Spring Blossom (15 page)

“You look so beautiful, Maggie,” Jennifer
said, leaning closer to her sister.

Margaret smiled down at the grinning girl.
“Thank you, darling.”

“I agree,” her husband said softly as he
stepped to her side. “You’re exceptionally beautiful today,
Maggie.”

The new bride raised her head slightly,
frowning. “You know how I feel about you saying that,” she said in
a controlled voice.

“I know you have difficulty believing in
your own loveliness,” he returned. “But I will have years to
convince you.”

Totally embarrassed now, Maggie crossed her
arms beneath her breasts in exasperation. “I used to think of you
as a man of few words."

His grin broadened as he reached for her
hand. “That is still true. But you should remember I’m a man who
speaks up when I have something important to say.” He shrugged
casually then. “I happen to consider your beauty a pleasant topic
of conversation.”

“Well, it annoys me,” she snapped

“Then we must change the way you feel,” he
whispered, leaning close. “I will have you believing what I see
when I look at you, my darling.”

By now Jennifer was smiling broadly at
Hunter’s attentiveness toward her sister and was truly annoyed when
Denise took her arm and dragged her away.

Hunter noticed that girl’s departure and
appreciated the fact that they were alone for a moment of two. “The
ability to believe in your own beauty is only one of the things I
will teach you,” he murmured.

Taken aback by his intimate tone, Margaret
could only stare at him as flattering color spread across her ivory
skin. His manner was far from threatening. In fact, she thought it
belonged somewhere between a caress and a playful barb.

And it confused her.

“I believe supper is ready,” she said,
ignoring both his grin and the anxious little spasm in her
chest.

Hunter’s eyes followed her as she walked to
her father’s side. She was still too nervous to play, he knew. But
he would teach her slowly, and she would begin to relax once she
realized he posed no threat.

Jennifer was frowning as she appeared again
at Maggie’s side. “I only wish you didn’t have to move away,” she
said sadly.

“I will not be so far from here, Jennifer,”
Margaret said. In fact, she felt a terrible sadness in leaving this
girl she had all but raised since their mother’s death. “And we
shall return for Denise wedding after the harvest.”

That seemed to brighten the girl’s mood. As
everyone began to file into the dining room and take their seats,
Jennifer decided she, in turn, should help promote Margaret’s
happiness. She motioned with a tap on her sister’s arm and a waving
of her hand and, when Maggie leaned close, Jennifer whispered,
“Hunter will behave respectfully toward you,” she said. “He
promised me.”

Margaret straightened abruptly in her chair,
her expression one of disbelief. “What?”

Jennifer continued to smile and nod happily,
although some doubt of the wisdom of speaking up began to seep into
her thoughts as she watched her eldest sister’s smile melt with
growing anger.

Margaret frowned across the table at her
husband, then reached for her wine while her mind whirled, cursing
Hunter for speaking to Jennifer about…whatever horrid things he had
spoken of for the child to make such a statement.

All too soon the meal was over and the men
were left alone to enjoy brandy and cigars. Margaret and her
sisters adjourned to the parlor, where they partook of tea and a
heavy dose of awkwardness. Not one among them knew what to say to
Margaret. Denise had heard tales of the wedding night, of course,
but she could not offer advice to her sister. And what she had
previously offered had not been met with either appreciation or
acceptance.

Florence and Jennifer remained quiet,
dwelling only on the fact that they were losing one of their own.
To break their boredom, they began to snipe at each other
good-naturedly.

Throughout the otherwise long silence,
Maggie stewed in barely suppressed nerves.

Before too long the daughters were asked to
join Alastair in saying thank you and good-bye to the minister at
the front door.

Hunter stepped close to Maggie’s side after
the man had left. “Shall we, too, say good night, Mrs.
Maguire?”

“It’s early,” Maggie announced as her
previously suppressed nerves jumped into full-blown panic. “I wish
to spend more time with my family.”

