Authors: Patricia; Grasso
Rob cared not a whit. Acceptance by the Campbells was something she hadn’t really expected. Only Gavin . . .
Rob forced herself to banish the six-year-old from her heart and her mind, as she’d exiled so many others who’d rejected her. She was going home. And then she reached the smithy’s and stood uncertainly in his doorway.
“Lady Rob,” Fergus greeted her with a broad smile. “Seein’ ye here is a pleasant surprise.”
“Good day to ye,” Rob replied, forcing herself to return his smile. “I — I’m unsure of whom to ask, but I require a horse. Can ye help me?”
“Why do ye need a mount?” Fergus asked, puzzled.
“Do I need to explain myself to ye?” Rob countered defensively.
“Ye do,” came his reply.
She inclined her head and said, “Verra well. I’m plannin’ on visitin’ my parents.”
“Alone?” There was no mistaking the surprised disbelief in his voice.
“I have my husband’s permission,” Rob lied, determined to follow through with her plan to leave Inverary. She’d dared to draw her dagger on Queen Elizabeth’s minister, so no Campbell smithy would thwart her plans. She just had to get away.
“I’m verra sorry, Lady Rob,” Fergus said, refusing her request. “I’ll need to hear Gordy tell me that ye have his permission.”
“Are ye questionin’ the veracity of my words?” she challenged him.
“No, yer honesty.”
“Great Bruce’s ghost, do ye realize to whom yer speakin’?” Rob asked, raising her voice with indignation. “I am Inverary’s lady. How dare ye refuse me a horse.”
“And do ye realize to whom yer speakin’?” Fergus asked, towering over her. “I am the laird’s man in charge of the horses, and yer not gettin’ one.”
“My husband will hear aboot this,” Rob threatened him.
“Yer damned right aboot that,” Fergus met her threat with his own.
Rob gave up and walked away in a huff. Retracing her steps, she marched across the courtyard and then raced up the wheel stairs to the third story.
When she gained the privacy of her chamber, Rob dropped her cloak on the floor and freed Smooches from his confinement. Standing at the window, she gazed down at the enclosed garden. Duncan and Gavin sat in silence on the stone bench. They appeared as miserable as she felt. Unable to bear the depressing sight, Rob turned away from the window and began to pace the chamber.
What would she do now? Rob wondered. She refused to tell her husband that his sons had rejected her. Gordon would punish them, and she couldn’t live with herself if he did that. The boys couldn’t help believing she was a witch. How could she expect them to doubt their own mother?
The door crashed open. Rob whirled around and faced her husband. Her angry husband.
“Where did ye think ye were goin’?” Gordon demanded without preamble, marching across the chamber to confront her.
“Home,” Rob answered honestly.
“Yer already home.”
“Dunridge Castle is my home.” Rob sighed and admitted, “I just wanted to see my mother.”
“Is that why ye lied to Fergus?” Gordon asked, staring hard at her. “Do ye realize ye could have died out there if he hadna refused ye?”
“Argyll is safe.” Rob replied.
“No place in the whole wide world is safe for a woman alone,” Gordon said in a clipped voice. “I’ll take ye home for a visit this summer.”
“I want to go now.”
Gordon narrowed his piercing gray gaze on her. “Ye never mentioned bein’ homesick before. As a matter of fact, I nearly had to drag ye out of England. So, angel, what’s the real reason ye’ve a mind to leave Inverary?”
“Kendra bore ye two sons,” Rob cried, hating herself for lying but determined to protect the little boys who’d stolen her heart and then broken it. “Ye dinna need me.”
Gordon gave her a long, measuring look. Rob could tell from his skeptical expression that he knew she was lying.
“Duncan and Gavin are bastards,” Gordon said baldly. “Neither can ever be the lord of Inverary Castle, but both will support the heir ye give me.”
“Ye willna be gettin’ an heir out of me,” Rob announced.
“And why do ye say that?”
“Come summer, I’m returnin’ to England.”
