The Highlander's Accidental Bride (15 page)

Mary remained snuggled against him the next morning. Pleased to see his wife had not run from him this time, Eaden grinned broadly to himself as he held her. No surprise she was not yet awake. They’d slept little in the hours before dawn, too wrapped up in each other to notice the passage of time.

He lifted his head from his pillow and sniffed the air. The lingering odor of smoke was damped down by the rain he heard plinking against the partially-open glass window. The entire castle could have burned to the ground last night and he doubted he or Mary would have taken notice. He spared a glance at the drops of water on the floor beneath the window and, deciding they were of no major concern, settled his head back on his pillow.

He sighed. He had no qualms about putting Ranald and Ian in charge this morning, leaving himself free to make love to his wife in the light of day. But after the events of the night before, he would need to be up soon to see about the damages to the stable and other buildings, as well as the men and lads who’d come to his aid. He still did not know who or what had started the blaze and needed to question the lads while their memories were still fresh.

Mary stirred, sighing softly as she cuddled closer. He thought to rouse her, his own body jerking pleasurably to wakefulness as she moved against him. Caught between regret and compassion, he softly brushed his lips over her forehead, remembering the barest edge of pain to her cry of pleasure as they’d made love again a short time ago.

Slipping from the bed, he tucked the blanket snugly around her, assuring she was warm and comfortable. He managed to get his breeches settled on his hips, hoping the fit would ease once he set about his morning business. Pulling on his shirt, he turned back to the bed, leaned over and kissed his wife once more. This time her eyes fluttered open, her sleepy smile becoming a puzzled frown as she realized he had dressed.

He touched the tip of a finger to her lips, forestalling her words. “I hate to leave ye, Mairi, but I need to see to the stables, and ye need some sleep.” He chuckled as her cheeks pinked with sudden color. She slipped a hand free and reached out to caress his face. Heat rushed through him at her silent promise and turning his head, he pressed his mouth to the palm of her hand.

“Sleep, Mairi, love. No one will disturb ye before ye wake again.” He couldn’t resist a final parting shot. “Ye will need yer rest this night.”

The answers he received were less than satisfactory. The men from Bellecourt, thanks to Ian’s sharp eye, had alibis for the night. Reluctantly, Eaden had to admit the culprit, however unintentional they may have been, could be someone from Craigievar. But who? The stable lads knew the safety rules for their domain. Not even the greenest among them would dare light a lamp in or near the barn without keeping a close eye on it. It was an unforgivable offense to leave a lantern unattended near the dry hay and wooden timbers.

He studied the lads, arranged before him. They were all haggard and bleary-eyed after being roused from their exhausted sleep. Most had yet to accomplish all but the most perfunctory ablutions, soot still clinging to clothes and elbows, the scent of smoke wafting from their bodies. One lad shuffled his feet tiredly, another coughed into his closed fist, but none exhibited tenseness or furtiveness, trying to hide guilt or information he’d rather not share.

“Check in on yer horses, lads,” Eaden said, realizing he would get no more information from the weary young men. “Feed them and turn them loose in the paddock furthest out to work off their energy. Grab some food as ye go, then get a couple hours’ sleep. Master Camran will be wanting ye to look sharp soon.” He dismissed the lads with a nod of his head and they shuffled away, their normal, jaunty steps dulled by the previous night’s exhausting work.

Eaden turned to his brother, catching him mid-stretch, joints popping. Ranald lowered his arms with a shrug, bringing his shoulders forward to pull the tension from them.

“Those most likely to have started the fire are all accounted for, aye?” Eaden reiterated, more to gather his thoughts than as a question he already knew the answer to.

He sank into a nearby chair, propped his feet on the bench next to him, and sighed. “Is there anyone ye’ve heard grumbling lately? Anyone who wouldnae have a care the horses could be injured?”

Ranald scrubbed his face tiredly with the heels of his hands. “Nay. I’d have pegged Barde’s men an’ had I not known Ian was sitting on them. There’s been no grumbling above the normal at the castle for some time.” He glanced at Eaden. “Except for those opposed to yer marriage to the Barde lass.”

Eaden’s jaw clenched. “Anyone in particular?”

“Nay. The lass has charmed nearly everyone here.”

Eaden stared into the distance and the silence lengthened.

“Thinking of someone?” Ranald queried.

