The Highlander's Secret, page 19
He gave her his nicked palm. She proceeded to wrap his hand with the strip of cloth. Her touch was gentle. Caring. Tender. After she was done, she looked up at him. Warmth softened her features, even though regret overshadowed her eyes. “You have my eternal gratitude, husband.”
Was he her husband if they hadn’t consummated the marriage?
Her blank expression returned. And his rage at the possibility that another man hurt her returned, stabbing his gut and twisting in his chest. He swallowed back the bile threatening to come up his gullet.
She picked up her glass, sank back down into the chair and hugged her knees with one hand, then took another sip of whisky. Slade returned to the divan, the question of how to find out what happened to Fifi bombarding his mind.
The blankness dissipated. It was erased after they’d sat in silence for a while, as she took little sips. Whisky tended to put a few layers of false strength between a person and the world. He recalled it only too well from right after Sylvia’s death.
CHAPTER 48
The flash of stark pain and gut-wrenching agony in her furrowed brows, tight lips and glassy eyes was fleeting but it sent a jagged knife straight to his heart, obliterating his insides. He would do anything to never see that expression on her lovely face again. Lie. Torture. Kill.
Slade shifted in his seat, wanting to change the topic. “We’ll have a few wedding guests to attend tomorrow.”
Fifi stared into the hearth. The fire was now mere glowing fragments of coal. “Aunt Penelope from Edinburgh is always looking for any little thing to disapprove of. To criticize. She disapproved of me leaving her home to go stay with my friend Charlotte from Ayr and her family, even though they are well liked and respected in the community. Of course, I went to work for the Bolingbrokes instead,” Fifi said, her tone laced with irony.
Slade recalled the blue-eyed woman with the blonde hair done in a ridiculous fashion in the chapel during their wedding. He made a motion above his head. “Was she the one with the ostrich plumes who sat next to your mother at the banquet?” he asked.
Fifi nodded unsteadily. “The very one. Lucky for me she was visiting the Sutherlands in the Highlands and was able to attend our wedding on short notice.” Fifi scoffed, not sounding lucky in the least. She then continued. “She’s the legitimate daughter of Sir Donald Lindsay, Baronet. My mother is his illegitimate daughter. Aunt Penelope has never let me or my mother forget that fact.”
“She sounds unpleasant,” he murmured.
Fifi made a motion toward him with her now empty glass. “Did you know my aunt is the mistress of the Earl of Stair?”
“Is she now. Well, well, Aunt Penelope does get around,” he said, feigning shock.
Her lips stretched into a genuine little smile. A smile was good, even though it was a little one. Slade’s stomach loosened.
The Earl of Stair, James Dalrymple, moved in the same circles as General Bolingbroke and the Duke of Cumberland, William Augustus, son of King George II. It was a social circle a Jacobite spy could extract quite a bit of useful information from. No doubt Phoebe’s mysterious spymaster, the one she was so willing to place her life in danger for, also traversed the same circle.
He frowned. “Was your aunt the one to introduce you to this mysterious Jacobite friend of yours?”
He purposefully didn’t use the term spymaster, for it would put Fifi on her guard.
Fifi flushed. Either from the whisky or his question, he wasn’t certain.
“Yes. We met at a soiree put together by my aunt in Edinburgh,” she said.
Slade decided he didn’t like Aunt Penelope.
He narrowed his gaze. “Why do you help this Jacobite friend?”
“Because I hate the redcoats,” she said, the hardness of her voice surprising him.
“Why?” he persisted.
She hesitated, as if considering before speaking. “They shoot defenseless farmers, rape their women, burn their homes, kill their children and livestock. Why don’t you hate them?”
She was holding something back.
“Hate is a strong word. I reserve it for people who have crossed me,” Slade said.
Like the demon who hurt you.
She didn’t seem to hear him. Fifi reached over to place the empty tumbler on the side table but missed. It fell and landed with a dull thud on the rug.
