Emerald Embrace (11 page)

“But bolting the door is a good idea, a very good idea, while you are here. Make it a practice.”

He walked to the door, his strides long. But when he would have opened it, he turned back suddenly. “Tell me, milady, has the dream faded now? What caused it? When your eyes opened and you saw me, I might have sworn that I was the demon of your nightmare.”

She laughed uneasily. “No, milord Creeghan. ’Twas merely the thought of your ancient ancestors, prowling about the halls.”

“Ah, yes, the haunts of the castle. Are you sure that you wish to brave them longer?”

She thought there was a challenge to the soft taunt in his words, and she did not know if he wanted her to stay or to leave. And she wondered if he knew himself what he wanted.

“I told you—”

“But you see, Martise, you do fear the ghosts.”

“I dreamed and nothing more.”

She felt his gaze, though she could not see his eyes in the darkness. “Bolt the door, then. Rest well,” he said, and then he was gone.

For a moment she was still, but then leapt to her feet and raced across the room to slide the bolt. She hesitated there. She could have sworn she had done this before, but then …

She walked across the room to the doors to the balcony. She tried them and discovered that they were firmly bolted. Exhaling slowly, she returned to her bed and lay down upon it.

His scent seemed to linger on the air. She ran her hand over the bed where his heat still remained.

She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep. Images of the day kept running through her mind. She saw Clarissa, laughing through the wrought-iron bars of the gate. Beautiful, bold Clarissa, who so evidently wanted the master of Creeghan.

Faces swam before her: Father Martin’s, Dr. MacTeague’s. Elaina’s … the doctor’s again, earnest before her as he swore that Bruce Creeghan had been devastated.

But things happened. He had never told her what, he had only alluded to the full moon. Strange things happened by the light of the full moon. The people were superstitious. They still worshiped, in their ways, phallic symbols and fertility gods and goddesses.

At last, the images began to drift away. And in time, she slept.

And she dreamed again.

But this time, there was no horror, no terror-filled run along the stone halls of Creeghan. This time, she was here, within this room, and she was alone with Creeghan.

And in the dream she met his eyes. He cast the elegant smoking jacket from his shoulders and began to walk toward her. He was naked and sleek and magnificent, and she should have been shocked, and she should have looked away, but she could not.

She waited, barely breathing, waited, with her arms outstretched. And then he was with her, and he touched her, and it seemed she was consumed with flame, and the sweet magic overwhelmed her … and she knew no more.

But it was with her, the dream was still with her, when she awoke to the bright light of morning. Mortified, she drenched her face in the wash water again and again, and even then, she sat at the foot of the bed and shivered, and wondered what power it was he wielded that could do this to her. Was it something in the wine, or in the water?

She knew that it was not. It was in the man, and in the man alone.

    Elaina was the only one in the great hall when Martise came down for the day. She was quickly up, pulling back one of the dragon-footed chairs for Martise to have a seat. “I’m so glad to see you. I thought that I was all alone for this meal. Ian and Conar are out in the fields and Bruce has gone to see the harness makers. And even Uncle Peter is occupied this afternoon, something about water seeping into the cellar. Castles, you know,” she said with a wry grin. “They are the very devil to keep up.”

Martise smiled, taking the chair Elaina had drawn out for her. “I imagine that it must be so. I’ve never lived in a castle, but I have seen many rather great manor houses, and even those are often victims of time.”

“Of course. Tea?” Elaina asked. “Hogarth has left us to serve ourselves since we are alone. We’ve chafing dishes on the buffet. May I fix you a plate?”

Elaina seemed so eager that Martise smiled and agreed. “Please.”

Elaina poured the tea first, then set about preparing a plate for each of them. Finally, she sat once again and picked up her fork, but did not really seem to want anything to eat, and merely prodded her food about.

“I heard that Clarissa locked you in the crypt yesterday.” She shivered fiercely. “I’m so sorry. It’s such a horrible experience. And Bruce was furious. He was like a beast this morning, swearing we must all take care that such things should not happen again.”

“It was not so horrible.” Elaina looked doubtful. “Really, it was all right. I was in with Mary, Elaina. Not a lot of ancient bodies.”

