The Husband Hunt (26 page)

She folded her arms across her chest. "The fairy blood in me is having a hard time deciding which of you to turn into a toad first."

James beckoned Knight to the door. "Mull it over while I take your husband out shooting in the hills. Or ride into the village with Thomas to see your old friends. They're having some kind of heathen festival today."

"Oh, it's May Day," she said, her face brightening.

"Did she bring those awful stones with her?" James asked Knight good-naturedly as he came to the door, his arm draped over Knight's shoulders. He could be a charming host when he managed to rise out of his dark moods.

Knight laughed. "Over sea, over hill, over every bridge, coaching road, and inch of ground from Devon to this castle."

Catriona guided the pony around a tangled path of gorse. The sun was setting in the lavender haze of the hills where her husband and James were enjoying a masculine afternoon of hunting. And making fun of her, no doubt.

Well, let the idiots laugh, she thought. While they were off chasing helpless creatures, she and her stones had healed a case of colic, one of erysipelas, and two of indigestion. Now, all she craved was a good wash and a cup of tea by the fire.

"Everyone was glad to see ye," Thomas remarked as they dismounted in the courtyard and walked together to the keep on the worn flagstone path.

"I missed them, too," she said softly, "but—"

"—ye have a proper home now," he said, nodding in understanding. "Aye, a grand estate to manage, and ye've no need to be worryin' about James. He'll come around."

"Do you really believe that?"

He hesitated. "I dinna know what he'll do. That's fer the likes of yer sort to predict, who can see into the future. As soon as ye leave, he's on his way to Sutherland." He stopped outside the kitchen outbuildings, lowering his voice. "So the visions havena stopped?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

"I hoped 'twould change when ye left Scotland."

"So did I."

She frowned, refusing to meet his concerned gaze. Had her uncle returned the Earth stone to the holy well? Had the fact that it had been stolen brought her and her mother bad luck? Or should she even have believed Murdo at all? The time had certainly ended for her to go gallivanting off into the hills with him on a mystical pilgrimage, especially since she very possibly was pregnant. Or, at least, she hoped she was.

"Perhaps now that I'm married, I shall become an ordinary woman," she said with a rueful smile.

"Never ordinary," Thomas said fondly.

They fell back into step together only to stop at the sound of arguing in the kitchen. "Cook's in a temper again," he whispered with a grin. "We'd best hie it to the hall before she starts throwin' pots and pans."

Catriona laughed. "Some things never change."

"Aye—" He broke off, pulling her back against the wall as a turnip flew out the window. "What did I tell ye?"

"—and if ye dinna find that key by dark, ye'll not be welcome back in this kitchen!" Cook shouted.

A younger woman's voice, full of indignant woe, replied, "I didna lose the storeroom key. The birds stole it! They're evil things, bewitched—"

Thomas took Catriona's arm and led her away. "The silly bint probably dropped her key in the laundry basket. As if I didna have enough to worry about with yer brother."

Catriona cast an uneasy glance back at the courtyard. Ill-behaved birds made her think of Lamont and his penchant for causing trouble. But he wasn't anywhere near, was he? "Sometimes jackdaws do steal shiny objects to carry to their nests."

"Not this key, my dear. 'Twas as big as yer hand. What sort of bird would wreak such mischief, I ask ye?"

She sat on the edge of the bed and vigorously brushed her hair, resenting the part of the male personality that enjoyed hunting and stomping across muddy ground with a gun.

It was still light outside, the tranquil Borders afternoon broken by birdsong. She wondered whether Cook had ever found the missing key and why it troubled her. As a viscountess, she could hardly go about the castle on a domestic hunt, especially dressed as she was in a delicate silk gown. She had hoped the gown would please her husband, if he decided to return at a reasonable hour.

Her toes and fingertips began to tingle.

At first, she ignored the telltale sensation; it was too soon since the last full-blown experience, her debacle of a debut, and the familiar coldness and mental confusion had not crept over her. But in stages, it began, until the numbness made her feel ill, and it actually hurt to breathe.

Images danced at the edges of her mind, refusing to take recognizable form. She knew only that the vision portrayed two powerful men, their strength seeming equal, who struggled to possess something—or someone.

"Go away," she whispered, kneeling before an old-fashioned chest, one that might even have belonged to her father. Her fingertips pressed the carved wood.
"Go away."

She heard the door open and sprang to her feet in relief. Knight would be there with her. She would not hide the truth from him this time but would allow him to banish the dark thing.

"Knight, finally, I thought you and James were never coming…" Her voice trailed off as the intruder slipped into the room. "Uncle Murdo," she said in astonishment. "Not you again."

"You did not take my warning to heart about returning the stone," he said, going straight to her wardrobe. "The deed is best done by your hand. Where is your cloak? We don't have much time if we're to make the holy well before dark."

She followed him across the room. "All the way to Saint Bridget's well? We'll never make it on foot."

"Which is why we are borrowing your brother's horses. Hurry, Catriona. I fear someone has been trying to steal the stone from me."

