Emerald Embrace (33 page)

Martise paused before him, noting that his arms were folded over his chest, and his smile seemed smug. “Mr. McCloud, I’d like to ride, please,” she said politely, but with an edge of superiority to her voice. “Would you saddle Desdemona for me?”

She gritted her teeth as the massive man shook his head.

“Mr. McCloud, perhaps you did not hear me. I wish—”

“I heard ye fine, me lady. But orders ’tis orders, and them what come from the master do come first.”

“What orders came from the master?” she asked sharply.

McCloud’s grin deepened, stretching out his scar. “He said as how he didna want ye taking off away from the castle this day, Lady St. James.”

“But that is ridiculous! I am not a prisoner here!”

“Nay, lady, that ye’re not. But ye must understand me position. I’m not to give ye a horse. I couldna stop ye from walking, lady, but I warn ye, night is coming quickly, and ’tis a sorry long walk to the village, so it is.”

She held still, wanting to run past him and steal a horse. Of course, he would stop her. Laird Creeghan’s word was law, it was sacred. And any struggle on her part would merely serve to entertain this man.

“Thank you, Robert,” she said politely, and swung about, seething. She could not wait to see Bryan, yet she dreaded seeing him, too. She would not be able to sit with him before the others and maintain any pretense of a smooth relationship between them.

But Bryan did not return for dinner. Martise sat with the others and tried to enjoy the meal. Ian told her that he had ridden into the forest and he had found her cove. “At least, I did find the remnants of a fire. ’Tis interesting. I’ve been here me entire life, and I’d not have suspected. But Bruce will get to the bottom of it all, fear not.”

“I’m sure he shall,” Martise agreed.

Conar was quiet; Elaina was withdrawn. As soon as it was politely possible, Martise excused herself and headed for her room. She tried to think, but she could not. She came out to the balcony and stared up at what would soon be a brand-new and full moon.

And when it came …

She must stay in her room. Ignore the sounds and the lights, pretend that they did not exist. That was what he had told her.

When the full moon came, other lights haunted the castle. And men who spoke in whispers moved below in the crypts.

She stared down at the castle walls and the cliffs, and listened to the sound of the surf crashing against the rock far below. The Dragon’s Teeth were out there, waiting.

Martise shivered and returned to her room. As she locked the balcony doors, she heard footsteps in the hall. Soft, furtive footsteps. They came nearly to her door and they stopped. She paused, waiting, listening.

Again she heard the footsteps, receding this time.

She raced to the door and flung it open. There was no one in sight.

She wondered if it had been Bryan, and her fury got the best of her. There were so many things she had to say to him. She started down the corridor that led to his tower. His door stood slightly ajar, and she slammed it open.

He was there. Newly arrived from outside, so it seemed, for his black greatcoat still covered his shoulders and his ebony hair was slicked back and damp. He was at his desk and looked up, startled by the sound, as one of the massive double doors to his suite cracked hard against the wall.

He stared at her for a moment, slowly arching a brow. Then he swept off his coat, tossed it over the desk chair, and bowed to her courteously. “My Lady St. James. How nice of you to come and visit.”

“Is it? If you wished to speak with me, why did you pause outside my door? Why didn’t you come in?”

He frowned. “I was not by your door.”

“Someone was. Just minutes ago.”

“I should have seen him. Or her.”

“Someone was there, I tell you.”

He shrugged, circling around the desk. “Well, you are here now. Come in. We need to talk.”

She strode into the room, keeping the desk between them as she faced him. He was all in black, from his silk shirt to his breeches and boots.

“You wish to talk!” she spat out incredulously.

“Indeed. But it seems you believe that what you have to say must be more important. So, pray, milady, do go on.”

“All right!” She slammed a fist on his desk. “You’ve no right to keep me here!”

He lifted his hands. “I see no chains upon your person.”

“I went for a horse today and your insolent groom informed me that you had left strict orders I was not to ride.”

His eyes narrowed. “May I remind you that you rode out yesterday—and disappeared.”

“Oh! It is my safety only that concerns you!”