Elaina shivered again. “Bruce said that you had awful nightmares in the night. I imagine he’ll find Clarissa and speak with her. It seemed that he was about to explode.”

It seemed that he was about to explode …

How furious could he be with Clarissa? The girl was beautiful, really beautiful, and very young. And her adoration for Bruce Creeghan was obvious.

“It’s not so serious as all that,” Martise said. She tasted a bite of her food, stew again, but delightfully different, a mixture of fish and shellfish in a cream sauce. She looked across the table. Elaina was still playing with her food. “I really am all right. It’s you I worry about,” Martise said.

Elaina started, staring at her. She set down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. “Why?”

“This is none of my business, of course,” Martise said, but she rushed on, not giving Elaina a chance to tell her that her words were true. “It broke my heart to see you when I came in just now. You looked so sad. Is there anything at all that I could do for you?”

Elaina simply stared at her. Martise thought that the girl was highly attractive, slim and lithe, with her beautiful green eyes and startling dark hair and fine features. And she came from such a distinguished—and affluent—family.

“Please!” Elaina murmured. “You mustn’t say anything to Bruce. He gets so upset when I … when I brood.”

Martise frowned. If Bruce Creeghan had betrayed any emotion whatsoever, it had been for his sister. “I certainly won’t say anything to anyone,” Martise assured her. “It’s just that I hate to see you suffer. If I could do something—”

Elaina shook her head. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I just wait. I’ve got no choice.” The last sounded desperate. She met Martise’s eyes with a trace of moisture flooding her own. “And you are here. My God, your war has ended, long ago now …”

Confused, Martise shook her head. “It hasn’t been that long,” she said. “General Lee surrendered in April, but Edmund Kirby-Smith fought on awhile and they say that some troops didn’t know the war had ended until it was over for weeks. Months even. I don’t understand—”

“Then we must enlighten you.”

It wasn’t Elaina who spoke, but Bruce Creeghan. Martise hadn’t heard him arrive. But he was there, walking toward them at the table, then walking around the head to his sister’s seat and bending down to kiss her cheek. When his gaze flickered over Martise, she felt a glacial chill. He kept his temper well in control, but she could always feel his anger, feel it simmering beneath the exterior he so often offered them all.

Perhaps he did not pretend with his family. Elaina said he had been furious that morning. Perhaps he had ranted and raved then, the true ancient chieftain, supreme in his world.

Or maybe he was newly angered now, watching her, condemning her, as if she asked questions which were surely none of her concern. As if she had set her nose into his life and had no right to be doing so.

Martise lifted her chin. Mary was dead. She had her rights.

“Enlighten me, then,” she said.

He pulled back his chair and sat watching her.

“I’m glad you find the family so intriguing, Lady St. James,” he said.

“Bruce,” Elaina murmured uncomfortably.

“I’ve a brother still in America,” Bruce said sharply.

“What?” Martise said, startled.

“My younger brother, Bryan. He went to school in America. He became friends with any number of Virginians, and like your husband, madam, he decided to make their war his own.” He turned from her to study his sister, and his voice softened. “For Elaina, it has been worse. Her fiancé, Niall MacNeill, was with Bryan. Neither has returned.”

“Oh!” Martise said.

It was sad—and frightening. Had this Bryan Creeghan had any correspondence with Mary’s sister, Margaret St. James, during the war? How easily this could jeopardize her position!

“I’m so sorry!” she said to Elaina.

“As we are,” Bruce said, “for you. After all, Lady St. James, you were there through the hardships, were you not?”

“Yes, but not to know!” Martise said. “And to miss both brother and beloved to a war that was not really your concern—”

“But that was your same circumstance,” Bruce Creeghan reminded her politely.

“What?” Martise said.

He leaned across the table toward her. “Your husband was an Englishman, Lady St. James. And you lost him to a war that was not his own, or your own.”

She lowered her eyes swiftly. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“It often sounds as if you embraced the Southern cause yourself. As if you had been born a true daughter of the Confederacy,” Bruce said politely.