Gordon stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown another head. “Ye willna be returnin’ to England,” he told her in a deceptively calm voice. “And, God willin’, ye’ll bear my sons and daughters. ’Tis past time to stop yer whinin’ and grow up.” He marched back across the chamber but paused at the door. “Dinna try for another horse. I’ve ordered the guards to stop ye if ye attempt to wander beyond Inverary’s walls.”
“Yer keepin’ me prisoner?’” Rob asked.
“Dinna be ridiculous. Yer Inverary’s lady,” Gordon said. “Try actin’ like it.” At that, he turned on his heels and left their chamber.
How would she survive among these enemies? Rob thought desperately. Being made outcast by the likes of Kendra didn’t bother her overmuch, but the children would have nothing to do with her. The boys had insinuated themselves into her heart, and she’d miss playing with them in the garden. Especially Gavin, whose smile reminded her of her husband.
Chapter 11
Damn, but his father sounded like the Inquisition.
The questions began as soon as Gordon stepped into the study and became increasingly more difficult to answer with each passing moment. His head ached with annoyance. But what could he do? The man was the Duke of Argyll, the laird of clan Campbell, and his own father.
“Well, did ye tell her?”
“No.”
“She doesna know yer takin’ her to the lodge?” Duke Magnus asked, passing him a dram of whiskey. “Where does she think she’s goin’?”
Gordon gulped the whiskey in one long swig, fortifying himself for the eventual confrontation with his wife. Gazing out the window at the startlingly bright late-April day, he answered, “Rob believes I’m takin’ her to Dunridge Castle for a visit with her mother.”
“Ah, lad, will ye never learn?” Duke Magnus asked, an unmistakable smile lurking in his voice. “A wise man never lies to his wife. ’Twill eventually return to haunt ye.”
“She would have refused me if I’d told her the truth,” Gordon replied, facing his father. “I dinna ken what’s made her so reclusive lately, but we canna continue like this. Why, she even avoids Duncan and Gavin.”
“Have ye breached her yet?”
Gordon stared hard at his father. Their gray gazes, so much alike, met and clashed in a silent battle of wills.
“With all due respect, ’tis none of yer business,” Gordon told his father.
Duke Magnus grinned at his son’s defensive response and went in for the kill. “Since ye havena consummated yer vows, an annulment is still possible. Why dinna ye take her to Dunridge Castle and leave her there?”
“I didna say I havena breached her,” Gordon hedged, embarrassed to be skirting around the truth and wondering why he was even bothering. His father always seemed to know when he was lying or evading. “As for the other, even if ’twas possible to annul her, ’twould cause dissension between our families.”
“Dinna think twice aboot me,” the duke said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I doubt Cousin Iain would be insulted either. After all, if the lass isna happy with ye and ye havena —”
“I said no,” Gordon interrupted, his voice clipped with annoyance. God’s balls, dealing with his wife was irritating enough. Was he now required to debate the merits of annulment with his father? Gordon had the feeling that the old fox was toying with him and enjoying himself immensely.
“Do ye love her?” Duke Magnus persisted.
“Drop it, Yer Grace,” Gordon warned, his patience depleted.
“Well, ye must harbor a fondness for the lass,” the duke went on as if his son had never spoken. “Ye ordered puir Dewey to haul a real bed — mattress and all — up into those mountains. And what else did I hear? Ah, yes. A privacy screen, a chamber pot, scented soap, and the good Lord only knows what else.”
“I dinna want her complainin’ aboot bein’ uncomfortable,” Gordon said, by way of a plausible explanation. “Rob is a delicate woman, and ’twill be difficult enough without makin’ her suffer. Consideration for my wife is a far cry from lovin’ her.”
“Yer underestimatin’ her,” Magnus told him. “Women and babies are always a lot stronger than we men believe.”
Gordon snapped to alertness as the door swung open. With Smooches ensconced inside the satchel strapped to her chest, Rob hurried into the study. Her emerald eyes sparkled with excitement, and happiness at the prospect of going home had tinged her cheeks with a high blush; that worried look had vanished from her expression, and she appeared more vibrant than she had in more than a month. With her ebony hair woven into two braids, his wife seemed more like a young girl than the Marchioness of Inverary and the future Duchess of Argyll.