Slade went over to her. She looked up at him, pain returning to her beautiful eyes. His chest tightened as he picked up the glass and placed it on the side table then knelt in front of her chair, wanting desperately to touch her. She looked so small and a little lost; he didn’t know what to do.
“You shouldn’t let what happened here tonight upset you,” he whispered, as he gently tucked a wayward lock of fiery hair behind her left ear.
Her lips narrowed into an achingly forlorn look. It gutted Slade. All his good intentions of not touching her fell to the wayside. He gently scooped her up. She fit perfectly in his arms as if heaven had made her just for him. She was his, and he would take care of her. Her weight was warm and comforting against his body. She made a weak protest but then seemed to let it go and settled against him instead. He breathed in the inviting scent of her, letting it fill him completely. He inhaled through the tightness in his chest and with care and reverence carried her towards the bed.
“I only intend on putting you to bed, nothing more,” he said softly.
“Are you rescuing me again? I was nine the first time you rescued me. Do you remember? I’d fallen into the loch after repeating the knight’s oath. You saved my life,” she said.
He’d never forgotten what impressive ideals she’d had as a wee lass. Ideals she still had. Ideals that made him want to be better, just for her.
“In the ancient Orient, they believed that if you save a life, you are responsible for that life for the rest of yours,” he said. And as he said it, the words amalgamated like unbreakable steel in his soul.
Her head rested against his shoulder and her arms slid around his neck. Her bosom pressed against his chest. Her voluptuous hips rested against his belly. His body responded to her softness, like a famished beast given a delectable morsel. But Slade steadied himself.
“You are heroic, husband. Despite your claim to the contrary,” she said.
“Only for you,” he whispered.
The tension in her seemed to ease by the time he reached the bed. The ease seeped into him and relaxed his own body. He helped her under the counterpane. Slade couldn’t say why, but he ended up lying on top of the counterpane next to her. Perhaps it was to make it difficult for him to reach for her body, to keep her safe from him.
He wanted to distract her from the shadows he could sense swirling about in her. “Tell me your fondest memory,” he said.
She blinked at his question. Then her lips stretched into a somber smile. “Alex running away from our cook, who brandished a rolling pin at him. He’d stolen a meat pie from the kitchen. He’d stolen at least ten of them that same year before my father had a stern word with him. But our cook never caught him, I don’t think she really wanted to. He used to make her laugh too hard with his antics. It sums up Alex, mischievous but loveable. He made it impossible for you to stay angry at him for too long,” she said.
Her eyes twinkled with love, but her features darkened with the weight of loss. “What is your fondest memory?” she asked.
Slade swallowed back the emotion in his throat and shuffled through his memories before speaking. “I don’t remember my mother very well. I was too young when she died of winter fever. But I do have vague images in my head of a pale, fragile, flowery scented woman, her ethereal voice singing me to sleep with the Apple Pie rhyme. The love, caring and warmth in her voice made me feel like nothing in this world could ever hurt me, like I was her entire world, and she would never let harm come to me,” he said.
Fifi’s eyes were half-lidded, but brilliant with unshed tears. “She must have been a wonderful mother.”
Slade pushed the emotions aside. He had to concentrate on cheering up Fifi, not rehashing the unfortunate sadness in his life. He made another attempt. “Who is your favorite person?” he asked.
CHAPTER 49
Her eyes widened and she gave him a lopsided smile. For a breath it looked like she was about to say something, but then her brows pulled together and she was deep in thought for a few more seconds, before finally speaking.
“Lady Naveau, ah … a dear friend of mine from Edinburgh. We have a great deal in common, she and I. And she knows my darkest secrets but still thinks I am trustworthy, capable and can do whatever I put my mind to. She gave me strength to fight, when I wanted to do nothing but give up.”
Dark clouds formed in Fifi’s eyes, and she averted her gaze for a second. When she looked at him again the bright smile stretching her lips looked brittle as she continued. “But recently my favorite person has been Lucia. She is uncomplicated and unburdens me in an intangible way. But also, Breena. Even though I’ve only just met her, she strikes me as terribly intuitive and caring. Eileanach’s servants whisper that her impressive botanical knowledge makes her a witch, but its laughable to call a woman a witch just for her knowledge,” Fifi said.
