Читать книгу Underneath The Mistletoe Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Marguerite Kaye - Страница 19

Chapter Ten

Dear Adventurous Wife,

I must tell you, and other readers of this column, how very refreshing it is to hear of a marriage that is still so happy and so fulfilled after twenty-two years. Instead of being ashamed of your continuing physical desires, you should celebrate them. I applaud your wish to explore new territory, as you call it. No matter how enthralling a favourite, well-thumbed book might be, no matter how satisfying the conclusion, it is human nature to wish to read other volumes, provided that you are prepared to find some of them less—shall we say enthralling? Their conclusions perhaps even less satisfying. What matters, Adventurous Wife, is the journey rather than the destination.

Ainsley laid down her pen, smiling to herself as she remembered some of the journeys she and Innes had taken in the past few weeks. The destination had never been anything other than satisfying, but Madame Hera was a cautious soul, and Ainsley was inclined to think Innes rather more talented than most husbands. Not that she would dream of boasting, though she had indeed, during one particular adventure involving a feather and the silk sash from his dressing gown, informed him that he had the cleverest mouth of any man in the world. But that had been under extreme circumstances, and he had returned the compliment when she had employed the same combination of mouth, feather and silken tie on him. She picked up her pen again.

Certain everyday items can, with a little imagination, be employed as secondary aids. Think of these articles as theatrical props. Provided that proper consideration is given as to texture and, it goes without saying, hygiene, and provided, naturally, that both adventurers are content with the selection, then I think you will find that your journey will be much enhanced.

I wish you bon voyage!

Ainsley signed Madame Hera’s name with a flourish just as Mhairi entered the room. ‘Excellent timing,’ she said to the housekeeper. ‘I’ve been wanting to have a word with you while Innes is out. He’s with Eoin, so he’s bound to be away most of the morning. Do you have a moment for a cup of tea?’

Mhairi smiled. ‘I was just about to ask you the same thing. I’ve the tray ready. It’s a lovely day, and we won’t get many of those come October, so I thought you might fancy taking it outside.’

‘Perfect.’ Ainsley tucked Madame Hera’s correspondence into the leather portfolio and followed Mhairi on to the terrace that looked out over the bay. The view was not nearly so spectacular as that from the castle terrace, but it was still lovely.

‘I could never tire of this,’ Ainsley said, taking a seat at the little wooden table.

‘It’s been a fair summer,’ Mhairi said, ‘better than the past few.’

‘I hope a good omen for Innes’s first summer as laird,’ Ainsley said, pouring the tea and helping herself to one of Mhairi’s scones, still hot from the griddle.

‘Better still if the weather holds for the tattie howking in a few weeks, and better yet if there’s more than tatties to bring in, for the land is not the only thing being ploughed, if you take my meaning.’ Mhairi smiled primly. ‘It would be nice if that husband of yours could see some fruits from all his labours.’

‘Oh.’ Flushing, Ainsley put down the scone, which suddenly tasted of sawdust. ‘I see.’ She tried for a smile, but her mouth merely wobbled.

Mhairi leaned across the table and patted her hand consolingly. ‘It’s early days, but it’s well-known that the Drummond men carry potent seed.’

Ainsley took a sip of her tea, pleased to see that her hand was perfectly steady, studying the housekeeper over the rim of the cup. Mhairi spoke so matter-of-factly, though her words were shockingly blunt. ‘But the old laird had only the two children,’ she said.

‘Two boys was considered more than enough. ’Tis easy enough to limit your litter if you don’t service the sow.’ Mhairi buttered herself a scone. ‘I’ve shocked you.’

Unable to think of a polite lie, Ainsley opted for the truth. ‘You have.’

‘You must not be thinking I hold a grudge against Marjorie Caldwell. Poor soul, she was affianced to the laird when she was in her cradle. She can’t have been more than seventeen when she married him and, knowing him as I did, I doubt he made any pretence of affection, not even in the early days. It was all about the getting of sons, that marriage, and once he’d got them—well, she’d served her purpose.’

‘Innes said as much,’ Ainsley said, frowning over the memory, ‘but I thought his views highly coloured.’