Admiring her youthful beauty and expectant smile, Gordon felt tight coils of guilt wrapping themselves around his chest. But what else could he do? Only by deceiving her into believing she was going home had he been able to get her to agree to leave their chamber. Why, she hardly even ventured into the garden anymore, and certainly never when his sons were about.
“Are ye ready, angel?” Gordon asked, unable to resist the boyish impulse of yanking her braids.
Rob giggled at his gesture and nodded.
“So, yer takin’ the wee beastie with ye?” Duke Magnus asked.
“I wouldna leave Smooches behind,” Rob answered. “My mother will adore him. I canna wait until she sees his sweet face.”
The duke flicked a pointed glance at his son and added as they started for the door, “Dinna forget to give yer parents my regards.”
Outside in the courtyard, two horses stood ready, awaiting their arrival. Beside them, a third horse had been laden with satchels and baskets.
“What’s this?” Rob asked.
“Supplies,” Gordon answered, lifting her into the saddle.
“For what?”
Gordon fastened the pack horse’s reins to his own saddle and then flicked a sidelong glance at her. “I always prepare for the unexpected when I travel these mountains.”
Leaving Inverary Castle behind, Gordon and Rob rode at a leisurely pace up into the mountains. The more distance they put between themselves and Inverary, the more carefree Rob grew.
The morning mists had evaporated, fulfilling the promise of a clear afternoon. The day was a Highland rarity of blue skies and brilliant sunshine.
Rob felt optimism swelling within her soul as they rode up toward the valley of Glen Aray. The recently born lambs were frolicking on the hillsides, and various kinds of birds flew hither and thither to their ancestral nests.
The whole of Argyll was a garden of wildflowers. God had landscaped the horizon with delicate white blood-root blossoms and red trilliums. Rock columbine with crimson crowns nodded at her.
Rob smiled as she inhaled deeply of the mountain scents of heather mingling with pine. She could almost hear the fairies laughing and singing and dancing amidst the rocks and the wildflowers.
“At what are ye grinnin’?” Gordon asked.
“Can ye not hear the flower fairies singin’?” Rob asked.
Gordon halted his horse and cocked his head to one side as if straining to hear. “Ah, yes, I hear them now,” he said, making her giggle. “I do believe they’re a bit out of tune.”
They rode into the silent grandeur of Glen Aray surrounded by rounded, massive peaks. The afternoon sun sparkled across the top of a serene pool of water formed by two mingling streams. All around them springtide flowers decorated the valley.
“What are those?” Rob asked, pointing at yellow flowers with red tendrils.
“Glenside sundew,” Gordon answered. “The sweet-smelling tendrils attract and then ensnare insects. Then the plant eats them.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Rob replied, surprised by the savagery in the innocuous-looking flower. “How can beauty be so deadly?”
“Everything dies, angel. The sundew would starve if it smelled like shit,” Gordon teased her.
“Isna that unusual for those streams to form a pool?” Rob asked, pointing toward the water.
“Aye. Sorrow and Care — the Campbells’ names for those streams — mingle in the pool as they do in life,” Gordon told her. “Then they separate again on the journey down to Loch Fyne and Inverary.”
Rob scanned the idyllic scenery. Tiny, beehive hovels of stone and turf dotted the sides of the hills around them. “What are those?” she asked.
“Why, angel, ’tis where the women and the children sleep during the summer shielin’,” Gordon answered. “The men sleep outside in their plaids. Everyone will be arrivin’ tomorrow afternoon in time to celebrate Beltane Eve. Dinna the MacArthurs have a summer shielin’?”
“Yes, of course.” Rob had never attended because nobody wanted her there. The MacArthurs feared she’d jinx the cattle.
At the far end of Glen Aray, Gordon and Rob rode into a magnificent virgin forest of pine, spruce, birch, and larch. Here beds of bracken grew out from the gnarled branches of beech.