Hunter smile with understanding and did
something he had never done before; he ran the tips of his fingers
lightly along the narrow scar on her jaw. It was a touch so
fleeting that Maggie was not certain he had actually come in
contact with her skin. But there was a tingling warmth there that
remained and left her wondering. “You’ll see your sisters at
breakfast, Maggie, and we have a long journey tomorrow. I think it
best that we retire for the evening and rest.”

“I do not think it best,” she said with
quiet conviction.

Hunter’s eyes left her face and he looked up
the long staircase. “Shall I carry you?”

“Is that a threat?”

He grinned down at her. “No, it is not a
threat, my dear, but I would be pleased if you would oblige
me.”

He would do it, she thought. He would
embarrass her in front of her family and think nothing of it. “You
are one pompous, over-bearing…” But she couldn’t finish the thought
in the company of others. Turning away Margaret said her good
nights to her sisters and, lastly, hugged her father particularly
close.

“Be easy, my darling,” Alastair whispered
against her cheek as he kissed her fondly. “He’s a good man. Give
it time. I have little doubt he will make you happy.”

Margaret pulled back, her arms remaining
loosely around his neck as she stood on tiptoe and stared into his
trouble eyes. “Father, I…” But Margaret could not bring herself to
speak. Anything she had to say, however honest or heartfelt, would
only bring him pain. He had done his best for her in his own mind
she knew, but it was difficult to accept that he had married her
off so abruptly. And so, rather than blurt out her confusion and
fear, she kissed his leathery cheek. “I love you, Papa,” she
whispered and turned toward the stairs.

Hunter lightly gripped her elbow as they
started up the long, curving stairway. “You could turn and give
your father a smile, Maggie,” he suggested softly. “You are not
going to your death, you know.”

Margaret turned, smiled sweetly and waved to
her family before glaring aside at her husband. “Am I not,” she
muttered under the breath.

Hunter heard, but was determined not to let
her words affect him. "I thought the service was nice,” he said
conversationally.

Margaret glanced sideways with a look that
indicated she believed he possessed the intelligence of a
turnip.

He laughed. “Well, it was. And the supper
was excellent.”

“Now, on that we can agree.”

“First time today,” Hunter muttered.

“Pardon?”

“I said, have it your way.”

Maggie seemed to gain some small degree of
satisfaction from that, and Hunter laughed again, ruefully.

With each step Margaret took en route to her
bedroom she wondered at the stupidity of what she had done. She
completely forgot about any arrangement between her father and
Hunter as she mentally re-hashed how logical it all had seemed two
days ago. But now…she failed to recall all the wise and brave
things she had thought about their forthcoming relationship.

Then Hunter brought them both to a halt
outside her bedroom door.

He leaned forward, not quite touching her
shoulder, and swung the portal wide open.

Margaret stood staring at him uncertainly
when he failed to enter and did not encourage her to precede him
into the room. “Will you knock on my door when you are ready to
leave in the morning?” she asked.

He smiled. “If you wish.”

She laced her fingers together nervously,
wondering how a wife bade a husband good night before closing the
door in his face. “Jennifer will no doubt wake me up early. She
will want to say good-bye.”

“No doubt.”

“Well,” she drawled uncomfortably before
looking down the hall…for what?...and then into her room. “Good
night.”

“Good night,” he whispered and continued to
smile when she entered and turned toward him with one last look
before closing the door between them.

Maggie breathed a heavy sigh, leaning back
against the door as her legs no longer seemed capable of bearing
her weight. She had done it. She would spend her wedding night with
no threat from her husband. She had to believe that Hunter would be
true to his word. If she could not believe that, she was lost and
doomed.

Exhausted from the tensions of the day,
Margaret moved slowly across the room, unfastening the collar
buttons at the back of her gown as she went. The bed looked so
inviting, now that she could relax. The entire day, from sun rise
to sun down, had been fraught with nervous tension and it had taken
a toll.

“May I assist you?” a masculine voice
inquired.

Margaret whirled on him, her elbows pointing
toward the ceiling. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “I
thought you had gone to your own room?”