Slade’s mind had snagged on her use of the term dark secrets. He desperately wanted to know more. But the cold painful twisting in his gut told him he already knew. He was trying to banish some of the old pain from her eyes and poking at dark secrets didn’t seem apropos.
Fifi palmed his cheek, her touch sweet and gentle. “Who is your favorite person?” she asked.
Slade struggled to focus on her question and not on the consuming warmth her touch elicited. After a protracted silence, he spoke. “At the moment it’s Peter. He is cathartic to my soul somehow, it’s difficult to explain. Ever since the war, he’s been a light to my dark. At Dettingen in 1743, I would have given in to my dark thoughts after Sylvia, if it hadn’t been for him. But I have to say Daegan and your brother Egan are close seconds. We’ve known each other for over fifteen years and formed strong bonds of trust, brotherhood and friendship while fostering with the MacDonell warlord. Those bonds will never break, regardless of arguments or disagreements,” he said.
She covered a yawn. He too was feeling the weight in his own body and eyelids, it had been an emotional hurricane of a day. Something snaked through his gut and tightened his nethers when her eyes landed on his lips but then she trained them back on his eyes.
“I always meant to ask you, who are your favorite authors? That day at the Saint Michael’s church I badly wanted to find out but I never got the chance,” she said, her eyes searching his.
Slade smiled at the question. “As a boy, I thought the stories about the insane Roman tyrant Caligula and his cruelties, extravagances and sexual perversions were shocking but an eye opener to the depravity of humans. But then I used to spend hours captivated by Homer’s tale of wanderings and omens in the Odyssey. I’d say the latter was much more enjoyable and probably my favorite. I love the idea of a grand life-altering adventure. Life in itself is one after all,” he said.
The slow stretch of her lips was gentle, commiserative, and breathtaking. Her radiance was as deep and wide as an ocean. It stopped his heart. And he wanted to swim in that ocean forever.
Her eyes fell on his lips again. “I enjoyed kissing you,” she said, her voice a low murmur.
He gazed at her, sleepiness lowering her eyelids almost closed. His heart ached at her unguarded loveliness, relieved the pained expression had vanished. “I enjoyed kissing you too, my love,” Slade said.
She then puckered her lips, edged closer and planted an innocent kiss flush against his mouth. The sweetness of the gesture melted his insides to warm honey. It altered the landscape of his heart, mind and soul forever. But then her body stilled, settling into sleep.
He lay on his side next to her and, with the backs of his fingers, gently stroked the curve of her soft cheeks, the tip of her chin and the sides of her forehead, watching her sleep. But somewhere in his belly, a dangerous fire blazed as he left Fifi sleeping and silently went to the adjoining bedchamber.
Early the next morning, before the adjoining marriage bedchamber door opened and soft sure footsteps of leather boots heading down the stairs sounded, Slade was already up and dressed.
Minutes later, when another pair of footsteps entered the adjoining marriage bedchamber, Slade pushed up from the desk where he’d been finishing up his correspondence, strolled to the adjoining door, pulled it open and stepped in.
Fifi’s maid, a diminutive girl with a clean and tidy pinafore, busied herself. She dropped the edges of a counterpane she’d been stretching over the bed, and with a startled expression turned to face him in a jerky motion, her brows almost lifting to her hairline.
Slade relaxed his features into a pleasant expression, not wanting to scare the girl into bolting for the door. “Tell me, Aila, how long have you served my wife?” Slade asked.
“Ab … about nine years, Master MacLean, except when Mistress Dunb … pardon me, except when Mistress MacLean was down south,” she said, her voice slightly tremulous.
“Then you would know who hurt my wife, wouldn’t you?” Slade asked, expending an inordinate amount of energy to keep murder from his expression.
The maid’s features went deathly pale before they crumpled in absolute and unmitigated distress. She started shaking her head, her chin and lips wobbled, and she took a step towards the door, looking like she was about to run.
