The Highlander's English Bride Page 14

  He smiled with surprised pleasure and waved toward a chair opposite the desk that served as his dining table. "Have you come to join me?"

  She didn’t accept his invitation, just stared at him out of her wan face as if she expected him to accuse her of some crime. "I thought you’d be in the dining room."

  "It’s too lonely. I prefer taking my meals in here." His pleasure ebbed. It was clear she’d come down at this time, specifically because she believed the room would be empty. He waited for her to make some excuse and disappear upstairs again.

  She didn’t go. Perhaps she took pity on him when he said he’d been lonely. "This has always been my favorite room in the house."

  "Mine, too." He paused and hoped he wasn’t overstepping the mark. "I can still sense your father in the air here. It’s as if he might walk through the door, excited about his latest theory."

  To his surprise, a faint smile curved her lips. He was glad to see her step into the room and close the door behind her. This was the first time she’d sought his company since the night they’d returned from dinner at his mother’s house.

  "If his spirit lingers, this will be the place." She glanced around the walls lined with shelves crammed with books, mostly scientific texts. "He spent the majority of his life in here."

  "I know. It was also where he brought his students when he wanted a private word."

  "Because you were in trouble – as you often were."

  When he’d lived in this house, he’d been dedicated to his studies, but he’d also been a high-spirited and willful young man. A young man who occasionally kicked over the traces when the capital’s temptations proved too alluring.

  "Your father wasn’t one for ranting and raving."

  The smile settled for a moment, so full of love that Hamish felt like weeping himself. He wanted to hug her, take her in his arms and tell her that everything would be all right.

  "No, he wasn’t. But he had a way of looking so disappointed in you that—"

  "That you almost wished he’d shout. I know. I’m sure I’d have been even more trouble, if I didn’t feel that every transgression broke his heart."

  Emily ventured forward to sit in front of the desk, exactly where Hamish had sat as a youth, when he’d received a gentle rebuke for disrupting the house. "He always loved you, you know."

  "I loved him. He was a great man."

  "Yes, he was." For one fleeting moment, he met Emily’s glance, and they shared an unspoken understanding. It was as if they drew together under the benevolent regard of her father’s ghost. "He always believed you would surpass him. He never doubted your brilliance."

  A jagged lump of emotion blocked Hamish’s throat. "I didn’t know."

  "Well, it’s true."

  "I’ll miss him. He was the wisest man I ever met. In that, I’ll never surpass him."

  "I’ll miss him, too. I’m missing him now." Tears glazed her eyes, and her voice thickened. She fisted her hands in her lap and set her elegant jaw against losing control.

  It hurt to watch her. "Why don’t you cry, Emily? You’ve been so brave."

  At the funeral, she hadn’t shed a tear. He’d wished to God that she would. Her constrained sorrow seemed almost unnatural, and he feared the toll her proud suffering would exact on her.

  "I’ve cried enough."

  "You’ve cried enough when you no longer need to cry."

  "Your soup is getting cold," she said.

  He cast the bowl a dismissive glance. "I don’t want it. Have you eaten?"

  "I’ll have a tray sent up to my room later."

  Food she wouldn’t eat, he knew, even if she brought herself to request a meal. "I could ring for something now."

  Irritation shadowed her expression. "I’m not hungry. Don’t fuss."

  Their fleeting rapport evaporated. "I wish I could do something to help, Emily," he said, surveying her heavy eyes and pallid complexion.

  He had a sudden poignant memory of how she’d looked that night at Greenwich in her blue dress. She’d been so alive and vibrant. It wasn’t just her father’s illness and death that oppressed her bright spirit. Her marriage provided no joy.

  She watched him with an unreadable stare. "Yes, there is something you can do."

  That was a surprise. He stood up, desperate to be of use.

  "Anything." He meant it.

  Emily twined her hands together in her lap. "You can leave me alone."

  A silence crashed down like an avalanche. Hamish told himself he shouldn’t feel hurt. After all, he already knew his presence grated on her.