“And I thought I might be of assistance. How
do you get in and out of that dress on your own? Or anything like
it?”

“I can manage quite nicely,” she returned
primly, although it was a lie. It was not easy to unto the row of
buttons that rand down the length of her spine.

Hunter smiled, taking a step in her
direction. “It will save a lot of time and strain on your arms if I
help. Turn around here.”

“I would prefer you to leave,” she said.

“And I would prefer to stay. Now, don’t be a
stubborn little chit. Turn around.”

After piercing him with those ice-blue eyes,
Margaret turned, bracing herself for the first touch of his hands
on her back; still, she flinched.

Hunter did not miss her reaction as he
reached for the buttons at the back of her neck; he simply chose to
ignore it. He brushed the heavy cascade of curls over her shoulder,
taking the opportunity to feel the silkiness of her hair between
his fingers before Maggie’s hand came up and swept the entire mass
over her shoulder. “This is one of those genteel services a husband
can perform for his wife,” he said easily. “You see, you can find
some use of me even at this early stage of our marriage.”

She could feel his fingers moving down her
back, his knuckles lightly brushing her shoulder blades.
Inexplicably, gooseflesh rose on her arms. “What is taking so
long?”

Hunter chuckled. “My fingers are large, and
the buttons small, Maggie. You will have to be patient with
me.”

When she felt his fingers working the
buttons below her waist, Maggie closed her eyes, begging for the
strength to remain where she was; she could not, however, As quick
as a flitting butterfly she darted away, turning to face him as she
did so. “I can manage the rest, thank you,” she said with
well-feigned politeness.

He smiled, understanding she was just too
afraid to tolerate his touch a moment longer. He moved around her,
crossing to the small table near the windows, knowing she watched
his every move. “Would you care for a glass of sherry?” he
asked.

Her eyes widened as she noted the silver
tray that held decanters and glasses. “When did you bring those in
here?”

"Not I,” he said, pouring sherry for her and
then brandy for himself. “I asked Anna to leave them here.” He
turned to face here again, a glass in each hand. “You know, I don’t
believe she likes me very much.” Then he held out the small sherry
glass for her. “A toast to us, my dear.”

Margaret stared at him warily as she
cautiously accepted the drink he offered. Her mind was tossing
around the possible ramifications of this game he seemed to be
playing. And, she was feeling even more vulnerable now that she had
to hold her bodice in place with one hand. There was a fluttering
in her stomach as her senses reacted to the presence of the man,
even before her conscious mind could sort through the reasons for
his being in her room, and apparently quite at ease.

Raising the glass to her lips, she followed
him with her eyes as he sat on the same chair he had used only two
nights before. The chair was far too small for so large a man and
the sight almost made her smile. She did not smile, however, for it
was dawning on her that he was settling in and had no intention of
leaving.

“I would like to say goodnight now, Hunter,”
she said reasonably. “I’m very tired.”

His eyes strayed briefly toward the
hand-painted screen in the corner. “If you’re feeling shy…,” he
said and left the remainder of his sentence dangling between
them.

It was like being dowsed by a bucket of cold
water; her eyes grew huge and round in shock. “You’re not
staying?”

“It would look a bit odd, don’t you think,
for the groom to spend the wedding night in one room while the
bride sleeps in another?”

“You are not staying.” And this time it was
not a question but a matter of fact.

Hunter took a small sip of brandy and
watched as she set her glass on the table beside the bed. “You
needn’t panic because I am here, Maggie,” he said quietly. “You’ll
never become more comfortable with me if I sleep in the next
county, now, will you?”

“Sleep,” she gasped. “Hunter, you are not
sleeping in this room. My sisters care little whether we share the
same room and I…”

“And your father?”

Now she was really winding up to rage; he
could see the storm clouds coming as surely as one watched the path
of a funnel cloud as it raced along the ground.

“I don’t care what he thinks about our
arrangement,” she flared. “He’s the one who has married me
off.”