‘No, Himself has always seen the way things are here clearly enough. The laird thought the sun shone out of Malcolm’s behind, as they say. Innes was only ever the spare, just as I was. The difference between us being that I stuck to the role he gave me and your husband went his own road.’

Mhairi stared off into the distance, her scone untouched on her plate. The insistent pounding of mallets on wood told them that the tide was low. The skeleton of the pier emerging beside the old one made the bay look as if it was growing a mouth of new teeth.

Mhairi stirred another cube of sugar into her tea, seemingly forgetting that she’d already put two in, and took a long drink. ‘I loved that man, but that does not mean I was blind to his faults, and he had a good many. What my brother, Dodds, said at the Rescinding was true. I was fit to warm the laird’s bed, but that was all. He never pretended more, I’ll give him that. That annuity, the farm he made over to me, it was his way of making it right. Payment for services rendered,’ she concluded grimly.

‘But you loved him all the same.’

Mhairi nodded sadly. ‘I’d have done anything for him, and he knew it. Until the Rescinding, I thought myself at peace with the one sacrifice I made, but now the laird is dead and buried, and I am too old and it’s far too late, I resent it.’

Her fingers were clenched so tightly around the empty china cup that Ainsley feared it might break. Gently, she disentangled them and poured them both fresh tea. Though the late-September sun beat down, hot enough to have chased all the chickens into the cool of the henhouse, she shivered. ‘A child,’ she said gently, for it was the only explanation. ‘That was what you sacrificed.’

Mhairi nodded. ‘He would not have stood me bearing his bairn. Of course, the laird being the laird, it did not occur to him to have a care where he planted his seed. If it took root, that was my problem. He made that clear enough, so I made sure it never took root. I do not practise as my mother did, but I knew enough to do that.’

‘The fey wife?’ Ainsley’s head was reeling. ‘Do you mean your mother really could cast spells?’

Mhairi shrugged, but her face was anxious. ‘She was a natural healer. Her potions were mostly herbs, but she did have other powers. The curse that Dodds made— Mrs Drummond, I have to tell you it’s been on my mind.’

‘That the bloodline would fail,’ Ainsley said faintly.

‘I made sure to bear no child. The old laird’s only other child died fourteen years ago. There is only Innes, Mrs Drummond. You will think me daft to believe in such things, but I know how powerful my mother’s gift was. You must forgive me for talking about such personal matters, but I can’t tell you the good it does me, knowing that the pair of you are so—so enthusiastic about your vows, shall we say. And I was hoping—as I said, I know you’ll think it’s daft, worrying about a silly curse—but still, I was hoping you could maybe reassure me that we’ll be hearing some good news soon. About the harvest I was talking about?’

Ainsley slopped her tea, and felt her face burn dull red. Mhairi was looking at her with an odd mixture of anticipation and concern. She believed in that curse, and as things stood she would be right to. Making a fuss of wiping up her tea with a napkin, Ainsley tried to compose herself. ‘Silly me,’ she said. ‘I’m not usually so clumsy.’

‘I’ve upset you.’

‘No.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Not at all. Why would you— I was merely— Well, it is a rather embarrassing topic of conversation. Though I suppose it is perfectly natural that people are wondering...’ She placed the soiled napkin on top of her half-eaten scone. ‘Are people wondering? Is an heir really so important?’

Mhairi looked as if she had asked if the land needed rain. ‘The estate has been passed from father to son directly for as long as anyone can remember.’

Innes had told her so, back in Edinburgh when they first met. He hadn’t cared then, but he had not been to Strone Bridge then, and he had no notion of truly claiming his inheritance. It was different now. She thought back to the pain in his voice a few nights ago, when he had finally admitted how much it meant to him, and how desperately he wanted to make his mark on the place. It would not be long before he realised an heir was a vital element of his restitution.

Ainsley smiled brightly at Mhairi. ‘As you said, it is early days.’

Mhairi was not fooled. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked sharply. ‘Because if there is a problem, I can help.’

Ainsley’s poor attempt at a smile faded. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just as there are ways to prevent, so there are ways to encourage.’

‘Magic?’

