Emerald Embrace (37 page)

He had married her, not Cassie. He had made her his bride.

No, he had given Creeghan a bride.

Was it one and the same, or was there a difference?

She didn’t know. She spun, a bit clumsily, in Henry’s arms, and as she did, she saw Ian disappearing down the stairs. Back to the wine cellar perhaps? Or back to the chapel?

Or to the crypts?

She didn’t know, and she was suddenly eager to discover his purpose.

“Oh!” she gasped, smiling at Henry Cunningham. “I do declare, this dancing has gotten the best of me at last. I must sit out a spell.”

“Aye, lady! Come, I’ll bring ye ootside fer some air, and I’ll fetch ye some punch—”

“No, no, Henry, I shall be all right.”

He wasn’t going to leave her, she realized. She smiled. “All right. Fetch some punch, please. I’ll find some air myself, and be right back with you.”

He left her on the dance floor and headed for the buffet table. Martise watched him go, then turned and fled through the crowd, smiling here and there, taking a hand, greeting the guests anew.

She at last made the stairs. Seeing that no one seemed aware she was fleeing her own reception, she looked down the stairway. There was still light down there. The lamps that had led the guests to the wedding in the chapel burned in their sockets along the wall. She picked up the fullness of her skirt and started down the stairs.

She reached the landing and moved tentatively to the arched stone doorways leading to the wine cellar. “Ian!” she called softly. She shivered, for the cellar was cold. She moved away and hurried across to the chapel.

The candles had burned out, just as the daylight beyond the beautiful windows had died away. Now shadows entered the chapel. And the figures within the windows seemed to stare down at her with dark and haunting visages. She was not afraid of the chapel, she assured herself.

But she was.

She backed away. “Ian!” she called again.

She turned and ran back out into the hallway. She started running along the stone floor and came to the modern crypt. The gate hung open.

“Ian!”

She heard a burred and slurry reply. “Come in, come in! said the spider to the fly!”

She stepped through the gate. Ian was perched upon the slab where Mary’s coffin lay. He held a bottle in his hand. He had worn his family’s colors that day, and his tam sat askew upon his head, yet there still seemed to be a dignity about him.

“Ian, what’s wrong?” she asked him.

He waved the bottle at her. She shook her head, refusing it, then came in and sat beside him. Her eyes fell on the repaired wall and she shivered, remembering the body of the poor young girl as she had appeared the day they discovered her.

Where else were there passages? Where else were there rooms, or crevices within the wall, where skeletons might well be hidden? Family skeletons—a literal term in Castle Creeghan.

“Ian, what are you doing down here?” she asked.

His eyes, a paler version of his cousin’s, more green than fire, touched hers. “I told you. I loved Mary. I came to be with her today.”

“I loved her, too, Ian. I’m—I’m sorry if I offended you. I am not trying to take her place.”

He cocked his head when he looked at her. “Well, ye canna really, really take her place, can ye, now?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He studied her intently, and she wondered just how drunk he might be. Was it all an act? He seemed to be reading into her soul. And at that moment, he seemed very wise. “Ye do know what I mean, Lady—Creeghan,” he said softly.

“Ian—” she began uneasily, but he was standing, setting his bottle down upon the slab. “A toast to us, eh, Mary?” he said, speaking to the coffin. He turned toward the coffins beyond Mary. “And to ye, Ma—there’s me mum, Martise, have I shown ye that grave? She was a Creeghan born and bred, and so she rests here. But then, Da shall rest here, too, along with her.” His eyes shot back to hers and he smiled. “And now, Martise, you will rest here, too. Rest with the Creeghans. For eternity.”

She leapt up, suddenly frightened. She wondered briefly why she had come here alone. She had been warned often enough.

He was moving back to her now, and suddenly his hands were tight on her shoulders and his urgent whisper was hot against her cheek and smelled of whisky. “There’s more passages here, Martise. Did ye know? There must be, catacombed within the walls. Passages made by the lairds of Creeghan. To hide royalty, sometimes; to hide Catholics and priests and others. But ye mustna doubt that the lairds know of their passages. For sometimes, lady, ’tis not for honor that men have trod these steps! Indeed, this is a place of death! Come with me, Martise. Come with me, help me discover them. Come with me, deep, deeper into the very bowels of the castle. Ah, lady, the truth must be known!”