  "I…see."

  "I want…I want a bit of privacy. I want to feel that nobody is watching me and judging me. I want quiet and space to grieve for my father."

  It was the longest speech she’d directed at Hamish since her father’s death.

  Having promised to abide by her wishes, he had no choice but to obey. He bowed to her. "Then it shall be as you wish, Emily."

  His voice was gentle, but his heart was heavy as he left the library to silence, a bowl of cold soup, and a lonely mourner.

  ***

  The next morning, Emily slept late. Since her father’s death, she slept more than half of every day away and woke wondering when she could seek oblivion again. She’d spent so long with one ear open for her father’s call, that now he was gone, long-term exhaustion caught up with her. But all this sleep never left her refreshed.

  A soft knock at the bedroom door. Upon her greeting, Polly entered bearing a tray. "Good morning, my lady. Do you feel like some breakfast today?"

  Emily didn’t, but she was sick to death of drifting around the house like a wraith. She sat up against the pillows. Everybody had been very tolerant – including Hamish to whom tolerance didn’t come easily – but it was time she stiffened her backbone and took charge of her life. She’d never cease to miss her father, but he’d be horrified to think his passing had left her a complete wreck.

  "Yes, I do," she said with an attempt at brightness. The unmasked relief in Polly’s smile was indication enough that Emily needed to stop worrying everyone.

  "That’s grand," the maid said, carefully placing the tray over Emily’s knees.

  While Polly crossed to open the curtains, Emily began to butter a roll. There was a plate of eggs and bacon as well, but the sight of cooked food made her empty stomach heave.

  "The master left you a note before he went, my lady."

  Emily put down her roll and stared curiously at Polly. "Went?"

  "Yes, he was off before first light. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him."

  She’d been sleeping like the dead, but now she had a vague memory of activity in the house in the early hours. And it wasn’t like Hamish to leave her a note. He always assumed she had no interest in his comings and goings.

  He was right. It was unfair to resent his presence, especially as he’d been marvelous in her father’s last few days, quick, competent, considerate, indefatigable. But when she looked at her handsome, lordly husband, all she could think was that her father, the only person in the world who had loved her, was gone.

  Hamish came to represent a world that didn’t care a fig about her. That world would trundle on its merry way, with or without Sir John Baylor and his daughter Emily.

  She’d felt awful last night, telling Hamish to go away, especially when he was trying so hard to help. But for the present, his absence was all she wanted from him.

  She stretched out her hand. "Where is his letter?"

  Polly fished in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, folded and sealed. "Here it is, my lady. Shall I pour your tea?"

  "Yes, please." Emily broke the seal, telling herself there was no reason for the dread that settled like lead in the pit of her stomach.

  She hardly noticed Polly fussing around her. All her attention was on Hamish’s letter.

  Dear Emily,

  I hate to see you so sunk in grief, and I apologize that I haven’t been any comfort in this sad time. I should have guessed immediately that you found no solace in my presence. I had hoped that you’d gain some respite in knowing that I loved Sir John, too.

  I appreciate your honesty in telling me that you’d rather be alone to mourn in private. I swore myself to your service when we wed. If the only service I can give you is to leave when you ask, that is what I will do.

  I’m overdue to visit Glen Lyon, so if you need me, that’s where you can reach me. I’ve written to Mr. Pond and told him that I’m unable to take up my post as his assistant at the Royal Observatory because of family commitments. In the meantime, I have instructed Henry Parnell, my man of business, to advance any funds you need. I’ve left details of how to reach him on the desk in the library, as well as the direction of Glen Lyon if you wish to contact me.

  I can imagine my departure so close to our wedding will cause more talk. That’s a pity, but can’t be helped. Your wellbeing is more important than any amount of gossip. If you tell people my presence was urgently required north of the border, with luck they should accept my absence as nothing out of the ordinary.