‘Helping nature, my mother always called it.’

A gust of longing filled her before she could catch it. It was like a punch in the guts, so strong she all but doubled over from it. Impossible not to wonder what difference such a spell would have made all those years ago. A spell! She gave herself a mental shake. She had the word of medical science, and no spell would counteract that. ‘If nature needs assistance, it is not natural,’ Ainsley said, pleased at how firm she sounded. Magic, white or black, real or imagined, formed no part of her life. She got to her feet and began to stack the tea things on the tray.

* * *

The next day Innes left early with Eoin for Rothesay, and then on to Glasgow where they had various meetings with paddle-steamer companies. Though she started missing him the moment he set out, Ainsley was relieved to have some time to spend alone.

She headed out of the Home Farm in the direction of the castle. Sunshine dappled down through the leaves of rowan and oak that bordered the path here. The bracken was high, almost to her waist and already beginning to turn brown, exuding that distinctive smell, a mixture of damp earth and old leather. Autumn was settling in. The sense of time ticking too fast was making her anxious. Though Innes had said nothing of her returning to Edinburgh, Ainsley had a horrible feeling that very soon she would have no option.

Peering down to the bay from her favourite spot on the castle’s terrace, she could see Robert Alexander standing with a cluster of men, consulting their plans. The new road would be cut into the cliff. Innes was investigating the possibility of using a steam engine to help with the work. Since that night in the bay, they had spent a great deal of time together poring over maps and account books. She now fully understood his despair.

Crofting was still the tradition here, with each farmer producing enough to meet his own small needs, keeping a few cattle and sheep on the common grounds, and fishing to supplement his family’s diet. The crofts were simply too small to grow more, and far too small to meet the huge demands from the growing metropolis of Glasgow, it seemed. The new road, the new pier, the paddle steamers that could berth there, would solve the transport problems, but the crofters of Strone Bridge simply could not produce enough to benefit from these markets. Eoin was encouraging Innes to merge some of the farms, but while many of them had been lying fallow, their former tenants having fled to Canada and America, hardly any of those lands lay together. Innes’s farms were dotted about the landscape like patchwork, each a different size and shape. Innes was determined not to take the route that so many of the Highland landlords had done, which was to oust his tenants by fair means of foul, and to turn the lands over to sheep.

Despite the melancholy subject matter, Ainsley had revelled in these hours spent together. It wasn’t only that she felt useful, that her opinion was valued, that Innes truly listened to what she said. She had felt included. And there was the problem. She was not part of this place, and never could be, but with every day that passed, that was exactly what she wanted. To belong here. To remain here. With Innes. She was close to letting Strone Bridge into her heart, and even closer, frighteningly close, to allowing her husband in, too.

She could love him. She could very easily love him, but it would be disastrous to allow herself to do so. Gazing out over the Kyles of Bute, watching the dark-grey clouds gather over the Isle of Arran, cloaking it from view, Ainsley forced herself to list all the reasons why it was impossible.

For a start, she was not the stuff that a laird’s wife was made of. Not a trace of blue blood. Neither money nor property—quite the contrary. No connections. The Drummonds married for the name and the lands, and Ainsley contributed no good to either. She could not weave or spin or even knit. She knew nothing of animal husbandry, or keeping a house larger than the Home Farm. What she knew of the Drummond traditions Mhairi had taught her. In fact, Mhairi was far better qualified than she was for the role. No one could tell a tale of the castle’s history and ghosts the way Mhairi did.

Then there was the fact that Innes didn’t actually want a wife. It would be easy to persuade herself he’d changed his mind. He’d managed to overcome his precious need to be the one and only person in control of his life in so many ways. He even confided in her without prompting sometimes, and he made her feel that Madame Hera was every bit as important a venture as Strone Bridge. He had changed, and he had changed her. She was more confident. She was more ambitious. She no longer doubted her femininity, and she knew the satisfaction of pleasure and pleasing. She was cured of John for ever, but the role that had cured her was temporary. She was not a wife. A business partner. A lover. But not a wife. Innes did not want a wife, and Innes would never love her as a wife. She did not think that the mystery woman who had stolen his heart kept it still, but she was fairly certain he would not let it go again. But he would take a real wife because he would realise, very soon, that his commitment to Strone Bridge required him to produce an heir.