“It couldnae be,” Eaden murmured. “She wouldn’t dare . . .”

Ranald sat up in his chair. “She?”

Eaden turned to his brother. “Isobel has befriended my wife.”

“Aye. And I dinnae trust the woman.”

“Nor do I. But she hasnae done anything I can fault her for.”

“She’s ambitious, Eaden. Though I’m no’ sure I’d believe her capable of firing the stables.” Suddenly, Ranald jerked his head up, as if caught by an unexpected thought.

Eaden eyed his brother narrowly. “What?”

Ranald rubbed his chin. “She was on the parapet with Mary last night.”

“They were on the parapet?” Eaden’s voice snapped, sharp with anger. He wasn’t tired enough or sated enough to forget he’d specifically told Mary to stay in their room.

“Aye. Mary said she’d needed to see ye safe.” He waved a hand as Eaden opened his mouth, stalling his next words. “Something caught my eye as I headed back into the castle and I looked up and saw her. Someone stood next to her, something fluttering pale in the torchlight.”

“There’s no ghost, Ranald,” Eaden replied chillingly.

“Nay. There were two women on the parapet. Yer wife and Isobel. And neither was dressed in something pale and fluttery.”

“Ye’re not suggesting a ghost set the fire, are ye?”

Ranald shook his head. “Someone flesh and blood set the fire. But something nearly sent Mary tumbling over the wall.”

“What?” Eaden’s rage slammed through him. He rounded on his brother. “Why have ye no’ said anything?”

“Well, mostly because we’ve been focusing on the fire, no’ Lady Fenella’s ghost,” Ranald retorted, scowling his irritation.

“Tell me,” Eaden demanded.

“I saw Mary clearly on the parapet. Next to her stood a dark form . . .” His voice trailed off and he glanced away. After a moment he turned back to Eaden, his face bleak. “The pale, fluttery movement caught my eye. And so did Mary. I dinnae remember the dark form until now. I ran up the stairs, not sure what I’d seen. Mary leaned far over the wall, her arm outstretched, her feet no’ touching the floor.”

Ranald ducked his head, staring at the worn stone at his feet. His fists clenched and relaxed and Eaden could see what his brother had witnessed greatly disturbed him.

“The ghost, or whatever, wasnae there. The one in the black cloak reached out a hand toward Mary. I shouted and saw her grab Mary’s arm, pulling her back.”

“Who was it?”

Ranald looked at his brother, his face stricken. “It was Isobel. And she wasnae pulling Mary back. She was braced to push her over the edge.”

Mary stretched languidly beneath the soft coverlet. Soreness pulled at the muscles on the insides of her legs, causing her face to heat with the memory of what she and Eaden had shared. A smile bloomed on her lips as she remembered the warmth of his body on hers, the heat of his hands, and the fullness of him inside her.

The glow of sunlight danced across her closed eyes, and she cracked one lid experimentally. The angle of the sun canted high through the window, and she realized with a jolt the hour was close to noon. She sat up, pushing the covers away to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Cool air touched her bare skin and she shivered as she scampered across the stone floor to the bathing chamber.

“St. Andrew’s teeth, but `tis cold this day!” Her teeth chattered and goose bumps rose high on her skin as she finished her ablutions. She turned to the doorway, stopping as she spied Kirsty milling about the bedchamber, moving toward the rumpled bed as she picked up the clothes lying scattered across the floor.

Embarrassed, Mary didn’t move. She hadn’t anticipated how differently she would feel after giving herself so uninhibitedly to her husband. This morning her nakedness reminded her of the passion of the night before. Warmth crept beneath her skin as she remembered the fevered way Eaden’s hands had roamed her body.

As Kirsty reached for the embroidered coverlet partly pooled on the floor beside the bed, she looked up with widened eyes to see Mary’s lack of clothing. Flushing hotly, Kirsty whirled around, grabbed Mary’s robe, and rushed to envelop her in its soft, concealing folds.

The click of the door latch surprised both young women and their heads swung in unison to the opening door.

Isobel entered the room, her step arrested as she saw Kirsty and Mary. Her eyes slid from Mary’s naked body to the laird’s rumpled bed, whose state bespoke far more than simple sleep. She carefully schooled her expression to a calmness she didn’t feel and forced her lips into a slight smile.

“Sleeping late, milady?” she asked, unable to keep the challenge from her voice.

