Wolf, Joan (33 page)

They had not recovered that since their marriage. Van's body was his, but the rest of herself she held aloof.

She did not play the harpsichord anymore.

He had to be patient, he told himself. She had been through a terrible time; he could not expect her to forget so quickly. •

Van straightened up. In the light of the fire her hair shone blue, not brown. She gave him a shadowy smile. "You have been very good to us, Edward. Thank you for letting Mother use your yacht."

A dark storm rose within him. He did not want her gratitude. She was within his reach and he stretched out an arm to pull her toward him. He kissed her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, then swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he could assert their union in the only way he could find, where their marriage was deep and personal, where the particularities of selfhood were submerged in the great primal darkness of physical love.

CHAPTER 26

It was raining when Van awoke, the drops beating hard against the windowpane. Poor Mother, she thought immediately. Frances had left for France on Edward's yacht the previous day.

Van lay on her back and looked at the empty chimney. Someone would be in shortly to make up the fire. Edward did not believe in living like a Spartan. He was asleep next to her now, his big body very warm beside hers under the quilts.

Poor Mother, Van thought again. I hope the sea is not too rough.

Van had not wanted Frances to leave, and when the graceful white-sailed yacht had sailed out of Loch Morar yesterday, she had felt fear cramp within her stomach. She had been hiding behind Frances for weeks, and now she was alone.

She turned her head slowly and looked at the man she had been hiding from. He was lying on his side, his face relaxed and very young-looking within its tangle of golden hair. He wanted her to forget what was happening to the Highlands, to forget and to love him as completely as once she had. But she could not forget. She
would
not forget.

He had put her in a position in which she had had no choice but to marry him. He had virtually forced her to marry him. It was unfair of him to expect anything from her but dutiful compliance.

The fact that she gave him far more than dutiful compliance in bed rankled her pride, but she was helpless before the physical attraction he had for her.

But that was all it was, she thought defiantly. Physical attraction. The girl who had once loved him had died with the clans at Culloden. Nothing between them could ever be as it had been before.

Van was doing an inventory of her mother's medical supplies early that afternoon when Lachlan came to find her. An escaped prisoner from Fort Augustus had taken refuge in his father's cottage and wanted to see Van. The fugitive was Alan MacDonald.

The rain was still falling heavily when Van, wearing trews and wrapped in a plaid, took one of the ponies and rode out to the distant glen that was home to Rory MacIan, Lachlan's father. The path took her through the mountains, up steep and rocky slopes that only a sure-footed Highland pony could handle. Her plaid was soaked by the time she arrived at the small cottage—really scarcely more than a hut—where Alan was sheltering. Rory met her at the door.

"He is sitting by the fire, my lady," the old man told her courteously, and Van walked slowly into the smoky room.

He must know she had married Edward. The last time they had met she had promised to marry him. Van looked at him somberly through the smoke of the fire and waited for Kim to speak first.

He said nothing. The red in his hair was bright in the light of the fire. The beard on his unshaven face was red as well. His face, however, was so thin as to look almost cadaverous. Van's eyes widened. "God in heaven, Alan. You look like a skeleton! What has happened to you?"

"I'm all right," he replied. "Dirty, but otherwise fine." There was a pause; then he said, deliberately, "And how are you?"

Van swallowed. "I'm married," she said baldly.

There was no flicker of expression on his face. "So I have heard. To the Earl of Linton."

"Aye." Van could not keep looking at that still face. "He came to Morar a month ago," she said to the fire. Her voice was quiet, toneless. "He had a promise from Cumberland that Morar would not be touched if I should wed him. Under the circumstances, I had no choice."

She heard him let out his breath. "And was it only for that?" he asked. "Did you marry him only for Morar, Van? You loved him once."

Her eyes met his once more. She said deliberately, "I married him only for Morar."

The guarded expression in his eyes lifted and the gold blazed into life. "Oh, Van," he said, and held out his arms. Van went into them and began to cry. "Do not distress yourself so, m'eudail," he said.

"You look awful," she wept into his shoulder.

"Don't you like me with a beard?" His voice was deliberately light and she could feel the tenseness in his body. She fought for composure, dropped her arms, and stepped away from him.