  I know that you have banned me from apologizing, my dear wife. But as this is a parting that is likely to endure for the foreseeable future, I humbly beg your pardon for all my sins against you, large and small. I hope you can forgive me for making these difficult days since your father’s passing even more difficult than they needed to be.

  With my sincerest respect and friendship – because despite your doubts, you have always had both,

  Your husband, Hamish.

  For a long while, Emily stared blank-eyed at the letter. Then she read it again to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood its meaning.

  Dear God, Hamish had left her. After a mere matter of days as a bride, she was a deserted wife.

  Hamish, I didn’t mean for you to leave me forever. I meant for you to go somewhere and grant me a few hours’ peace. You could have tried harder.

  "He tried as much as anyone could," said a sniping little voice inside her head.

  The truth was that he had. He’d reached a point where he saw no purpose in trying anymore.

  "The master has gone to Scotland," Polly said cheerily.

  "Yes." Emily wondered at the weight of sorrow swelling her heart. Especially when she thought her heart already brimmed with as much sorrow as it could hold.

  "I’m sure he’ll be back soon, my lady. Since Sir John died, he’s been fair worried sick about you."

  "Yes," Emily said, although she hadn’t noticed. Not really.

  Grief was such a selfish emotion. As she struggled to come to terms with her loss, she’d hardly spared a thought for Hamish. Now she suffered a second loss, and one which cut much more deeply than she’d ever imagined it would.

  Hamish had gone to Scotland, her father was dead, and Emily felt more alone than she ever had in her entire life.

  Part 2

  Chapter 16

  Glen Lyon, Highlands of Scotland, September 1823

  A deafening pounding in his head smashed through Hamish’s slumber. Bleary eyes cracked open to cruel sunshine. What the hell had he had to drink last night?

  Oh, that’s right. He’d been feeling sorry for himself and missing Emily like the very devil, so he’d taken a little too much whisky before he stumbled into bed. He should bloody well know better. During his long separation from his bride, he’d learned to place a tight lid on his loneliness. But he’d made the mistake of thinking how much his wife would love the immense northern skies, especially at night when the stars burned like fire.

  He’d been so befuddled, with yearning more than with liquor, that he hadn’t even closed the bedroom curtains. Now daylight cut like a knife. Hell, sunlight like this didn’t belong in the Highlands. This part of the British Isles should be gray and cool and wet, but September had brought two weeks of warm weather.

  The thunderous pounding continued, and he realized it wasn’t inside his head, but came from downstairs. It seemed someone required his presence.

  There must be some crisis down at Lyon House, he supposed, or perhaps a band of travelers had become lost in the maze of hills surrounding the estate. Except nobody ever came to this isolated peel tower. It wasn’t on the way to anything, and the nearest neighbors were more than five miles away.

  That was just how Hamish liked it.

  He’d discovered this tower as a ruin when he was a boy. It was unusual to see one of these defensive structures from the Dark Ages so far north, but he’d known immediately that once restored, it would make the perfect observatory. It did. It also made the perfect refuge for a man with an aching heart who wanted to lick his wounds in private.

  With a heartfelt groan, he rolled out of bed and staggered across the floor. He’d reached the top of the stairs before he recalled he was naked.

  Stumbling back to the bed, he wrenched a linen sheet off the mattress and wrapped it around his waist. For a moment, a memory assailed him, of a frustrating wedding night when he’d confronted his uncaring bride wearing only a bedcover.

  This time he was wise enough to push away all thought of his wife. Remembering Emily only paved the way to misery.

  On unsteady legs, he made his way down the uneven stone stairs to the ground floor. The knocking continued. Damn it, whoever was outside must have a bloody tired arm by now.

  "All right. All right. There’s no need to try and wake the dead. I’m here."

  After a few seconds’ fumbling with the heavy iron latch, he flung the door open and squinted into dazzling brightness. The light was even more piercing outside than it was in his bedroom.

