Chapter Ten #2
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.
After dinner he shared with her tales of his travels. He’d been to America. To the Continent. To Egypt to visit the tombs of ancient pharaohs.
Maura found herself listening with rapt absorption, her elbows on the table, one hand supporting her chin, not caring that she displayed poor manners. Prior to coming to Scotland, Dublin had been the extent of her travels, she thought wistfully.
The evening passed far more quickly than she’d anticipated. After the last dish was removed, Alec slid his chair back and rose to his feet and extended a hand. Maura hesitated. A hasty glance upward revealed his regard was ripe with amusement.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his and rose.
“A glass of wine in the rose parlor, Irish? Or perhaps the great hall. It’s quite cozy to sit before the fire with a glass of brandy.”
She shot him a telling glance.
“No? I thought you had your fill of tea during dinner. You must have been feeling more poorly than I thought the day after the masquerade.”
“Pray do not make light of me, your grace.”
He chuckled, the sound low and oddly pleasing.
Maura’s heart skipped a beat. His laugh…the way he looked at her, his blue eyes so warm…
She swallowed. “Actually, I believe I should like to retire.”
His brows shot high. Maura held her breath. Dear Lord, she prayed he didn’t perceive it as an invitation. “So soon?” he asked. She had no chance to respond. “Ah, but I forget,” he murmured. “You didn’t sleep well last night. In that case, allow me to escort you upstairs.”
He offered an arm. Maura had no choice but to take it.
Her fingers rested lightly on his sleeve.
Even through the layers of cloth, she could feel the taut muscle beneath.
He was silent as they climbed the stairs and turned down the corridor that led to her room…
and his. She was too nervous to say a word.
Would he follow her in? Claim his husbandly rights?
He’d toyed with her last night. She wasn’t a fool.
He’d wanted to discomfit her, and he had.
And now his air of self-confidence left her no less uneasy. He resented her. He resented this marriage. He’d made that very clear at the ceremony. But today his attitude had changed and it seemed he’d accepted the circumstance with no further consideration.
Maura knew better. She envied him his composure as they stopped at the door to her room. He opened it, but remained where he was, wearing the half smile that was becoming so familiar…a smile that both disarmed her yet left her wary.
She released his arm. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, what to say. Her poise had deserted her, as had her tongue.
His head lowered. She looked up sharply. It gave her a start to find him staring straight at her mouth, his eyes dark with some emotion she dare not ponder. For a heart-stopping moment she was convinced he meant to kiss her.
The bottom dropped out of her belly. Shadows from the wall lamps played across his features. Everything inside her twisted into a knot. Oh, Lord, she thought helplessly, he was so handsome she could barely breathe. She wanted…oh, but she wanted him to—
His knuckles grazed the slant of her cheek. “Thank you, Irish, for a most pleasant day.” Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her fingertips, then turned and walked away.
Inside her room, Maura closed the door, then slumped back against it. Unwittingly, she lifted the back of her hand to her mouth—the very place his lips had kissed, she realized—then snatched it away. Airy as his touch had been, she felt as if she’d been branded to the bone.
She was trembling, she realized. Her heart was thudding so loud it echoed in her ears like a drum. Heaven help her, but she was a fool. She hadn’t planned on this. She hadn’t expected to be so attracted to him. She hadn’t expected to be attracted to him at all! she thought wildly.
But she was, far more than she had realized. Far more than she should have been. And she had been from the start. The admission shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did.
She had wanted to feel the heat and pressure of his mouth against hers. She’d wanted him to kiss her the way he had the night of the masquerade, long and slow and heated.
All the more reason to guard against him.
For she had learned something that day. Alec was a man of many sides. Those pale blue eyes could be icy and cold, or heated and seductive. Filled with cool deliberation or fiery anger.
She didn’t quite trust him. Again she had the feeling she had been weighed and tested throughout the day. Which left no conclusion but one.
Alec McBride was perhaps even more dangerous when he was charming…than when he was not.