AnchorandStorm (4 page)

“It’s all right, Edgar. You aren’t hurting me. Come with me,” she said in a breathy voice that alone was enough to make him spill. “Come now.”

Together they peaked. She threw her head back, her cries of pleasure matching his own. Then she collapsed on top of him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“More than all right. It was wonderful. Oh Edgar, I love you so much.”

“And I love you. I didn’t know such happiness was possible. At least, not for me, not since my illness came on.”

“Edgar, ye ken I have no experience with such things, but I cannae imagine anything another man could do to please a woman that ye havena done tonight.”

“Thank you, my dear, that is good to know.”

Still inside her, he turned so that they lay side by side, their bodies entwined while their breathing slowed. Emily felt her heartbeat returning to its normal rate. Eventually, his flesh softened and slipped out of her. They righted themselves in the bed and snuggled under the covers.

She was just drifting off to sleep when Edgar broke the silence. “Shall we leave for Rome tomorrow?”

“Do you really want to go to Rome?”

He turned his head to look at her. “I’ve been there before, years ago. It’s a beautiful city, my dear, and being a Catholic, I should think you would enjoy seeing St. Peter’s.”

She knew this trip was wearing on him and she did not want to be the cause of any further drain on his health. If it would buy her more time with him, she didn’t care if she ever saw Rome.

She turned her body toward his and hugged his arm. “I want to go home.”

“Emily, I know why you are saying that. I’m fine, truly I am.”

“I want to go home,” she repeated. “I want to start our life together. I have no need to see the great capitals of the world. You’ve shown me so much already, places I never hoped to see. Now I just want to settle down, with you, in our own home.”

He remained silent, studying her.

“Let’s go home, Edgar.”

He leaned over and kissed her, tenderly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not in the last ten minutes,” she replied, then smiled and began to laugh. “And not nearly often enough.”

The next morning, they left France for Scotland. On the trip home, their love for each other grew, but there was no sign of a child. Emily’s courses came when she expected them to and they both tried to hide their sadness.

Chapter Three

They arrived home in the early evening on a rainy, late summer day.

Edgar’s house was large, but his staff was small. In addition to Weston and Sam, the coachman, there was Hamish, the footman, Mrs. Lamond, the housekeeper, Essie Porter, the cook and a young girl, Essie’s daughter, who looked to be about sixteen years old and who served as a maid. They all stood on the front steps, waiting to greet their new mistress. Emily passed down the row, smiling and shaking hands with each person. When she came to the girl, the lass at first took Emily’s hand, then abruptly threw her arms around Emily’s waist.

“Welcome home, milady. I do the laundry and help make the beds and I can carry a tray up the stairs without droppin’ anythin’…well, most o’ the time.”

Essie stepped forward and tried to pry the girl’s arms from around Emily. “Fenella, that’s enough now, ye musn’t bother the mistress.” To Emily she said, “Please, milady, she means well and she is much help around the house—”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Porter.” It was clear to see that the girl was feeble-minded, but Emily instantly took a liking to her.

“Fenella,” Emily continued, speaking directly to the little maid, “I am goin’ to need ye to help me. This is such a big house, I’m afraid I shall get quite lost. Will ye help me find my way around, when ye aren’t helpin’ Mrs. Lamond or your mama?”

Fenella’s eyes lit up with her newfound importance. “Oh aye, milady, I can do that. I ken my way ’round ’cause I go to all the rooms to dust and mop and air the linens. I’ll help ye.”

With the introductions finished, Edgar took Emily inside and began to acquaint her with her new home. As he showed her through the wings of the house, Emily realized how he could get by with so few servants. Most of the rooms were closed off, with dust sheets thrown over the furniture. Although the rooms showed signs of being tended to, as Fenella had said, it was still apparent they had not been used for a very long time. She remembered Edgar saying that he didn’t entertain much anymore and wondered if these rooms would ever be needed again.

He showed her the master bedroom. Emily began to laugh. “Edgar, that is the biggest bed I have ever seen! Four people could sleep in that.”

Edgar smiled and said, “I hadn’t thought about it but you might be right.”