“What else?”

“Perhaps there are places—or people—you would prefer that I do not reach!”

“Such as?”

His arms were crossed over his chest, his feet firmly planted on the ground, and he seemed dangerous indeed as he stared down at her, eyes very much aflame. She inhaled sharply, wishing she did not feel the shivering inside of her, the trembling. Wishing that she did not know him so well—and yet, not nearly well enough.

Wishing she did not love him.

She moistened her lips. “Dr. MacTeague,” she said softly.

“MacTeague?” he said, frowning anew.

“He, he told me—” she began, but her voice failed her.

“He told you what?” Bryan demanded curtly.

“He told me he was a country doctor, but that he knew an old corpse from a new one. He—he said that the girl discovered in the wall had only been there about a year or so.”

Bryan lowered his head. For a moment, all she could see was the stygian darkness of his hair, and then he raised his face to hers once again. “Martise, I know that. Believe me, girl, MacTeague came to me first.”

“Then why are you afraid that I should see him?”

“Why haven’t you shared this information with me—or with others—before now?”

She shook her head. “Whom would I tell?”

“Indeed,” he said softly, “whom would you tell?” He took a step toward her, and his smile seemed bitter. “No matter. You shall have your chance with MacTeague tomorrow.”

She didn’t want to run or shrink from him. “Will I?” she said, tossing back her head and lifting her chin. There was something about him tonight. Something careless, something reckless.

He nodded to her. “He’s coming to our wedding tomorrow.”

She gasped, so startled that she stepped away, her fingers winding tightly into fists at her sides. “Tomorrow!” she echoed with dismay. “But that’s not possible! You can’t—”

“Mistress, I am the laird here—I can do almost anything.”

“But this whole thing is absurd! I will not marry you!”

To her surprise, he turned away, taking the seat at his desk. He tossed his legs up upon it, stretching them out and crossing them comfortably. He steepled his fingers and touched them across his lip.

“You will marry me tomorrow, at twelve noon precisely. The good father will be here, along with much of the village. We will be married before them in the chapel below.”

She shook her head. “It is insanity!”

“Ah. You’re still afraid of me.”

“I am not afraid of you!”

“Not afraid of the laird of the castle, the beast, the demon, the keeper of bones within walls and searing instruments of torture? Laird of cliffs and rocks and death?”

“Stop it!” she spat.

He shrugged. “You’ve no reason to fear me, Martise. As you should well know,” he added on a bitter note, “I have not been the deceiver.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she declared. Suddenly, the urge to run was strongly with her. Something in his speech, in his words, in his actions …

Was she afraid of him?

Aye, tonight, she was.

But she sensed there was no way past him. If she made a move for the door, he would be up. It was in his eyes, in the tension that gripped his body even as he gave the pretense of sitting so casually to study her.

“Ah, you do not know!” he murmured.

She was going to get past him, she thought furiously. She was not going to run, she was going to stride by.

“Indeed, I do not know,” she said coolly. “And I am weary, and ready to retire—alone, milord.” And with that she started to stride from the room with swift arrogance.

But she had not misjudged his mood, or his reaction. He was swiftly on his feet, and his fingers wound around her arm before she could pass him. She cried out when he swung her hard against his chest and into the tight constriction of his arms. She gripped his arms, trying to free herself. “I said that I wanted to retire, milord, if you will please let me go.”

“Nay, girl, I’ll not!”

“This is nonsense. I’ve not promised you anything, and I will not participate in a grand charade.”

“You will not participate in a charade! You, milady?” He shook with his fury. “Why, mistress, the wedding should absolutely delight you. It will give you access to all of my private concerns, and that is what you desire, is it not?”

She struggled more fiercely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shouted, quivering.

“You don’t?” He shook her hard to still her, and his eyes blazed down into hers with piercing wrath. “Ah, but think! Could it have something to do with a very large emerald?”

She gasped, going still as death, and he seemed to take it as a sure admission of her deceit. Swearing out an oath, he tossed her back with such violence that she was sent sprawling up the dais and back upon the bed. She rolled to defend herself lest he come for her, but he remained standing, aloof and remote. Yet the passion still burned from his gaze. “So you are a thief, mistress. Nothing more. You came for Mary, bah! You came to steal her jewel!”