  "What in sodding hell do you want?" he growled, hitching at the sheet which was inclined to droop.

  "Well, that’s a charming greeting after all these months apart," a dulcet voice said.

  Hamish’s headache evaporated in a flash, and he looked down his long nose at the two people on his doorstep. "Bugger me, if it’s not dear little wifey."

  ***

  Emily stared at the disheveled blond giant standing in the rough doorway and battled the urge to punch that firm stomach. An urge once too familiar, but absent from her life since last December.

  She hadn’t been sure what she’d feel when she tracked down her truant husband. Trepidation? Pleasure? Relief? A bitter regret that they’d turned into strangers? She hadn’t expected to feel the way her fourteen-year-old self had, that Hamish Douglas was an arrogant ass who needed taking down a few pegs.

  "Good morning, Hamish." Her tone was sweet as sugar, sharp as a needle. "No, pardon me, it’s not good morning. It’s gone four, so it’s good afternoon."

  "Good afternoon, Emily." The devil didn’t display an ounce of embarrassment, despite sleeping the day away and appearing in front of her in nothing but a sheet. "What the deuce are you doing here?"

  Beside her, Big Billy Mackay tugged his plaid bonnet from his rumpled orange hair and twisted it fit to rip it in two. "Och, did I do wrong, Glen Lyon? The lassie arrived at Lyon House around noon and said she was your wife and she needed to see ye. She is your lady fair and square?"

  As if the reminder of her role in his life was enough to oppress his spirits, Hamish released a disconsolate sigh. "Aye, she’s that, all right."

  Emily’s gloved hands clenched in the skirts of her stylish scarlet riding habit, but hitting Hamish would hurt her more than it hurt him. That outlandish garb he sported wasn’t just a reminder of her wedding night, it revealed far too many impressive muscles.

  However debauched Hamish’s life might have been since he left London, he still looked fit enough to take on Gentleman Jackson and win. She told herself that the throbbing weight settling in her stomach had no connection to the superb, if scruffy, sample of masculinity before her.

  Through the long journey, she’d worried about the reception her husband would give her. She’d hoped that at least they’d start out with politeness, wherever they ended up once she told him why she was here. Instead, it was as if she’d seen him only yesterday, and when she’d seen him yesterday, they’d squabbled.

  "You look dreadful, Hamish." She wished to heaven that was true, but it wasn’t.

  Her eyes traveled over him, assessing the changes nearly a year had made. In London, he’d passed for a civilized man. Here in these isolated reaches of the kingdom, he’d set aside keeping up appearances. His bright gold hair tumbled around his massive shoulders, and he hadn’t shaved in weeks. A shaggy beard hid the clean lines of his jaw and square chin.

  How she’d like to say Hamish looked brutish and barbaric. He certainly looked like the Viking she’d always compared him to. But to her chagrin, the unkempt look suited him. It made her too aware of what a potently male creature she’d wed. Unwelcome heat made her pulses jump, battled with the urge to give him a good shake.

  The blond colossus blocking the doorway arched a supercilious eyebrow. That was one London habit he hadn’t abandoned, along with shaving and a regular barbering.

  "If you turn up out of the blue, my dear, you must take me as you find me." Hamish glanced past her to Big Billy. "What the devil are you doing, bringing Lady Glen Lyon up here, over all this rough country? Anyone with a brain in his head would leave her in comfort at the house and come to fetch me."

  "I offered to come and get ye…" the huge Scotsman stammered.

  Emily stepped in front of Billy, although her slight figure did little to shield him from the laird’s displeasure. Big Billy was even larger than Hamish. Something in this spectacular valley’s water must turn men into giants. "I insisted on coming."

  "Did you fear I wouldn’t jump to your bidding?" More of that haughty drawl.

  Her lips tightened. She remembered Hamish as annoying, but she’d forgotten quite how that acid tone could make her squirm. "Would you have come?"

  He shrugged. "It depends why you’re here."

  "I told you – I want to see you."