"I'm getting you all wet." She gave him an unsteady smile and began to unfasten the broach that held her plaid.

Old Rory appeared to take it from her and spread it on a chair before the smoky fire to dry. Then he set a chair for Van, and with a grateful smile she seated herself. Alan sat down as well and Van regarded him worriedly. "Has Rory fed you?" she asked. "You look so thin."

"Aye. Rory fed me fine."

She leaned a little forward in her chair. "Alan, tell me what happened. Lachlan said you were a prisoner at Fort Augustus and escaped."

"Aye," he said again.

"But how did you escape, Alan?" she asked wonderingly. "No one has escaped from Fort Augustus before."

"I did not escape from Fort Augustus itself," he began. "A platoon of soldiers was escorting me to Glasgow for trial, and I escaped on the road." He turned to find her regarding him out of huge eyes. "An old woman near Invergarry slipped me a dirk. I cut the ropes at my wrists and escaped through the mountains."

"Taking you for trial!" Van repeated in horror. "I had no idea, Alan. I thought you would simply be held, not..." She broke off, shivering, knowing what the result of such a trial would have been. "I would have asked Edward to intercede for you if I had known," she said.

"I don't need the Earl of Linton, thank you." Alan's voice was harsh.

"But, Alan, you would have been executed!"

"I know that fine, Van. That's why I was so keen to escape."

"Thank God for that old woman," Van said fervently.

He grinned and for the first time resembled the Alan she remembered.

"Alan, what is happening?" she asked urgently. "We are so isolated here in Morar that I hear virtually nothing. There have been no soldiers here at all."

"Well, you can thank God for that, Van." His voice was harsh and bitter. "Fort Augustus is an armed camp, filled with cattle and ponies that have been driven in from all over the Highlands. Badenoch and Lochaber are deserts. The hills are filled with starving women and children." Van's hands were pressed to her mouth. "They burned Achnacarry, did you know that?" Alan asked.

Her hands dropped. "No. Lochiel?"

"Lochiel is safe. He was hidden in a cave above Loch Arkaig when the soldiers came. And Lady Lochiel and the bairns are safe as well. But Achnacarry—you know what a lovely house it was, Van."

"Aye." Her voice was scarcely audible.

"They burned everything. All Lochiel's fine chairs and tables, all his cabinets. They pulled the fruit garden to pieces and laid it waste. The summerhouse was burned as well. There is nothing left. Nothing."

"Barbarians," Van said with loathing.

"Aye," Alan agreed. "They are no better than the Vikings they were a thousand years ago."

Vikings. Unbidden, a picture flashed before Van's mind of a tall, blond, blue-eyed man. Viking. She closed her eyes to blot the picture out, but still it stayed.

"Van," she heard Alan saying urgently, "they are looking for Niall."

Her eyes flew open, all thought of Edward instantly banished. "What do you mean?" she asked tensely.

"The English particularly want to capture Niall. He is the Earl of Morar now, and his trial would make a fine show for the government. They knew I was a friend of his and they questioned me closely."

Van's black brows were drawn together, her eyes blazing like a tiger's. "What do you mean—they questioned you closely? They did not torture you, Alan?"

He smiled at her reassuringly. "No. Nothing so terrible as torture, Van. They did not feed me, that is all."

"Dhé! That is why you are so thin!"

"Aye. But they had to feed me finally to make sure I could stand the journey to Glasgow. It was not so terrible, Van. Don't look like that, m'eudail."

Van felt herself shaking with rage and with fear. "Where is Niall?" she heard Alan asking, and she answered unsteadily, "He is with the prince."

Alan's breath whistled in a sudden intake of air. "Van, the narrow seas between the Long Island and Skye are filled with English ships, all searching for the prince."

"I know," Van said wretchedly. "Dear God, Alan, I know."

They sat in grim silence, each of them contemplating the ugly picture of Niall and the prince in English hands. It was Van who spoke first. "You will be safe here in Morar, Alan. Stay here, please. I will bring you some of Father's clothes. And food. You must put some weight back on."