She rose to a sitting position and returned his gaze, nearly choking on her fury. “I came for Mary!”

“You came for the jewel!” He strode for the bed and it was all she could manage to do to sit still and not cower to the other side. If he touched her, she swore, she would scream. But he did not touch her. He remained before her.

“Ah, for poor Mary’s sake you ransacked the library. And ’twas for Mary’s sake that you came to this bedroom and invaded my papers and my desk!”

“Your brother’s paper!” she cried in defense.

“Nay, lady, for all here belongs to the laird of Creeghan, and I am he now. You are nothing but a grasping, fortune-hunting, little bitch!”

She swung at him and her hand connected with his flesh. Startled, he lashed a hand out at her, stopping only when she cried out, ducking away. He did not strike her. His hands landed upon her shoulders, and he jerked her to her feet.

“Let me go!” she cried.

“Now that I have discovered you!”

“You have discovered nothing. The jewel is mine!”

“’Twas Mary’s. It belonged to my brother, and to Creeghan.”

“No! It is mine, and Mary held it for me. If you have it, give it to me!”

“And you can flee back to America with it.”

“Yes! Yes!” she vowed passionately, lifting her chin, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes. “If that’s what you wish …”

“’Tis not what I wish! You came here with your games and your deceits, and now you have managed to become a part of the castle and the mystery here. You will wed me tomorrow.”

“How can you make me do this when you think me a thief and—”

“A whore?” he queried.

Stunned, she gasped out loud and struggled anew. He pulled her closer against him with a startlingly furious strength, and his words where whispered just above her lips.

“Aye, a whore, for you came to me to find the gem. Goods delivered for goods you hoped to receive.”

“I’ll never marry you, never!” she swore. “I want the gem—”

“I have not got the gem!”

“Then how can you know of it?”

“Bruce wrote that he must take care of it for Mary, Lady St. James,” he spat out caustically. “But I do not have it. And so, if you would take riches away, you must pay an even greater price. Who knows, as mistress here, you might even find the precious bauble that you considered worth your innocence and your life!”

She pulled away from him with a force she did not know she possessed. She backed against the wall and leaned there, eyes warily upon him.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because there is a murderer in the castle,” he said softly.

“You say you want my safety, but you seek to use me!” she cried.

“Have it as you will,” he said coldly. “You must marry me. The full moon is coming.” He stared at her a long moment, then turned away. Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out the bottle of whisky and two glasses. He poured them both a portion and walked in her direction, offering her a glass. She did not take it at first. He pressed it toward her and she lifted her hand and curled her fingers around it, meeting the blaze of his eyes. “To our wedded bliss,” he said.

“I cannot marry you tomorrow,” she said. “I cannot, even if you wish it. No matter how the moon will rise at night. I am not prepared. I have no dress—”

“You will be prepared,” he assured her, and tossed down his drink with a single swallow. He turned away and headed to his door, closing and bolting it.

He turned back to her, a sardonic smile giving a dark and Satanish twist to his handsome features. “And believe me, I will care little what dress you wear, or if you bother to dress at all. Weddings are, after all, my love, to give blessing to what is shared with the spirit—and the flesh. And, mistress, I have grown quite fond of your flesh already, as it were.”

She hurled her glass at him. He ducked in plenty of time, and the glass crashed hard against the door. He straightened, and laughed softly.

“Indeed, milady, until tomorrow. Imagine, the emerald might be found, and there might be great rewards in all this, after all. The bed is yours for tonight. If you desire me, I’ll be on the cot in the dressing room.” He bowed and strode that way.

“I shall not desire you!” she hissed. “Ever.” And then she added as an afterthought, “Again.”

He paused by the dressing room door and turned back to her, and she could not tell if he was angry or amused. “But you will marry me tomorrow.”

She stood silent, and he cocked his head. “Mistress, you should be vastly relieved by this opportunity.”