“No, wait, please. I promise you are not in trouble. And I know how loyal you are to your mistress. I only want to help Phoebe. I only want to protect my wife and make sure it never happens again. Ever. You have my solemn vow,” Slade said, putting his right palm on his chest above his heart and letting his distress show for a breath before shuttering his expression.
Her throat muscles worked again and again just before she stammered out sentence after sentence through tears, explaining her suspicions regarding Faye Ross.
After the maid was finished, Slade thanked the girl, assuring her she wasn’t in any kind of trouble. He returned to the adjoining chamber and closed the door behind him without a sound while the rush of blood through his veins hammered like thunder in his ears. A dark, dangerous and desperate guttural howl sounded, and it took a second for it to hit Slade that it had escaped from his own throat. But then the need to contain the lethal predator inside him cracked and he punched walls, shattered tables, and broke chairs before collapsing to his knees in a heap of deadly fury and raging hatred. As his rapid pulse subsided and his racing breath slowed, an insistent knocking sounded at the door. He called out some platitude to assuage the servant’s concern, knowing he’d have to hide the aftermath of his rage from Phoebe, and deal with the wreckage himself.
Slade had always been a methodical and patient man. But his exalted patience was in tattered shreds a short while later. He hurriedly penned a missive to his former comrade, Colonel Wilfred Owens of the Second Division, Lieutenant Faye Ross’s commanding officer, requesting an immediate meeting.
CHAPTER 50
As Phoebe traversed the entire luxurious south wing of Garraidh expressing gratitude to her wedding guests staying at the castle, nausea gurgled in her belly and a tight pain stabbed her chest. Could they tell her smile wasn’t real? Her disastrous wedding night replayed in the back of her mind, making her muscles stiffer than when she’d left the bed this morning after a night of troubled sleeplessness.
If someone could die of mortification, agony and regret she would have long since been buried. The agonizing pain, shock, and sympathy on his beautiful face from when she’d yelled get off burrowed into her soul with the force of a hundred iron spikes skewering her, over and over again. Had he left the marriage bedchamber to avoid her?
After speaking to the MacLean’s guests, Phoebe spoke to her family before they left. She had to assuage a worried mother and a hovering father that the wedding night was successful. “I am perfectly hale, there is nothing to worry about,” she said to her parents.
She had been hurt at their inflexibility when the scandal regarding the supposed kiss first happened. But she realized they were constrained, the same as everyone else. They too had to follow propriety.
“Even though custom dictated you and Slade had to marry, and you are now a wife, I will forever remain your father. You can come to me for anything, always,” her father said.
And her mother had tears in her eyes as she fiercely hugged Phoebe goodbye. “Oh, my dearest, I will miss you terribly, please promise me you will come home for a visit as often as possible.”
Phoebe had to swallow back the thick emotion in her throat as she hugged her father. Deep in her bones she understood her parents loved her, the best they knew how.
No longer would she live with her mother, father and Egan at Eileanach, Garraidh was her new home now. The thought filled her with sadness. What type of home would she build together with Slade when her mortifying behavior hadn’t even allowed for consummation of the marriage?
After her parents, Egan enveloped her in a soft bear hug. She was still irritated at his barbaric behavior at the Black Hog’s, although it had lost all of its fire. But being overbearing and highhanded was the way Egan showed he cared.
“I trust Slade with my life. He will make a fiercely protective husband for you, dearest sister. It’s there in his eyes. He loves you. But if he ever makes you cry, or hurts you in any way, you only have to say the word, and I will take immense pleasure in flattening him into shape on your behalf,” Egan said.
Phoebe chuckled, instantly forgiving him for Black Hog’s. “I am sure that will not be necessary, but I love you for saying it.”
As Phoebe watched her family leave in a Dunbar coach escorted by twenty retainers on horseback, her chest squeezed partly from love, but partly from regret. Was not telling them what Ross had done to her seven years ago protecting them from the redcoats should her family retaliate? Or was it born of her own selfish need or perhaps fear, that it might tarnish their love for her.