"And what of your husband?" The words were spoken quietly, deliberately. A shadow came across Van's face. "Edward does not need to know that you are here," she said, and he felt a surge of fierce joy within him. It was true, then, what she had said. She did not love this Earl of Linton.

It was late when Van returned to the castle. She had missed both dinner and tea. She would tell Edward she had been to visit a sick tenant. He would understand. It was the sort of thing his mother did all the time.

Her plaid was drenched through once again when she reached the castle and rain was dripping from her eyelashes and her nose. Morag told her Edward was in her father's office and she decided to put on dry clothes and do her hair before she had to face him. She was standing in front of her bedroom fire, dressed in a red velvet robe and drying her hair, when the door opened and her husband was there.

He closed the door behind him, came into the room, and stood regarding her in silence. He was wearing evening clothes and the lace at this throat was immaculate, the blue velvet of his coat fresh and uncreased. The silence went on. Van put down her towel and said, "I'm sorry I wasn't here for tea. I had to go visit one of the tenants who was sick."

"Oh?" His voice was perfectly pleasant. It was the chill look in his eyes that was making her nervous, "And who was ill?" he asked.

Van's heart stopped. She had not thought of singling out any tenant in particular. "Ah... Maire, Fergus Roy's wife," she said. Her own calm voice was belied by the pounding of her heart.

"That is strange." The cold blue eyes held hers remorselessly. "I saw Fergus only today, and he made no mention of a sick wife."

Van said nothing, only stood there with her streaming wet hair and her slim hands clutching together the folds of her robe.

"If you are going to lie to me, Van, you will have to do better than this." The cutting, contemptuous edge in his voice brought color to her cheeks.

She flung up her head. "Very well, then. You tell me where I have been."

"To see some wretched fugitive who has found his way to Morar, I should imagine."

Damn him. Van glared at him. "Yes, my lord conqueror," she answered mockingly. The effect of her sarcasm, however, was marred by her shaking voice. "I have been seeing to an old friend who has just escaped from the attentions of your countrymen at Fort Augustus. Where they starved him, my lord, in order to obtain news of the whereabouts of my brother!" Her voice had risen. "He brought wonderful news of Badenoch and Lochaber, where the women and children are starving in the hills while their cattle are driven to Fort Augustus to be sold into England." Her mouth was shaking now too and she pressed her lips together to try to regain the control of herself she knew was fast slipping away.

Edward did not answer, only crossed over to the window and stood there for a little, his back to his wife. But Van did not think he was seeing the dark loch or hearing the heavy drumming of the cold rain. She waited with hammering heart for him to answer her.

His reply was completely unexpected. "I am leaving tomorrow for Inverary." He spoke over his shoulder. "Alan Ruadh is going with me."

Van stared at his back in stunned surprise. "Inverary!" she said in a voice full of shock and horror. Inverary was the main seat of the chief of Clan Campbell, the Duke of Argyll.

"Yes." He turned to look at her. "I believe the duke is in residence and I wish to speak to him."

"You cannot!" She spoke instantly, unthinkingly. "The Campbells are as bad as the Sassenach, Edward. You cannot possibly have anything to say to Mac Cailein Mhor."

"Oh, but I do." His voice was gentle. His eyes were cold. He was very angry. Well, what did he expect? Van thought defiantly. He had forced her into this marriage. He was just going to have to put up with what he got. She could not imagine what he was going to discuss with the Duke of Argyll, but she was damned if she'd ask him now.

"You seem to have made quite an admirer out of Alan Ruadh," she said, and even to her own ears she sounded sullen.

"He knows I have the best interests of the clan at heart." The emphasis on the pronoun was faint but unmistakable.

Van stalked to the table where she kept her toilet articles, opened a drawer, and took out a hairbrush. Silently she began to brush out her wet hair. Temper quivered in every line of her body.

Edward walked to the door. "You must be hungry," he said. "I'll have Morag bring you some food."

After he had gone, Van threw her hairbrush across the room.

He came to bed very late that night. Van pretended to be asleep and he made no move to awaken her. His deep, slow breathing told her he had gone to sleep long before she herself fell into a fretful, restless slumber.