Authors: Patricia; Grasso
The day had been a Highland rarity of blue skies and glistening snow. Wood smoke wafted across the crystalline air and grew stronger, urging them onward toward their final destination.
Reaching the crest of a modest incline, Gordon halted his horse and pointed toward the glen below. “’Tis there,” he said.
Rob reined her horse to a stop beside him and stared in the direction he pointed. Pale yellow light of evening silhouetted the four-story high structure. From her vantage point, Rob saw that the castle stood on a promontory over Loch Fyne. The surrounding mountains and the loch combined to make Inverary Castle impregnable. Nearby, on the eastern and the western sides of the structure, lay two frozen streams apparently descended from the mountains.
“Welcome to Inverary Castle,” Gordon said, smiling at her. “Welcome home, wife.”
Rob flicked him a sidelong glance and then gazed at the castle below. “I willna say I’m glad to be here,” she replied. “Inverary appears more like a castle of gloom than the Highland’s wealthiest stronghold.”
Gordon chuckled. “’Tis forbiddin’, I’ll give ye that. The fact is we lovin’ly call it Castle Gloom. ’Twas built to be the ugliest castle in Scotland in order to discourage any foolhardy intruders.”
“In that case, my lord, the Campbells have done an excellent job of it,” Rob teased. “Inverary appears as if the devil himself cast his cloak over it.”
“Thank ye for the high praise,” Gordon replied.
“Where’s Dunridge Castle from here?” she asked.
“Ye must go up into those mountains behind Inverary,” Gordon told her. “Climb up the valley of Glen Aray, and then walk through the forest until ye arrive at the moors. When ye reach the crest of the moors, ye can see Loch Awe with its jewel, Dunridge Castle, and behind it rises Ben Cruachan.”
Gordon nudged his horse forward toward home and called over his shoulder, “Are ye comin’, angel?”
“Aye,” Rob called, and reluctantly nudged her own horse forward to follow him down the incline. “Do ye think they’ll be surprised to see us?”
“I doubt it,” Gordon said without looking back at her. “My father knows whenever anyone steps one foot into Argyll. No man catches a Campbell by surprise.”
Perhaps, but I’m a woman, Rob thought. The Campbells cannot see Old Clootie’s mark from wherever they’re standing. I’ll bet my family’s fortune that the sight of my devil’s flower will catch every last Campbell off guard.
Rob lifted her chin a notch, squared her shoulders proudly, and gazed at her new home. Castle Gloom. Today was the first day of the rest of her miserable life, and she’d better make the best of it. Perhaps she could wear those fingerless gloves and permanently keep her shame hidden . . . ?
Chapter 9
“Welcome to Inverary Castle.” Magnus Campbell, the Duke of Argyll, smiled at Rob as he walked around the desk in his private study to greet her. “Come, lass, and warm yerself in front of the hearth. Let me take yer cloak and gloves.”
With chestnut-brown hair, piercing gray eyes, and a charming smile that eased her apprehension, the fifty-year-old Duke of Argyll was still an exceedingly handsome man. The resemblance between his son and him was uncanny, and made her feel as if she were looking at a vision of her husband as an older man.
Still dressed in the boy’s clothing borrowed from Henry Talbot, Rob felt positively ragged but let the duke divest her of cloak and gloves. She returned his smile shyly, followed him across the study to a chair in front of the hearth, and sat down. Lifting Smooches out of his satchel, she kept the pup imprisoned on her lap.
The duke handed his son a dram of whiskey and then offered her a goblet of mulled wine with a cinnamon stick. The unexpected sight of that cinnamon stick reminded Rob of the day in her uncle’s study when she’d served her two suitors white heather wine and cockle bread.
Rob struggled against the bubble of laughter rising in her throat and managed to hold it down. She wondered what her husband was thinking at that moment, but refrained from looking in his direction lest the sight of him make her laugh. She didn’t think he’d wish to tell his father about that particular day, and she couldn’t very well laugh without explaining why. Her father-in-law would think she was a blinking idiot.
“Here’s to yer safe arrival,” Magnus said, lifting his glass of whiskey into the air in a toast. “May today be the first day of many happy years for my only son and his lovely wife.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Gordon said, raising his own glass to his lips.