“’Twas easy to become involved,” she said. “I was there through so much, you see.”

“Of course. The exploding shells, the land ravaged. No matter where you were, how could you have missed involvement? The Shenandoah Valley ravished, the Peninsula campaigns, two battles at Manassas, Cold Harbor, the Wilderness, Chancellorsville, the Siege of Petersburg, the evacuation of Richmond—the war must have come very close to you.”

She stared at him, wondering how in hell he could be so informed on all the different battles.

His brother. His brother had probably written home. That had to be it.

“I was living outside of Richmond,” she said smoothly, “so naturally I heard the roar of the cannons and saw the soldiers passing by often enough. And we tended the wounded from many battles, Lord Creeghan.”

He nodded, and took a sip from the mug of ale that Hogarth brought him. “A hard life, I dare say, yet the time that Lord St. James spent in Africa must have prepared you for it well.”

Africa, again! Damn him. Well, his little brother couldn’t have served in Africa, too.

“Of course. But then the war among the tribesmen was quite different. The fighting seemed far away. We tended wounded, of course,” she lied, “but this was different. The enemy spoke the same language, worshiped the same God.”

She thought that Creeghan was smiling, and it was unnerving. He didn’t seem to believe a single word she was saying.

And she was actually lying damned well.

“Well,” Bruce murmured. He looked at Elaina, then squeezed her hand where it lay upon the table. “We will keep waiting. But I tell my sister that she must live for the present, and not wait for the past forever.”

He stood, pushing back his chair. “I am riding into the village, Lady St. James. If you wish to accompany me, please be ready within the half hour. If you haven’t the proper clothing, I’m sure that there must be something of Mary’s that will suit you well enough.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, but turned around and left the hall.

Martise finished the meal with Elaina, then hurried for the steps behind Bruce.

She didn’t need to take any of Mary’s clothing—she had ridden all of her life and was a capable horsewoman and her wardrobe still consisted of several fine riding habits. But when she would have chosen one of her own, she paused, and delved into Mary’s trunk.

It would be interesting to see Lord Creeghan’s reaction to her in Mary’s clothing.

She chose a beautiful, rich, kelly-green habit with a tailored jacket and smart matching hat with a pert dyed plume. The hat pulled slightly over one eye, and she was startled by her own appearance in the garment. Her hair seemed as rich as fire against the color of the habit, her eyes looked wider and bluer, and the angle of the hat gave her the air of a woman of the world, an attractive woman.

A sensual woman.

She turned immediately away, not wanting to dwell on such an idea when she was already living with such distressing dreams. Lord Creeghan might have his arrogance and confidence, but she had her pride. If they were engaged in battle, then she must win. It was that simple.

She left her room and hurried back down the stairs to the hall. He was not there, and so she left the castle, exiting by the main archway.

He was with one of the young grooms, the lad Jemie, awaiting her. His great bay was saddled and ready, and beside it stood an elegant silver mare with a mane and tail so long that she resembled some mythical beast.

“You’re late,” Creeghan told her. “I waited this once, milady, but I do leave promptly.”

She didn’t have a chance to reply. He was at her side, sweeping her up and lifting her atop the mare. He took the bay’s reins from the lad without a word.

“Good afternoon, Jemie,” she said, ignoring Creeghan. Jemie blushed. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

Creeghan was staring at her. She met his eyes, but they gave nothing away. Whether he was displeased with her apparel or her words to Jemie she wasn’t sure.

“Come, milady,” he said, and turned the bay. He trotted the horse across the bridge and out of the castle to the roadway. Then he set a wickedly rapid pace that a less experienced horsewoman would have had difficulty maintaining.

Was he wishing she would catapult from the mare and break her neck? Martise wondered as they raced along the roadway. The wind tore at her hair, and the dirt and stones flew beneath the horses’ hooves.

But then he slowed his pace, and she pulled in the mare. He waited for her, to ride beside her, and she felt the power of his gaze upon her.

“She’s a fine animal,” he told her of the mare. “An Arabian blend with some of our local stock. She is graceful and surefooted, a virtue necessary in our country of high cliffs and ragged tors.”