She hung back beside the wardrobe, staring at the window. A man's face began to take shape in her mind, his smile mocking. Was it Knight? she wondered anxiously, wanting and not wanting to know at the same time.

Murdo took her hand. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"The parish allows pilgrims to visit the well only certain times of the year. There is talk that the church will destroy it to discourage paganism."

"Then let them destroy it," she said grumpily, pulling away from the cloak he tried to settle on her shoulders.

"Do you think that is wise?" He stood behind her, his voice full of gentle reproach. "Now that you have a child to consider?"

She spun around. "How did—" Oh, what was the point in asking how he knew? "Where is Lamont?" she asked, resigning herself to the situation.

"Gone off to Italy in search of a darker magic than I care to teach. That young man has grown away from me in ways I do not like."

She followed him to the door. "This had better not take long."

"How difficult can it be to drop a stone into a well, Catriona?"

"At least let me leave a note for my husband so he does not worry."

J
ames broke the pleasant silence
of the ride back to the castle with a compliment to his brother-in-law. "My sister has chosen well in you, Knight."

Knight glanced down at his own shirt and muddied trousers. "She might not agree when she sees me like this."

"A man cannot hunt and hope to—" James slowed his horse to stare up at the flock of corbie crows that darkened the sky. "Odd."

"What?"

James twisted around in his saddle. "They're flying to the loch."

Knight watched the dark cloud disappear over the hills. "Is there anything at the loch that would lure them?"

"Nothing but water, and a small deserted islet where a holy well, as the superstitious believe, is fed by a hidden spring."

A playful breeze stirred the heather that grew along the road. Knight drew back on his horse's reins. "A holy well?"

James shrugged. "I saw it once and was not impressed. It's more a cairn of stones than anything. In past years it was reputed to possess healing powers."

"Did your sister visit this place?" Knight asked, still staring up at the sky.

"Perhaps before she came to live with me."

Knight released his breath. His throat was damp with sweat; to his surprise, he had enjoyed the day with James, but now a sense of apprehension took hold of him, ruining his relaxed frame of mind. "Have you ever heard of a man called Lamont Montgomery?"

"Have I heard of him?" James gave a rueful laugh. "I caught him climbing the tower to Catriona's bedroom a few days after she ran away and banished him on the spot. And do you know what he did to retaliate? He sent a hawk to attack me while I was shooting. A hawk, as if we lived in courtly days. Of course I, haven't seen him since, but the villagers claim he is a wizard." James paused to take a breath, his gaze meeting Knight's. "Do you think—"

"I do." Knight wheeled the horse around, his broad shoulders straightening in a warrior's stance. "No one, wizard or not, is touching my wife."

Olivia looked up into the captivating features of the man who was leaning over her. The letters in her hand had fluttered to the floor, her quill dropped from her fingers a few moments later. "What did you say?" she whispered.

Wendell reached up to loosen his cravat. "I said that I am in love with you. Insanely so. And that I am going to seduce you on the sofa or die in the attempt."

Olivia closed her eyes, murmuring, "That's what I thought you said. Oh, dear—oh,
oh
—"

She sat up in shock as he began to unbutton her gown, only to subside, sighing, as his strong arms forced her back down. His erection pressed through the layers of their clothing. How could she have forgotten the rumors of his remarkable virility? "Oh, dear," he mocked gently. "Oh,
oh."

Her eyes flew open. Sensations were bursting inside her like fireworks when for years she had felt only an aching numbness, a grief that had turned her sensual nature to stone. "Oh, no," she said, catching hold of his cravat and twisting it hard. "You aren't going to seduce me, you scoundrel. I am not one of those halfpenny harlots who fall at your feet—"

He laughed helplessly. "What halfpenny harlots? Good God, Olivia, I've never paid for a woman in my life. Well, at least not for one under a shilling—"

He made a choking sound as she tightened her hold on his neckcloth. Unfortunately for Olivia, however, the maneuver only brought him down hard against her, in an intimate position that could not have been planned. She swallowed a gasp of shock as she felt his hand squeezing her breast, cupping its weight in his palm. His warm breath caressed her ear. "You reprehensible rogue. You're every bit as bad as my brother."

He took advantage of her distracted state to deliver a string of kisses over her jaw and throat. She struggled, not so much to avoid his advances as to stop herself from straining against his beautiful male body. "You're tearing my dress, Wendell," she said, trying not to shiver.

"That's a good idea." He nibbled at her ear, giving the hem of her gown an experimental tug. Olivia shrieked softly at the distinct
r-r-rip
that rent the silence.

"You—you dog!" she said, erupting into giggles.

He settled down beside her, laughing again. In fact, that was the best part about being with Olivia, they were always laughing, sometimes, like now, at each other, but usually at the world. They felt comfortable together, old friends who had not so much discovered their sexual compatibility as finally acknowledged it.

"You are a very, very bad duke," she said in a small voice, squeezed against his hard shoulder.

He turned his face to grin at her. "I am as hard as that oak tree outside the window."

"But not as big," she murmured impudently.

"How would you know?" He sounded hurt.