“Ian, let me go!” she insisted.

He shook his head, holding her tight, and his voice lowered to an even more urgent whisper. “Ye don’t understand. The full moon is coming. It must be now!”

“No, Ian, no! You must let me go.”

“But Martise—”

“Martise!” a voice thundered out, rich and deep, filling the caverns of the crypts with its life.

Bryan was coming for her. She heard his footsteps on the cellar floor, heard the long, hard length of his stride.

Ian’s hands fell wearily from her shoulders. The light left his eyes and he turned around, taking his seat on the slab by the coffin once again, picking up his whisky bottle.

Then Bryan appeared. Tall, dark, and towering in the archway of the crypt, only his eyes ablaze in the shadows. Martise meant to walk, but she rushed to him, shivering violently when his arm came around her and he pulled her against the warmth and strength of his chest.

“Ian, what are ye doing down here, lad?” Bryan asked.

Ian laughed. “Getting drunk. Come, Bruce, allow me the same folly as the fishermen and sheepherders! Ah, Bruce, come on! Ye’re ever the one with the bride, ever the laird of the castle.” There was the slightest trace of bitterness in his voice. “First there was Mary, and now there is Martise. To the laird of the castle. You are the laird.”

“This has always been your home as much as mine.”

“And I thank ye for it, I do.” He smiled and the bitterness was gone. “Aye, for everything.”

“Ian, I dunna want ye sleeping here among them, man. ’Tis not healthy.”

Ian stared at Bryan and smiled, and his smile was warm and charming. “I’ll not, Bruce. I’ll be up soon enough.” Then his eyes fell upon Martise and he said softly, “I did not mean to hurt ye, Martise. I loved Mary, but we all love ye, too. Ye ken that, do ye not? We’re glad to have ye. We pray for ye, aye, lady, that we do!”

“Aye, Ian. Thank you.”

Martise could stay in the crypt no longer. She turned, heedless of Bryan’s touch, and started across the floor. She nearly screamed aloud when his hand landed on her shoulder and he spun her around to face him.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

“Nothing! I—”

“What in God’s name were ye doing down here?”

“I saw Ian come. I just wanted to speak with him—”

“You fool girl! I’ve married ye for safety, and you defy me at every turn. Never, never follow anyone into the crypts! Never, Martise, do you understand?”

She tossed back her head. “Does that refer to you, too, Laird Creeghan?”

A darkness crossed his features. “Aye, lady, that refers to me, too.”

He stared at her hard. She felt her trembling begin again, and he pulled her taut against him. And still he offered no comfort. “Why did you come?”

“I told you. To speak with Ian.”

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“No, no—”

“What did he say? Why were you so terrified?”

She shook her head. “He really didn’t say anything. He—he babbled. About Mary. And the crypts. He said that there are more passages.”

He leaned back. “Aye, there are more passages. And so help me, these nights I will know them!”

He stepped past her and started for the stairs. Martise remained still and he paused, swinging back to her. He reached out a hand and seemed to bark, “Come!”

She stiffened, “Don’t yell at me!”

“Yell?” he said incredulously. “I’m ready to throttle ye, lass. Come now!”

She ground out an expletive and, ignoring his hand, rushed up the stairs. He was behind her as she hurried back to the great hall.

At the top of the stairs, Henry Cunningham was waiting, still holding her punch. Peggy was standing beside her husband, and they both appeared anxious.

“Ah, there ye are, lass!” Henry said, relieved.

“Henry, yes, thank you!” she said, taking the punch from him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disappear.”

“As long as you’re all right, lass,” Peggy said.

Martise gave her a hug. “I’m fine, and you’re a dear to care. Especially when—” She broke off, and her thought remained heavy on the air.

Bryan had come behind her; she could feel him there long before his hands fell upon her shoulders.

“Martise, my love, what are you saying to these poor people?”

“Nothing, Laird Creeghan, not a thing at all,” Peggy said quickly. “Drink your punch, love. ’Tis nearly midnight, and the bedding will take place.”

“The bedding?” she said. Midnight was the witching hour, she thought. At least, so it had proved at Castle Creeghan. She spun around to stare at Bryan, and his gaze fell upon her with no apology.