He led her through a door in one wall of the room and into an adjoining bedroom. “This is yours to use any time you wish.” At her puzzled expression, he continued, “If you ever want to be alone, or if I am bothering you…” His voice trailed off.

“Then this room will get little use,” she said.

They went a short way down the hall, he opened another door and they peered inside. He didn’t need to tell her the purpose of this room. A cradle, a small canopied bed, numerous toys, all covered with a fine layer of dust, waiting for the children of the man who had played with them years ago. Edgar and Emily held each other tightly for a moment, then he closed the door behind them.

In addition to the coachman, Edgar’s outdoor staff included a groom and a stable boy. “I shall take you to meet them tomorrow,” he said, “or when the weather clears. I remember you telling me how much you enjoy riding. Angus, our groom, can accompany you and show you the estate. Then, when the weather improves, I shall take you around in the coach to meet our tenants.”

Emily was surprised and pleased that he already used “our” to make her feel welcome in her new home and in her new circumstances.

They ate a light supper and retired to bed. Emily was awakened in the early morning hours by a familiar cramping in her abdomen and felt the telltale stickiness between her legs. She began to ease out of bed, trying not to disturb Edgar, but almost immediately, she felt his hand stroking her back.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

“Aye, ’tis just my courses.” She added softly, “I’m sorry, Edgar.”

“Oh Emily, you know it’s my fault, not yours.”

“It’s no one’s fault. If we are meant to have children, we will. I will not love you any less.”

“But you won’t be as happy. I want to make you happy, my love.”

She reached back and stroked his cheek. “You do make me happy. Never doubt that.” He nodded and she said, “Go back to sleep.”

As he lay down again, she went into the garderobe. On her way back to bed, she stopped to glance out at the sky. The stars were out, promising a clear morning. A lighted window caught her eye.

“Edgar?”

“Hmmm?” he replied sleepily.

“There’s a light burning in the stable.”

“Oh yes. That would be Angus.”

“Your groom?”

“Yes, he sleeps with a lamp burning each night.” Over a yawn, Edgar added, “I hope he’s not a restless sleeper. I fear that one day he’ll burn up the stable and himself with it.”

“Then why do you allow it?”

“We all have our idiosyncrasies, my dear, and that happens to be his.” He burrowed more deeply into his pillow. “Good night, love.”

Emily turned from the window and went back to bed, wondering why a grown man needed to sleep with a lamp burning.

The next morning, after breakfast, they headed for the stable. Edgar appeared rested from their journey home, he walked well, albeit slowly, using only one cane in his left hand.

“I know you want me to take up riding again, but I feel badly leaving you behind,” Emily said.

“I would ride with you if I could, my dear, believe me I would,” he said as they walked down the smooth dirt road leading to the stable. “It is one of the things I regret most about my infirmity. But I won’t let you use me as an excuse to pen yourself up in the house. I have some fine horses, as you’ll soon see. Someone needs to keep them from getting lazy.”

By this time, they had reached the stable and stepped inside the large building. The stone walls kept the inside cool, a welcome change from the warmth of the day. It took Emily’s eyes a few moments to get accustomed to the darkness inside, after coming in from the bright sun. She noted that the stalls were enclosed with fine, dark-stained wood, topped with carved balusters. The faint smell of manure was overshadowed by the scent of fresh straw, the whole place looked as clean and well-kept as Edgar’s house.

Emily mentally caught herself—Edgar insisted that she start thinking of it as
their
house, not just his. She hadn’t been there long enough yet to feel comfortable with that. She was still marveling at her good fortune to have such a kind, wonderful man fall in love with her.

“You remember these boys,” Edgar said as they approached the first two stalls on their right.

“Hello, Romulus. Hello, Remus,” Emily said, greeting the sturdy coach horses. “Thank you for bringing us home safely.”

“And this,” Edgar said, turning to the first stall on the left, diagonally from them, “is the beast I like to blame for my disability.”

Emily jumped back as a huge, dark head appeared above the stall door.

“This is Tar, the pride of my small herd.” Edgar patted the side of big horse’s neck.