Though uncomfortable with his sentiment, Rob managed a smile for her father-in-law’s gallantry. She did, however, refrain from joining in their toast.
“Lass, ye have the look of yer mother,” the duke remarked. “Ye canna imagine how ecstatic I am that yer parents and I will share grandchildren.”
In the act of sipping her wine, Rob choked on his words. A hard slap between her shoulder blades helped her catch her breath.
“Thank ye,” Rob said, gazing through tear-blurred eyes at her husband. “The wine went down the wrong pipe.” Fully composed again, she turned her attention on her father-in-law and said, “I’m verra sorry, Yer Grace, but my parents and ye may not be sharin’ any grandchildren.”
“Rob.” Her husband’s voice held a warning note.
“Are ye barren?” Duke Magnus asked baldly.
Rob crimsoned with hot embarrassment. In spite of the pup sitting on her lap, she reached around his little body and began to rub her birthmark furiously.
“No, Yer Grace. I — I may be permanently returnin’ to England this summer,” she tried to explain.
Her statement confused him. The duke slid his gaze to his son and silently demanded an explanation.
“Dinna fret aboot this nonsense,” Gordon told his father. He rounded on Rob who was about to argue with him, and added, “We’ll discuss this later.”
“Yer Grace, may I have a box of sand in my chamber?” Rob asked abruptly, switching to a more mundane subject than the possibility of her leaving Inverary Castle.
“Sand?” Duke Magnus echoed, thoroughly baffled by her request. He’d met myriad silly women in his time, including his own wife and Rob’s mother, but the Mac-Arthur chit seemed to outshine the lot of them.
“My young cousins trained Smooches to use a sandbox at night,” Rob said, reading the confusion couched in his eyes.
The duke’s expression cleared. “I’m certain we can find a box for yer pet.” He flicked a glance at his son and added, “Duncan and Gavin will love playin’ with Smooches.”
“Duncan and Gavin?” Rob inquired, thinking the two must be the duke’s own pets.
“A couple of Inverary’s children to whom my father is partial,” Gordon answered.
The duke coughed and cleared his throat, drawing her attention. Rob caught the pointed look his grace leveled on her husband but had no idea what it meant.
“Ye’ve suffered a long and tirin’ journey,” Duke Magnus said, turning his most solicitously charming smile on her. “I’m certain ye’d love a hot bath and a hearty meal to take the edge off yer hunger.”
Without waiting for her to reply, the duke crossed the study to the door and called for service. Almost instantly, two women hurried into the room. One appeared to be about Rob’s age and the other several years older than the duke.
Setting Smooches down on the floor, Rob stood to greet them. Out of habit, she discreetly covered her birthmark with her right hand.
“This is Biddy, Inverary’s housekeeper,” Duke Magnus said, introducing them.
In her late fifties, Biddy was plump and graying at the temples. Her expression was kind but brooked no nonsense.
“And this is Gabby, Biddy’s granddaughter,” the duke added. “Gabby will serve as yer tirin’ woman.”
Much taller than Rob’s petite height of five feet, Gabby was strappingly well built and sported dark brown hair and eyes. Her expression seemed curious yet friendly.
When the two women smiled at her and moved to curtsey, Rob stopped them by saying, “Dinna curtsey to me. I’m nobody special.”
“Why, yer the lady of Inverary Castle,” Biddy said, obviously surprised by her words. “Yer the laird’s daughter now.”
“Only temporarily,” Rob replied.
The housekeeper cast the duke a questioning look. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head in a silent gesture to drop the subject.
“The long journey from London wearied Rob,” Duke Magnus said. “Could we arrange a bath and supper for her upstairs?”
Biddy grinned. “Why, ’tis already waitin’.”
“Oh, my new daughter-in-law will be borrowin’ a few of Avril’s gowns until her own belongin’s arrive from England,” Duke Magnus added.
“Avril?” Rob echoed, puzzled.
“Gordon’s mother, my late wife,” the duke told her.
“Thank ye, Yer Grace.” Rob moved to curtsey, but he reached out and touched her arm to prevent her from doing so.