Which brought her to the biggest stumbling block of all. The one thing she could not give him. Swallowing the lump that rose in her throat, Ainsley decided to follow the path round to the chapel. It was cool here, in the little copse of trees and rhododendrons. She sat on the moss-covered bench in the lee of the chapel, idly watching a small brown bird wrestling with a large brown worm. She smiled to herself, remembering the woman at the Rescinding who had begged forgiveness for having her husband’s dog buried beside him. His grave must be hereabouts. What was the name? Emerson, that was it. But as she crossed the path to start peering at the gravestones, Ainsley was distracted by the Drummond Celtic cross.

She read the old laird’s name thoughtfully, and then his lady’s inscription, too. Marjorie Mary Caldwell had been only twenty-six when she died, and if what Mhairi had said was true, she couldn’t have had a very happy life. Caldwell. She remembered now—that was the name of the family who owned the lands that bordered Strone Bridge, somewhere north of here. Innes’s nearest gentry neighbours. The ones he’d not wanted invited to the Rescinding, though they must be some sort of relation of his.

The atmosphere in the graveyard was only adding to her melancholy. It was very clear that she had no future here, but she did want to leave a legacy. Furrowing her brow, Ainsley made her way back to the castle. The Great Hall still smelled faintly of whisky fumes and ash. Though it was not yet October, Mhairi was already asking if the traditional Hogmanay party would be held here. It was a room made for great occasions. Parties. Banquets. Ceilidhs. Wedding feasts.

Would their marriage be annulled? Would Innes divorce her? She was fairly certain that the law, which was written by men and for men, would perceive her infertility as ample reason for either. Then some other woman with property and the right pedigree would benefit from the changes in Innes that had cost Ainsley so much. He would not love her, his real wife, but he would respect her, and he would confide in her, make love to her, rely on her to play the role of the laird’s lady. And she would give him the son he didn’t yet know he needed.

Ainsley dug her knuckles deep into her eyes. No point in crying. In the long drawing room, she gazed out of the French windows at her view. It was a pity more people could not share it, and fall in love with it. Excursionists from the paddle steamers that would be able to dock here within months. They could take tea here in the drawing room. Smiling, she remembered joking about that very thing the day Innes had decided to build the pier. Excursionists who would pay for Mhairi to show them round the castle and tell her ghost stories. Who would buy the local tweed, or the local heather ale.

She stood stock-still. Would they pay to spend the night here? Pay extra to spend the night in one of the haunted bedchambers? Her heart began to race. Innes had told her that the railway between Glasgow and Greenock was due to open next year. He had shares. The journey would be much easier than it was now, a quicker, cheaper escape from the smoke of the city to the delights of the country. There would be more excursionists able to afford the trip, perhaps wanting to take a holiday rather than merely come for the day. And there would be richer people, too, who would be willing to pay a premium to hire the castle for a family occasion. To marry in the chapel and hold their wedding feast in the Great Hall.

She hesitated, remembering the scorn Innes had poured on the idea when she had first, jokingly, suggested it. Ridiculous, he had called it. But that had been weeks ago, before he had decided to stay here. Before the success of the Rescinding, here in this very hall. He must have changed his mind about the castle by now. Certainly he had not suggested knocking it down again. And there would be jobs. The lands would provide enough produce to feed the visitors.

It could work. She just might have been right after all, when she’d said to Innes that they would have to think differently. Strone Bridge Castle Hotel. Ainsley’s stomach fluttered with excitement. This would be her legacy.

* * *

Innes was gone ten days, during which Ainsley worked on her plan for the castle, determined to surprise him and equally determined not to dwell on the growing sense she had that her time on Strone Bridge was ticking inexorably to a close. He arrived with the morning tide, tired but immensely pleased to see her. Watching his tall, achingly familiar figure stride along the old pier towards her, she forgot all her resolutions and threw herself into his arms.

