The Ruby Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy) (43 page)

The sun seemed unusually bright, pouring into the room from the unshuttered windows. Only by squinting into the light could she see the yearlings in the paddock. She rubbed her baby bump.
Where will we be this time next year?
She’d lost so much. Did she dare dream the dreams of her heart?

Chapter Forty-Seven

THE DRIVER OF Cullen’s coach turned the carriage onto a tree-lined drive ablaze with burnt-orange leaves spiraling upward before falling silently to the ground and skittering across the well-groomed lawn. Wood smoke and cider teased him with the scent of late autumn. Beyond the immediate grounds, white-fenced pastures and a meandering stream crisscrossed rolling hills.

Henry gave Cullen a slight elbow nudge in the side. “Look up ahead.”

Visible through the tree line stood a stately, three-story, red brick mansion. The portico’s four Doric columns guarded the residence like venerable soldiers, reminding Cullen of the quote by Horace:
Carpe diem! Rejoice while you are alive; enjoy the day; live life to the fullest; make the most of what you have.

The thought simmered while he turned to Henry and said, “The fall from the cliff nearly killed me. This trip damned near buried me. But seeing where Kit lives, even in another time, coats my soul with a soothing balm.”

Henry shoved a twitching hand through his hair. “I damn well believe she hears you, son.”

Cullen coughed away the knot of emotion in his throat. “If the MacKlennas would let me, I’d live in a cabin next to the creek we just crossed. I’d always have her nearby.” He lifted his hand, caught a fistful of air, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. “Kit is here, if only in my heart.”

The driver stopped at the mansion’s front steps. Cullen and Henry disembarked and ascended the bricked stairs.

Henry gripped Cullen’s arm and restrained him for a moment. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

Cullen knocked on the door. “I’m praying for divine inspiration.”

The door opened, and a servant stood in the doorway. “May I help you?”

Cullen steeled himself. “I’d like to see Mister MacKlenna.”

The man stepped aside. “It’s gone be a fine day. Yes, suh. A fine day.”

Cullen entered the house, smelling roasting turkey and something else that made him stiffen not in fear but in anticipation.

“What is it?” Henry asked, crossing the threshold behind him.

Cullen quickly took in the details of the room, matching what he saw with what Kit had told him about the house. He didn’t smell lemon polish. He smelled roses. “I’m not sure.”

The servant motioned to a nearby room. “You’n wait in a parlor. I’ll let Mister Sean know he’s got visitors.”

Above the parlor’s fireplace hung a painting of the Eilean Donan castle. Cullen walked straight toward it. A mere touch of his fingertips to the painted castle’s crumbled stonewalls evoked memories of home—breaking waves pounding the sea wall and the smell of heather growing in the fields. “Kit is part of this creation. It has her soul in every brush stroke.”

A man in his mid-forties, dressed in a dark frock coat over lighter trousers, a linen shirt with an upstanding collar, and low-heeled shoes entered the room, smiling. “I’m Sean MacKlenna. Mae I help ye?”

Cullen gave him a closed lipped smile. The man seemed pleasant enough. He extended his hand, trying hard to keep it steady. “I’m Cullen Montgomery, and this is my friend and traveling companion, Henry Peters.”

Sean shook Cullen’s hand and at the same time gripped his arm with his other hand as if the handshake wasn’t enough to express his welcome. Cullen did the same. He then turned his attention back to the painting. “Who’s the artist?”

Sean stepped over to the fireplace. “My sister painted it shortly before my niece was born. It was her last painting.”

“She’s quite talented.”

“Aye, she was…” Sean cleared his throat. “I knew yer mother, Mr. Montgomery. Mary Margaret was a bonnie lass.”

A dizzy spell hit Cullen, and he leaned against the wing chair. “How did you…”

Sean steadied him, wrapping long fingers around Cullen’s upper arm. “Come with me. I have something to show ye.”

Henry started to follow.

“I’ll return shortly, Mr. Peters, and we’ll talk.”

“Cullen…?” Henry’s brow bunched into a puzzled frown.

Cullen patted his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” Although he said he would, he wasn’t sure he believed it. How could this man have known his mother? A woman his father never spoke of, a woman Cullen longed to know.