“An old custom, my love. They do die hard in the Highlands.”

Even as he spoke, the clock began to chime. A wild cheer went up, and there was suddenly an array of people around them. Uncle Peter and Conar, Dr. MacTeague, and even Father Martin and old Hogarth at the head of the men; Peggy, Katie, Elaina, Holly, and a very mischievous Cassie gathering around Martise. She had one chance to cry out a protest, and then she was soundly lifted into the air by the efforts of the women.

The crowd surged up the stairs and along the ancient hallways, laughter spilling out, raucous, wanton, wild. Bryan was ahead of her, rushed along by the men.

At the master’s chamber, the door was thrust open. With a growing sense of horror Martise felt herself carried ever forward, and she thought that if they stripped them both together, she would surely die of the humiliation.

But it was not to be so bad as that. Bryan was rushed through to the dressing room, and the door was closed in the wake of the men. But there was nothing to be spared her among the women. Though tender care was taken with her gown, there seemed to be a hundred hands upon her. Her gown was gone, her shoes were tossed aside, then her corset, her petticoats, her chemise, and she was down upon the bed as her pantalettes were stripped away. She shivered at her nakedness, distressed that so many eyes, even feminine eyes, should be upon her.

But she wasn’t to be left so for long. Holly was quickly at her side with her bridal nightgown.

It was not white, but a shimmering, see-through blue in a silk as soft as butterfly wings. Elaina slipped it over her head and drew her back to her feet, smiling warmly. “What a beautiful bride!” she exclaimed, and stepped back, holding her new sister-in-law’s hands. “Oh, Martise, truly, you are beautiful!”

Cassie was walking along behind Elaina, eyes not nearly so warm. “Aye, Castle Creeghan has another stunning bride. May this one last!”

“Cassie!” Katie Douglas chastised her.

“Her hair, and quickly!” Peggy said, taking over as the silence became charged. A brush was brought and Peggy made fast work brushing the length of Martise’s hair.

There was a knock upon the dressing room door and Peggy cried out, “Ready!” as she twirled Martise around to face the door. The women fell away as the door opened and Bryan appeared, surrounded by his people.

Her heart hammered; her breath caught. She was still nearly naked, for the gown was so diaphanous that she was defined in the lamp- and candlelight.

And she knew that beneath the black velvet cape that covered her husband’s shoulders, Bryan was naked, too.

He stepped forward and stared at her a long moment, fire eyes burning into hers. And then his fingers threaded hard into her hair and he tilted her head back to his leisure and he kissed her with a dark and staggering passion.

She heard the cries go up around them, the laughter, the taunts, the ribald comments. She wondered desperately where else this display would lead, and brought her palms against his chest, fingers curling against the velvet cape in silent pleading.

They were married now.

And he had threatened, warned, and promised what would come when they were man and wife …

He raised his head from hers and met her eyes. And though she said nothing, perhaps he read something within her heart, or perhaps he had never intended to allow a true show here this night.

“My friends, I give you my bride, the new Lady Creeghan. A true beauty, in any age!”

There was a roar of approval.

“And now—out!” he demanded. He released Martise’s hand and waved the onlookers toward the door. There was an outpouring of groans; but with good humor, the guests began to disperse. Holly turned to Martise and winked, then disappeared with the other women.

Hogarth gave her a knowing smile and disappeared with a promise that they would not be disturbed in the morning.

Then the door was closed, and Bryan bolted it. Leaning against it, his eyes caught hers and swept slowly over her length. She felt the warmth of his touch, felt it seep into her being.

When he spoke, his voice was a hot whisper in the night.

“Have I ever told you, my lady, that you are beautiful, indeed? Beyond the imagination, beyond the depths of desire.” He reached out and his fingers brushed her cheek. He lifted a tendril of her hair and brought it over her shoulder. “The gown is exquisite, Elaina’s choice, I imagine. And beneath it you are silk and alabaster. I could not bear for others to stay a second longer.”

He cupped his hands beneath her breasts, molding his palms and the silk around them. His touch sent her senses reeling. He was slow, so slow. Gentle, tender. And distant. And so his slightest touch seemed an ecstasy and an agony, and she longed to throw herself against him, and yet she could not move. For the game had begun. She was his wife.