Still unsure whether or not the beast would take her arm off, Emily stepped closer and began to gingerly stroke Tar’s muzzle. Now she could see how he got his name. The horse was indeed as black as tar. His coat gleamed, even in the dim light of the stable. “Oh Edgar, he’s magnificent! But what do you mean, that you blame him?”

“I had always prided myself on my riding ability. The man from whom I bought him said that he needed a steady hand. I was sure I could handle him. I had had Tar for about a month. We were out one day, riding the hills to the south of here, when a fox darted out of his den and ran across our path. Tar reared back and, though I braced myself with my knees as tightly as I could, down I went. I managed to get back in the saddle and come home, but I was a long time getting my strength back. I like to blame it on the fall, but the truth is, my legs were weakening before that. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” Emily said. “Does anyone ride him now?”

“Angus is the only one who can really handle him. He sees to it that the big boy stays fit.” At a sound from the doorway, Edgar turned and said, “Ah, speak of the devil, here he is now.”

Emily followed Edgar’s gaze…and her breath caught in her throat.

“Emily, this is Angus MacNeill. Angus, my wife, Lady Callander.”

The groom gave a short bow and said, “How do ye do, milady?”

Emily had to remind herself to breathe. Then she had to pull herself out of the past and return to the present. Just the few words he had spoken, with his soft Highland lilt, had transported her back to a time that seemed so far away, yet was only four years ago. A time when all the men she knew spoke and looked, much the way he did. It was a time she really didn’t want to be reminded of.

She cleared her throat. “How do you do, Mr. MacNeill? It is a pleasure to meet you. Edgar speaks very highly of you.”

“I’m glad of it, milady.”

“You and Emily have much in common, I’m afraid, Angus,” Edgar said, sitting down on a bench near Tar’s stall.

“Is that so?” Angus asked.

“Yes. You’re both from the Highlands. And you both lost your properties and some loved ones in the war.”

“You fought in the Rising, Mr. MacNeill?”

“Aye, I did.”

“So did my father, John Sinclair, and my two brothers.”

His eyes widened, as if surprised. “Ye’re Jock Sinclair’s lass?”

“I am. Did you know him?”

“Aye,” he replied, nodding his head. “We fought together in most of the battles. Yer da spoke of you often.”

Emily felt her eyes moisten with unshed tears. “He did?”

“Ye were his pride and joy.”

“I was?” she asked, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. She knew her father had loved her, even though he had never said the words. He had told this man what he had never told her himself, what she had longed to hear him say. Now she never would. She cleared her throat and asked, “Do you know where or when he died?”

“No one told ye?” She shook her head and Angus continued, “He died at Culloden, along with many, many others.”

She took a deep breath. Everyone had heard of the carnage and brutality of the Battle of Culloden. She didn’t know if it made her feel better or worse that her father had died in the bloodiest—and last—battle of the war.

As if reading her thoughts, Angus said, “He died well.”

“How does a man die well, Mr. MacNeill?” she asked.

“Fighting for a cause he believes in.”

“Is anything worth that great a sacrifice?”

“We thought so,” Angus said.

“And what did it get you, Mr. MacNeill?”

“It got me the memory o’ seein’ my kith and kin slaughtered before my eyes. It got me the loss of a title that’s been my family’s for four hundred years. And it got me imprisonment and indenture. What did it get you, Jock Sinclair’s girl?”

Emily knew what he was implying and it angered her. She started to make a retort but stopped as another thought occurred to her. What if all the servants felt this way? They had seemed to welcome her and were each polite, unlike the man standing before her. But did they all believe she had married Edgar solely for his money and title? Did they resent the governess who had risen to countess in just a few short months? The idea of it frightened her and all she could think to do was escape.

“Excuse me,” she said and hurried from the stable.

Angus glanced down at the earl. Despite his master’s calm demeanor, Angus broke out in a cold sweat. He was sure the man would be livid with anger at the things he had said to Lady Callander. This man held his future in his hands. He could have him whipped or even hanged for what he had just done. Or sent back to prison. Angus knew he would prefer to hang.

Instead, he thought he detected a slight smile on the Callander’s face as he watched his wife almost running toward the house. “Please forgive me, milord. I should no’ have spoken so to milady. I don’t know what came over me.”