"I saw once," she said, her smile sweetly taunting him. "When you and Lionel went swimming in the lake. I peeked."

He frowned.

"Almost as big," she added, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile.

"Oh, thanks. That's a wonderful thing for my future wife to say."

She lifted her head, shivers going down her back. "Your future what?"

"You heard me." He reached down and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. "We'll get a special license. We'll be married and moved into my house before Knight comes home with his bride. If we work at it, we can even have the first baby of the family."

She sat completely up, thrilled and appalled straight to her toes. "We couldn't. I couldn't. Lionel would—"

"—be delighted for you," he finished gently.

"No."

"Yes."

"Well, not this year," she murmured, the fact barely registering that she had just accepted his marriage proposal, and under very improper circumstances.

He sat up, facing her, and hooked his forefinger under her chin. "Next year," he said firmly, not asking, letting her know. "A huge affair—"

"Not huge." Oh, she had to set a limit somewhere in his wildly romantic plans. "Not for a widow."

He grinned. "Hell, I don't care. We can go to Gretna Green."

"We certainly cannot."

They stared at each other. The temperature in the room grew as steamy as a hothouse, encouraging lush emotions and a passion that made Olivia's body ache in secret places. Strange how she had seen this man practically every week of her life, had taken his peculiar grace and good looks for granted, and now, oh, all she wanted to do was lie naked beneath him and misbehave.

"I wonder," she said, trying to breathe, "what Knight and Catriona are doing this very moment."

He reached behind her and pulled her unbuttoned dress down to her hips. "This."

The wind had come out of nowhere. Catriona's hair whipped around her face, and her cloak hung heavily around her shoulders, drenched by the wavelets that assaulted the small boat. She clutched the stone in her lap as her uncle rode the craft into the rushes that lined the islet shore.

"There's no one else here," she murmured, staring into the thin stand of birches that ringed the tiny island. The space within looked dank and primeval, overgrown with ferns and briars and stinging nettles. She could barely see the path worn by desperate pilgrims.

"Aye," he said, wiping his face on his coatsleeve. "Not in this weather. Hurry, then."

She took his gnarled hand and stepped onto the muddy shore, gazing across the frothy surface of the loch to the other side. The stone seemed to get heavier and warmer with every step she took. Truth be told, she wished she had never set her eyes on the thing, and yet half of her hesitated, wondering if she really wanted to surrender that part of herself that was unique, that connected her to her mother and all the women of the family before her. "Will I ever be able to heal again?" she wondered out loud. "Will the visions really stop?"

"I don't know," Murdo said bluntly as he lifted a veil of brambles away with his staff. He glanced around, muttering through his teeth, "He's coming."

She scarcely felt the thorn that snapped against her wrist, leaving a deep scratch. "Lamont? But I thought he went to Italy."

"Aye, or so he tried to deceive me. Give me your hand. I did not dream he would go this far to achieve his ends."

They practically had to crawl through the tunnel of thorns, up a natural staircase hewn in the rocky slope, to the cairn of white stones where the well ran deep and pure. Around them, rags hung from the thin limbs of the trees, fluttering whitely, offerings from petitioners to beseech the saint who guarded the holy waters.

For centuries, the church had forbidden its flock to seek the well's supernatural powers. But in the past two decades the reputation of the well had fallen under a cloud. Fewer and fewer people reported the miraculous healings of yesteryear. Fewer pregnancies were attributed to the fertility-enhancing properties of the cold, bubbling water over which drifted mysterious curls of mist. Catriona could not see clearly five inches in front of her.

"Drop it in," Murdo said, his voice laced with urgency. "Drop the stone into the center."

A deep, taunting voice penetrated the silence. "You will regret it forever," Lamont said, pushing through the bracken ferns to stand before her. "Has he told you exactly what will happen if you release the stone?"

Catriona looked at Murdo. "What will happen?"

"I dinna know," he said in exasperation. "But I do ken what will happen if this bad boy here gets his hands on it. 'Twill be used for all sorts of mischief."

"Me?" Lamont said, looking insulted. "Catriona, listen to me. It is a trick. You cannot trust him. If he had cared about you, would he have abandoned your mother to her cruel life? Look at me, Cat. Look at
me."

"Don't," Murdo said. "Do not gaze upon his face. Resist. Release the stone." He grabbed her hand, squeezing her delicate fingers.
"Release it. "

The mist was thickening as it had on the moor the night she eloped.
I don't know whom to believe,
she thought, struggling to breathe in the moisture-laden air.
All my life, Mama warned me not to trust Murdo, and yet my heart feels a connection to him.

"If you drop that stone, you will die," Lamont said fiercely. "Murdo is jealous of your powers."

Her brain seemed to cease functioning, and her vision blurred. The waters of the well bubbled up over the stones, soaking her boots.

"In the name of God," Murdo whispered. "Believe me."

She released the stone and felt a bolt of energy shoot through her entire body. The water hissed and suddenly went still. As if from a distance, she heard Lamont give an angry cry, and then she felt Murdo's arms go around her, his wiry strength giving her support.

It was over, and she felt only a deep sense of peace permeate her mind.