He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, exchanging barely a word with Robert Alexander, telling the surveyor brusquely that he had business to attend to before rushing Ainsley back to the Home Farm, leaving old Angus and Eoin to take the cart and deal with the luggage.

They arrived breathless, and headed straight for their bedchamber. ‘I feel like I’ve been gone an age,’ Innes said, locking the door firmly behind him. ‘I missed you.’

‘Did you?’ She felt as if she couldn’t get enough of looking at him, and stood in the middle of the room, simply drinking him in.

‘I missed having breakfast with you,’ Innes said, putting his arm around her, steering her towards the bed.

Her heart was beating from the effort of climbing the hill, from the effort of trying not to let him see how very much she had missed him, and from anticipation, too. ‘I’m sure you and Eoin had plenty to talk about,’ Ainsley said.

Innes smiled. ‘We did, but when Eoin smiles at me over his porridge, it doesn’t make me want to kiss him.’

‘I expect the feeling is entirely mutual,’ Ainsley teased.

‘Did you miss me?’ Innes kissed each corner of her mouth.

‘A little.’ She kissed him back, her words a whisper on his ear.

‘Just a little?’ He kissed her again, more fully this time, running his fingers down her body, brushing the side of her breast, her waist, to rest his hand on her thigh.

She shivered. ‘Maybe a wee bit more than a little,’ she said, imitating his action, her hand stroking down his shoulder, under his coat to his chest, his waist, his thigh. He was hard already, his arousal jutting up through his trousers. She slid her hand up his thigh to curl lightly around him. ‘I can see you missed me a good bit more than a little,’ she said.

Innes reached under her skirts to cup her sex. ‘Do you want to know how much more?’ he asked.

He had a finger inside her. She contracted around him. ‘Yes,’ she said. He started to stroke her. ‘Oh, Innes, yes.’

They lost control then. She pulled him roughly to her, her mouth claiming his. He kissed her urgently. Their passion spiralled, focused on the overwhelming, desperate need to be joined. She had to have him inside her. He had to be inside her. There was no finesse to it. Speed, necessity, drove them. Innes struggled out of his trousers enough to free himself. He rolled onto the bed, taking her with him, lifting her to straddle him, her knees on either side of him. She sank onto him, taking him in so high, so quickly, that they both cried out.

Their kisses grew wild. She clung to his shoulders, then braced herself using the headboard, arching back as she drew him in, as he thrust higher, harder, furiously, until the deep-rooted shiver that preceded her climax took her, and he came, too, pulsing, shaking them both to the core, making them forget, in the utter satisfaction of it, that he was still inside her, clinging to her, holding her there, with his arms, with his mouth, though she needed no holding, clinging, too, her harsh breath mingling with is, his heart beating against hers.

She had not planned it, but the connection, having him deep inside her as he came, had been momentous.

A true joining.

A true mistake.

Her body had betrayed her. Ainsley felt as if her world was shattering. She loved him. And even as she felt the truth of it settle itself inside her, she saw his face. Innes looked appalled.

‘I’m sorry. Ainsley, I’m sorry. I don’t know what— I didn’t mean— I’m sorry.’

She shook her head, not quite meeting his eyes as she lifted herself free of him. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Though it did. It had changed everything.

Innes could not have made his feelings any clearer, but he seemed to want to try. ‘It does matter,’ he said, hurriedly adjusting his clothing. ‘You asked me— I promised I would always be careful. I don’t know why I...’

‘It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.’ She would not cry in front of him, but she needed him gone. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘I told you, there is almost certainly nothing to worry about.’ He was staring at her, horrified. ‘It was simply— We were incautious because we had grown accustomed to more regular release,’ Ainsley said, cringing at the words even as she spoke them.

She rolled off the bed. She couldn’t look at him now. ‘There are a hundred letters waiting for you, and Robert will be wishing to talk to you. Go on downstairs, I will rejoin you shortly.’

* * *

Ainsley held open the door, giving him no option but to leave her. Dazed, Innes did as she bade him and made his way downstairs to the sitting room. He sat at the desk, staring at the neat piles of correspondence, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut.