Sean led Cullen down the wide entrance hall lined with dozens of paintings, all Highland scenes. In each painting, Cullen smelled the odor of the peat fires’ blue-gray smoke and felt the sun’s heat on his face. They reached the end of the hallway where two small paintings hung on the wall next to a closed door. One was a portrait of a young woman. The other, a landscape with canary yellow gorse in full bloom covering the banks of a blue loch peppered with wooded islands. A bracken-clad ridge rose in the background.

Cullen’s entire body shook.

“Are ye ill, lad?” Sean asked.

“The painting…” Cullen stood mere inches from the canvas, breathing it in. “’Tis Loch Lomond and the Glen Russ Hills.”

“Aye, it is. The painting is one of my sister’s earlier works.”

“Did she paint herself on the chestnut stallion? The horse looks exactly like…I’ve seen a very similar horse.”

“I’ve often wondered if it was a self-portrait, but Jamilyn’s hair was dark brown, not golden like the woman in this painting.”

Cullen’s heart rose and clogged his throat. “She resembles a vision I had in my childhood.”

“My sister had several gifts, Mr. Montgomery. Maybe she plucked it from yer mind.”

Or put it there.

Sean opened the door next to the painting. “If ye’ll step in here, I’ll go get yer friend.”

Cullen stepped into a sea-colored dining room, warmed by a crackling fire that eased the chill from his bones. A labyrinth of light from two floor-to-ceiling windows reflected off prisms suspended from the chandelier, throwing a rainbow of color across a table laden with ripe peaches and buttery pastries, creating an aurora around a golden-haired vision.

Her green eyes widened in surprise. A soft pink blush colored her cheeks. She stood and moved away from the table.

Cullen stepped closer, his heart pounding against his injured ribs. Floorboards creaked beneath his impassioned steps. His breath stilled in fear that the vision bathed in sunlight would vanish? “Are you my dream bringing hope I’ve found only in my sleep?”

“Are you the dream I dared not dream?” the vision asked in a familiar dulcet voice.

He inched closer, his fists clenching and unclenching, veins pumping blood into his hands as he prepared to capture her, knowing that if he scared her away, he would surely die. “I am not a dream but a man who has lost his life’s breath.”

“Then come to me and I will breathe new life into you.” She walked toward him with her palms up, lifting him from the abyss into which he had fallen.

He joined her in a circle of light. His gaze now drawn to her parted lips, full and lush.
“Ah, lass, are you real or a figment of my mind
?” He stroked his thumbs over her tear-washed cheeks, but no
t until he touched her scars did he know with certainty that she was real, and she was his.

He tugged her to him. Her new rose flavored scent was more evocative than her usual vanilla. That was what he had smelled when he entered the house. His senses knew what his mind did not. “I thought I’d never see you again this side of heaven. How is it that you are here?”

“Braham told me you were on your way.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Shh,” she said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

He kissed her with the hunger of a starving man. “I’m sorry about the babe.”

She placed his hand on her swollen abdomen. “I was pregnant with twins. One of them vanished, but our son will be born in the spring.”

He was a man of many words, but they all forsook him now, even his beloved Shakespeare. Losing everything that had given his life meaning had been excruciatingly painful. Restored to all that he loved was humbling.

Kit entwined her soft fingers with his. “I have so much to tell you. Come with me.” She led him through the servant’s door, up the back staircase, down the hall, and into a bedroom.

“The MacKlenna’s have opened their home to you,” he said.

“Sean has been expecting you for several days. The servants prepared a dressing room through that door.” She pointed to the corner. “You’ll find everything you need.” She stood on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply, sending him a passionate promise. “I’ll tell you everything else
after
you make love to me.”

He stroked her arms that circled his neck. Desire licked through him, and he swept his tongue against hers. “Then it will be a while before I hear your news.” He kicked the door closed, picked her up, and carried her to the cherry bed.  

WHEN KIT TOUCHED the long, jagged pink scar below his shoulder, she remembered every God-awful detail of his fall from the cliff, and she remembered her fear. “I couldn’t find you, Cullen. I looked but I couldn’t…” Her tears splattered on his skin, not like a gentle rain, but a storm peaking in intensity. He held her head against his chest, his heartbeat supplying the rhythm for the words he whispered, calming the tempest.

“You’ve been through so much, lost so much, but your family has been restored, and you know your name. You’re a real MacKlenna.”