“Yer back in the Highlands,” Duke Magnus said. “We’ll have none of that bowin’ and scrapin’ takin’ place within the family.”
Rob nodded. She already liked her father-in-law immensely. He appeared to possess none of her husband’s arrogant pigheadedness. Or had advanced age merely tempered those qualities?
“Leave Smooches with me, angel,” Gordon said, scooping the pup into his arms. “I’ll see he gets supper while yer bathin’.”
“Thank ye, Gordy. Will I be seein’ ye later?”
Gordon winked at her. “I’ve no doubt aboot that, wife.”
No sooner had the door closed behind Rob than the Duke of Argyll rounded on his son. “Ye didna tell her?” he said, his disbelief apparent in his voice. “Lyin’ to yer wife is bad business, no matter how worthy the cause.”
“What does it matter when she learns aboot that?” Gordon countered. “A wife’s duty is to accept her husband in spite of his flaws.”
“’Tis true only in theory, Gordy.” The duke shook his head as if his son were a simpleton. “A wise man keeps the peace with his wife, especially here in the Highlands where winters are long and harsh. Do ye wish to live from November to April trapped inside this house with a wife who resents ye?”
Gordon knew his father’s question was rhetorical. He filled his mug with whiskey, took a healthy swig of it, and sat in the chair vacated by his wife. Flicking a sidewise smile at his father, Gordon said finally, “My MacArthur bride isna the timid angel I’d expected. Since ridin’ to England, I havena been able to accomplish quite a few thin’s with her.”
The Duke of Argyll stood with his arms folded across his chest. “Such as?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at his son.
Gordon dropped his gaze and stared into the hearth’s flames. “I havena breached her yet.”
That unexpected announcement stunned the duke speechless for one long moment. Then he threw back his head and shouted with laughter.
“Are ye the man no woman could refuse?” Duke Magnus teased him. “Are ye the man whose near-legendary prowess I’ve been hearin’ aboot for years?”
“Who’s carryin’ tales back to ye?” Gordon demanded.
The Duke of Argyll smiled. “I’ve got my spies, son.”
“Why is it that whenever I speak with ye, I feel like a striplin’ boy?” Gordon asked.
The Duke of Argyll’s smile grew into a fall-fledged grin. “Compared with my superior sophistication, ye are a striplin’ boy.”
“Verra funny, Father . . . When I arrived in London, my wife believed herself in love with the Marquess of Ludlow,” Gordon told him. “I thought ’twas best to give her some breathin’ space. Forcin’ her into my bed could have ruined whatever chance we had for a happy marriage together. So I decided courtin’ her for a time would be the best approach.”
“Yer bride’s here now. She must’ve changed her mind aboot ye,” Duke Magnus replied. “My advice is to breach her first and then tell her aboot the other situation afterwards.”
Gordon sipped his whiskey and decided to level with his father. “Rob isna here by choice,” he admitted. “The queen’s men chased us out of England.”
“What did ye do?” the duke asked in a surprisingly calm tone of voice.
“I did nothin’.” Gordon smiled at the memory. “My sweet-tempered wife drew her dagger on Elizabeth’s secretary of state and threatened his life.”
“Why did she do that?” Duke Magnus asked, obviously shocked by the revelation. He would never have guessed that the petite young woman could be capable of violence.
Gordon refused to meet his father’s gaze when he answered, “Walsingham provoked her.”
“Ye are na bein’ honest with me, Gordy.”
“I gave my solemn oath to Rob’s uncle that I’d keep my silence,” Gordon replied. “I can tell ye this much, ye’ll hear all aboot it in the near future.”
“Verra well, son.” The duke placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and said, “I’ll trust yer judgment.”
Covering his father’s hand with his own, Gordon replied, “I knew ye would.”
“Now, then. Ye know I canna wait forever to see the heir ye sire on yer wife,” Duke Magnus said, changing their topic of conversation to one of his favorite subjects. “I need ye to get to work on makin’ my heir. And ’twould appear that Cousin Iain’s daughter is a braw lassie and will give the Campbells a dozen fine strong sons. Heed my advice, lad. Dinna lie needlessly to her. ’Twill only make a bad situation worse and could haunt yer whole life together.”