He cursed long and hard, then poured himself a glass of malt. What had happened? He swallowed the dram in one. It burned fire down his throat and hit his belly too fast. He coughed, then poured himself another. I’m sorry, he’d said, but he had not been. That was the worst thing. It had felt so good, spilling himself inside her. He hadn’t thought of the consequences. He hadn’t been thinking of anything at all, save for his need to be with her. In all honesty, he couldn’t have cared less about the consequences. But Ainsley had. Her face. Stricken, that was the word. She’d tried to cover it up, but he was not fooled.

Innes finished his second glass of whisky, feeling as if he’d just been given a death sentence. All he’d been able to think about these past few days was coming home to Strone Bridge and to Ainsley.

Home. Ainsley. The two words had somehow become connected, and as if determined to make sure his mind made the connection, too, his body had made it impossible for him to ignore. Which left him where, exactly?

He swore again, bitterly. Terrified and confused as hell, was where it left him. He could no longer trust himself, and Ainsley would no longer trust him. Things had changed fundamentally, yet some things would never change. He still carried the burden of the past with him. Whatever he felt for Ainsley, he had no right to let it flourish.

This was a warning, a very timely one. The truth would see to the outcome. He felt sick at the thought of it, but he didn’t doubt it was the right thing to do. The only thing. He cared enough to want her to understand, which was a lot more than he’d ever cared for any woman since that first one. He cared too much. Far too much.

Checking the clock on the mantel, Innes saw that half an hour had elapsed. With a heavy heart but with his mind resolute, he set out to find her.

* * *

Ainsley was seated in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection as if it was another person entirely. She loved him. Did she really love him? How could she be so foolish as to have allowed herself to fall in love with him? Had she forgotten how miserable she’d been, married to John?

No. She had not loved John. Innes was not John. This marriage was not at all like her first. ‘Because it is not real,’ she hissed at her reflection. ‘Not real, Ainsley, and you have to remember that. This is not your life, it’s a part you’re playing, and that is all, so there is no point in hoping or wishing or dreaming that it will continue.’

Yet for a blissful few moments, that was exactly what she allowed herself to do. She was in love, and for those few moments, that was all that mattered. For those few moments, she allowed herself to believe that love would conquer all the barriers she had so painstakingly examined and deemed immovable. She was so overwhelmed with love, surely anything was possible. She loved Innes so much, he could not fail to love her back. They could not fail to have a future together, because the idea of a future without him was incomprehensible.

The knock on the door made her jump. Innes looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘We need to talk,’ he said, and not even her newly discovered love could persuade Ainsley that the words were anything other than ominous.

Fleetingly, she considered pretending that nothing momentous had happened, but looking at the expression on Innes’s face, she just as quickly dismissed the notion. Feeling quite as sick now as he looked, Ainsley got to her feet and followed him out of the door.

To her surprise, he led them outside, along the path towards the castle. At the terrace they paused automatically to drink in the view. ‘I went through to Edinburgh when I was away,’ Innes told her. ‘There were matters to tie up with the lawyers. I was going to call on Miss Blair. I know you’d have wanted me to let her know that you were well, but—you’ll never believe this.’

‘What?’

‘Eoin,’ Innes said, shaking his head. ‘I wondered why he insisted on coming through to Edinburgh with me when the man never wants to leave Strone Bridge. It turns out that he and your Miss Blair have been corresponding, if you please. He went off to take tea with her and made it very clear I was not wanted. He was away most of the day, what’s more, and not a word could I get out of him after, save that he was to pass her love on to you. What do you make of that?’

‘I don’t know what to make of it at all. I had no idea—she certainly has not mentioned this correspondence to me.’

‘Do you think they’ll make a match of it?’

‘Oh, no.’ Ainsley shook her head adamantly. ‘That will never happen.’

‘You seem very sure. I thought you’d be pleased. You would have been neighbours.’

‘Innes, I will not be...’

‘No, don’t say it,’ he said hurriedly.

‘You don’t know what I was about to say.’

‘I do. I do, Ainsley.’ His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘Poor Eoin. But I didn’t bring you here to talk about Eoin. I can see you’re bursting to talk, but let me speak first. Then perhaps I will have spared you the need.’