“Half MacKlenna. Half McCabe. Now a Montgomery.”

He kissed her tender breasts. “When Frances told me you were gone—”

“Oh, Cullen, was she crying?”

“She had faith I’d bring you back.” He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Sarah told me you were bleeding and thought you would lose the babe. I knew you would do everything you could to save our child, even if it meant never seeing me again.” He lowered his head and kissed her belly. Silent tears dampened her skin. “I was lost without you.”

She knew his cries were not those of a man worried about the sanctity of his masculinity but of a man baring his soul.

“I was lost without you, too.” She stroked his face with her fingertips. Each tip a pencil and each pencil a different shade of joy. “My granny told me that we live in an uncertain world, and the past is unchangeable—”

“And the present will not last,” he said.

“But we have tomorrow to shape.”

He lifted her hand and kissed her ring finger. “You’re the love of my life.”

“I love you, too, and I’ll never leave you again.”

She pulled him into her arms. In a moment of extraordinary poignancy, as he thrust within her, a ray of sunlight spilled through the window. Its warmth burrowed deep and melted her grief that had held her captive for almost a year. She rolled on top of him and rubbed against the sprinkling of black hair covering his chest and abdomen, savoring the sensation of his body pulsing beneath her.

Their eyes met, and they spoke in the silent language of lovers, words of healing and everlasting love. Cullen trembled, issued a guttural groan, and shuddered in surrender.

Chapter Forty-Eight

CULLEN OPENED THE windows, letting the crisp November air into the room. The scent of roasting turkey and apple pie wafted around them. They made love again then spent time laughing about wine and sunsets and how much they enjoyed Kit’s big bed.

He reclined on his side, his hand propping up his head as he talked to his babe sleeping in Kit’s womb, his voice raw with emotion. “We’ll sail around the world, laddie, and I’ll make love to your mother under the moon and the stars in every country we visit.”

She smiled through a yawn, warmed by the thought of traveling with her two men.

“Ah, I think your mother is tired.” He ran his fingers in a languid caress across her chin. Her lips parted, and he kissed her. “Rest now, lass.”

She yawned again, drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of sailing on a three-masted ship. When she woke, she shivered with excitement. Cullen’s suggestion of a world tour must have unfurled her imagination like a spinnaker.

Sukey had filled the tub in Kit’s dressing room to the brim with hot, steamy water. She slipped into the bath and sighed with delight. An hour later, she sat at her dressing table teasing the hair at her crown, working the strands into an elegant chignon that framed her face. It wasn’t a period hairstyle, but she liked the way it made her feel.

When she heard the door to Cullen’s dressing room open, she asked, “What time is it?” Before he could answer, she saw his reflection in the mirror and gasped with delight. He was wearing a Montgomery purple, green, and red tartan kilt and a smile that showed his dimples. “You look gorgeous. Turn around.”

His kilt caught in the breeze flowing through the open window and lifted, revealing what he wasn’t wearing under his kilt.

“Ah. A true Scotsman tonight.”

“I’m glad my plaid excites ye.” He attached his dress sporran below his belt buckle. “I believe ye asked me the time? ‘Tis seven o’clock.”

Who cared about the time? She glanced at the bed. Pregnancy hormones had infused her with an insatiable appetite, but her Highlander wasn’t complaining. She tapped her fingernails on the dressing table. Seven o’clock? Darn. Sean expected them for dinner.

Cullen picked up her granny’s pearls and the portrait miniature. She inhaled his scent, a heady meld of musk and a splash of bay rum and whiskey. Maybe they did have time. He kissed her, chuckling against her lips. “I know what yer thinking, lass. I can throw up yer skirt, pull ye wee panties aside, and please ye with my tongue, or strip ye naked and have my way with ye.”

She moaned and patted her chest, calming her racing heart. “Don’t tempt me, please. I think I can wait.”

“Hmm. Can I?” He kissed her neck, lingering at a spot behind her ear while he dangled the pearls and portrait miniature above the décolletage of her emerald brocade satin gown. “If yer undecided about which to wear, I’d wear the miniature portrait. The gold chain looks lovely with yer dress. Yer father should be part of tonight’s celebration in spirit if not in person. Even Thomas is coming down for dinner.”