove.
It snatched at her, that black-gloved hand, yet she eluded him.
Then all at once she saw the Circle of Light. It was small. No larger than the span of her fingers spread wide. It hovered, floating and aglow, slowly turning, the most beautiful myriad of colors reflected on beaten silver. And somehow she knew that she had only to touch it to reach safety.
Almost there. Almost there. With a cry she stretched out her fingertips, just as the black-gloved hand of the Black Scotsman seized hold of her skirt. Then she was falling. Falling a very great distance.
Down into the arms of a wild, wicked Scotsman with eyes like chips of icy blue…
“Wake up, Irish. Wake up.”
She woke with a strangled gasp. Alec sat on the bed beside her, gently shaking her shoulder.
The strangest thought popped into her mind. Alec on the bed was not dangerous.
Alec in the bed was quite dangerous indeed.
He stopped when he realized she was awake. “Good heavens, Irish, you’ve frightened half the staff with your shrieking.”
Maura was still half dazed. “I—I was dreaming.”
“Yes, I gathered that.” His gaze resided on her lips. She felt her face heat up, remembering the way he’d kissed her last night.
The way he’d made her stand naked before him.
And now he regarded her again, this time with his head cocked to the side. “What were you dreaming about?”
She certainly had no wish to tell him.
A finger beneath her jaw, he brought her gaze to his. “What were you dreaming about?”
“A pirate,” she admitted grudgingly. “A pirate was chasing me.”
“A pirate, eh? Why, I wonder why that could be.” A rather wicked gleam flared in his eyes. “Handsome, was he, your pirate?”
Something—a good night’s sleep perhaps?—had lightened his foul mood of the night before.
The lack of a good night’s sleep had soured hers. “No,” she said with acid sweetness. “He was quite the most wretched, ugly pirate you could ever imagine.”
One corner of Alec’s mouth slanted up—a wicked smile without doubt. “And were you rescued from this wretched pirate, Irish?”
Maura frowned. It was discomfiting that he was fully clothed, while she lay beneath the blanket wearing only a nightgown.
“I think not. I fell into the arms of yet another pirate. And I believe he meant to torment me rather than rescue me.”
“Oh, surely not. Let me hazard another guess. This other pirate in your dreams. I’d wager he was indeed quite handsome.”
She compressed her lips.
“Yes,” he said lightly, “I see I am right. I knew I would be, of course.”
What audacity! She fixed him with a glare. “And why would you assume that?”
“Simply because I’m quite familiar with the workings of the female mind.”
“Are you, Scotsman?” It slipped out before she could stop it. “So you are quite familiar with the fairer sex? You know, it’s rude to boast of your conquests to your wife of but a day.” No doubt he would brag of his prowess again!
One black brow hiked a fraction. “I was speaking of my sister Anne. When she was a child, she and my cousin Caro could be quite melodramatic.”
“Well, I am neither a child nor melodramatic.”
As she spoke, she shifted a little so she could face him. But the movement unwittingly dragged the loose round neck of her nightgown down.
Alec said nothing. His eyes settled on her bare shoulder. Maura dragged the sheet back up to cover it.
Their eyes met.
“Shall I stay and help you with your bath?”
Her look of shock must have pleased him. His devilish half smile widened. “No? Another day, perhaps.” He paused. “You know, Irish, if your dreams are always so noisy, you’ll give me no choice but to have you removed elsewhere.”
At least then he wouldn’t be in the next room. It was her turn to smile. “Wherever you can find room, your grace.”
“On second thought, your grace”—he turned it neatly back around—“perhaps you should simply share mine. Then I would be there to shush you when you are in need of shushing.”
Maura’s smile froze.
“Or to comfort you, Irish, whatever the case might be.”
She turned a look on him designed to blister.
“Indeed, perhaps it’s simply because you had to spend the night alone in a strange place that you had such a horrid dream. That’s easily remedied, don’t you think?”
All of a sudden she wasn’t feeling quite so smug. Oh, the wretch! Surely he didn’t mean it. Oh, surely not!
“Are you always such a slugabed, Irish?”
Maura yanked her eyes from his face to the bedside clock. She was shocked to discover it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning.
“How long before you’re dressed?”
“Not long,” she said quickly. She certainly didn’t want to bring up the subject of baths and bathing again.
“Excellent.”
He rose, started toward the door, then turned back.
Maura froze. She’d started to climb out of bed, and now was terribly afraid that nearly the entire length of one leg was visible.
She knew it for certain when his gaze lingered on her thigh, then traveled leisurely up to her face. “I thought we might go for a drive. Oh, and wear something serviceable for the outdoors. The sun is out now, but our weather can be a bit unpredictable at times.”
Maura blinked. “Your grace?”
“You aren’t the sort who wails at getting a bit damp, are you, Irish?”
“Certainly not.”