Mary visibly stiffened as she slipped her arms into her robe. Belting it snugly about her slim waist, she crossed the room to Isobel, closing the distance between them in quick, purposeful strides. The resentment on the younger woman’s face sent warning tingles racing along Isobel’s spine.

Mary stopped mere inches from Isobel, her face now registering more than mere hostility, and Isobel eyed her warily.

Mary drew back a hand, fisting it in mid-air as she swung an arc toward Isobel’s face. The force of the unexpected blow felled Isobel and she crumpled in a heap onto the floor. Pain exploded in her head and she reeled, dizzy with shock.

How dare the little bitch hit her? She cringed against the throb blossoming in her head and rose slowly to her feet. Mary still stood before her, balanced on the balls of her feet, leaning slightly forward, her hands clenched at her waist.

Prepared to strike her again.

Isobel rubbed her jaw gingerly. Her gaze slid back to the bed, taking in the jumble of bedding clinging precariously there. Well did she remember the intimate joke between herself and Eaden in months past. It had been pointless to keep the covers on their bed. The heat between them had been too great. It was far too easy for Isobel to recognize the jumble on the laird’s bed for what it was this morning.

Isobel seethed with anger and outrage. Damn Eaden! It had to be his fault. She had taken great pains to assure Mary would never turn to him of her own accord.

She struggled to maintain an expression of innocent shock, needing time to repair this setback to her plans. “I am truly sorry, milady, if I . . .”

“Don’t speak! Don’t move and don’t try to explain. Listen. Carefully.” Mary’s voice sounded strong, biting, furious . . . but her weight eased back down to the soles of her feet and Isobel breathed a discreet sigh of relief.

“I am Lady Scott. I demand you leave Scott Castle. Immediately. Should you ever show yourself again here or to me or Laird Scott, I will have you beaten. You will receive no further clemency for the damage you have attempted between me and my husband. I have no control over what happened before I married him, but I will not allow you near him ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

Isobel meant to smile reassuringly, but only one side of her mouth curved upwards, forming a sneer, betraying her contempt. She straightened her shoulders, tossing her head so the heavy mass of her shining black hair slid voluptuously across her back. Despite Mary’s words, Isobel would not believe Eaden to be out of her reach. There would be another time, another chance.

“As milady wishes,” she murmured, her eyes narrowed with spite. “But know this. Eaden will be mine again. Ye dinnae know what attracts him to me, but ‘tis something ye dinnae have.” She flicked a scornful glance over Mary’s slender body, her hands smoothing her body’s own ample curves in emphasis. “And never will.”

Isobel lifted her chin, her voice full of malice and lies. “He has come to me often since your marriage. Why would he, if ye pleased him?” She nodded toward the rumpled bed. “Ye will bore him soon enough. He will come to me again. ‘Tis just a matter of time.”

“Get out!” Mary hissed, surging forward as she pointed to the door with an outflung hand. “Do not let me hear you lingered to leave the castle.”

Holding her tongue against a further retort, Isobel spun and left the room. She stormed down the hallway, a bitter scowl plastered to her face.

So the bitch has decided she likes Eaden’s hands on her
. Why had Eaden kept trying? He had no real claim on her beyond vows spoken with the wrong bride. It was no secret she was only Lady Miriam’s companion, of no breeding or status. And while Eaden was not one to let such things stand in his way for something he wanted, the question remained. Why did he want
her
?

Isobel opened the door to a small bedchamber she’d secretly claimed for herself at the end of the hall. It was far enough from the laird’s bedroom so he wouldn’t take note of her if she remained in the castle overnight, yet close enough she could still savor his nearness. She’d told Paedrus she was occasionally needed by the laird’s lady, and he was sufficiently impressed that he’d raised no objection when she’d spent the occasional night away from home.

She have liked nothing better than to slam the door shut behind her, but thought better of it. The noise might attract unwelcome attention, and she needed time to think.

Pulling a bag from a wooden peg on the wall, Isobel opened the drawstring neck, shoving her night shift and a few other items she’d brought with her inside. She flung the bag on the bed and flounced down beside it, bouncing on the soft mattress. What could she do? The lass was pretty enough, and Eaden apparently besotted enough—a dangerous combination, in her opinion. She would have to work fast.

Lady Scott was angry, but how secure was she in her belief her husband would remain true to her?