Sleepless in Scotland (17 page)

Feeling better, she glanced about for a desk, wondering where she might find some paper and a pen. Suddenly the skin on the back of her neck prickled and she turned to find Hugh looking at her, sending an immediate thrill through her.

He pushed himself upright, the sheet falling to his waist as he rubbed his face, then yawned. After stretching, he flashed her a sleepy smile. “Good morning, wife. I trust you slept well.”

Triona found that she rather liked that title. “Good morning to you, too. I slept like a rock. And you?”

His slow, sensual smile sent a flutter through her stomach that had nothing to do with her hunger.

“Oh, I slept like a rock,” he said with rich intimacy. “Because before I went to sleep, you made me as hard as one.”

She flashed him a grin, though she suddenly felt all thumbs. She went to the settee where she busied herself with the laces on her half boots. “I know it’s early, but I believe it would be beneficial for us to talk about our expectations.”

His brows rose, his smile dimming. “Actually, I was going to suggest the same thing, because—” He glanced at the clock. “Good God, it’s almost nine!”

“Yes.” Her cheeks heated. “We are late rising.”

He threw back the bedclothes, crossed immediately to the window, flicked aside the curtain, and looked out. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, for he gave what sounded like a sigh of relief before going to wash in the basin by his side of the bed.

“Are you expecting someone?”

His dark green gaze flickered her way. “My brother Dougal is returning after breakfast.”

“Returning?”

“He was here last night, but you’d already fallen asleep.”

“I’m sorry I missed him.”

“You’ll meet him today. He visits often when his wife is out of town, and she’s in Edinburgh for a week or so.”

“I look forward to meeting him. Does he look like you?”

“Yes, except he’s blond. In each generation, there is always one golden child among us.” He tossed his damp hand towel over a rail on the side of the washstand. “I daresay he’ll arrive in an hour or so.”

MacLean crossed to the wardrobe, comfortable in his nakedness. Triona realized she was staring at her new husband’s muscular posterior in an amazingly bold fashion. Cheeks hot, she hastily finished lacing up her half boots, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

When she looked up she found, to both her relief and disappointment, that Hugh was nearly dressed. He’d donned brown breeches that tucked neatly into his black riding boots, and was pulling a clean white shirt over his head. A simple cravat hung over the end of the bed.

“Do you not have a valet?” she asked.

“No. I can’t stand someone fussing about my things.” He tucked in his shirt and slipped the cravat about his neck. With a few flips of the ends and an amazingly quick series of knots, he had it neatly tied. He put on a dark brown waistcoat and pulled a dark blue riding coat from the wardrobe. He caught her gaze. “Do you ride?”

“No. We never had any horses, except two to pull the carriage.”

“Ah. We’ll have to remedy that.”

Triona heard disappointment in his voice. “I’ve always liked horses, and I would like to learn to ride.”

“Good. I’ll teach you myself. I ride every day. I must, for I raise horses. That’s how I raised the funds to purchase Gilmerton. It took me almost ten years, but I did it. Now I own some of the most productive and coveted herds in Scotland.”

Her chest tightened. She’d just been intimate with this man, yet here he was, informing her of the most basic facts about his life. The entire situation was ludicrous and awkward, and yet it was all they had. She forced herself to smile. “What kind of horses do you raise?”

“Beautiful ones. Expensive ones. And rare ones.”

She considered this. “Arabians, racehorses, and…” She frowned. “What else?”

He chuckled. “That’s very good. The rare ones are my herd of Akhal-Teke. They’re Turkish horses bred by tribes. I have ten right now, with several mares ready to foal.” He went to one of the large windows on the far wall, threw up the sash, and leaned on the sill to peer into the distant fields. “There they are now. The herd comes to the gates in the morning.”

Triona came to stand beside him. In the distance, she could see a small herd of horses gathering by a gate. “Why, they’re gold!”

He glinted a smile her way. “They are prized for their golden sheen. I saw one in Italy and decided to breed them. They are wonderful horses. They’ve carried Turkomen warriors for centuries, and are as agile as greyhounds.”

Triona watched as a man approached the gate, pushing a wheelbarrow. The horses pranced and pawed. “They seem very hungry.”

“As am I.” Hugh looked down at her, his gaze raking over her face and then lower.

Triona was both flattered and disappointed in his perusal. She was flattered by his attention, but disappointed because she knew it was nothing more than pure lust. Of course, she wasn’t sure she really wanted more than that since his plans for their marriage included shipping her off at the first reasonable moment.

Still, she had a few months in which to leave her mark on Gilmerton Manor and its owner, this incredibly sexy man standing before her. Yet in order to do so, she would need his support. She shot him a look from under her lashes. “Hugh, can we…” It was difficult to explain what she wanted, when she wasn’t completely certain herself. “It would be nice if we were partners, as well as man and wife.”

His expression lost some of its heat. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Most couples know one another for a time before they decide to wed. We didn’t have that luxury. I thought perhaps, to help us ease into this new relationship, we might begin as…I suppose I’d call it friends. People who support one another and help and—oh, I’m not saying this at all well.”

“I’m not giving up my rights to you in bed.”

She blinked up at him. “I didn’t think you would. In fact, I rather enjoyed that aspect myself.”

A smug, pleased smile tilted his lips. “I know.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she managed a pert sniff. “As did you.”

“Oh, yes. I enjoyed every delicious moment. So explain to me what you mean about being partners.”

“I may only be here for a few months, but I want to learn as much about you as I can, be a part of this estate.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, one brow arrogantly cocked. “No. We’re here to do one thing and one thing only: establish your good name so that you and your family can go about your lives. I wish to do that with as little impact upon our lives as possible.”

“I quite agree, but why shouldn’t we at least enjoy each other’s company?”

His brows rose.

She colored. “I mean, other than in the bed chamber. Why shouldn’t I become involved in your business, too? I would like to know about you an—” She caught herself and amended the sentence. “I mean,
your
interests here. I want to see the stables and the horses and—oh, so many things! I want to help in any way I can. That’s the way a marriage should work.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would agree, but these are not normal circumstances. You will confine yourself to the household and nothing more.” His tone brooked no argument.

Triona clenched her hands at her sides and fought a very real urge to begin an argument she was fairly sure they’d both lose. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something, but she didn’t even know what to ask.

Blast it, this conversation wasn’t going the way she wished! She’d asked to be a part of his everyday life, of the estate and the horses he so obviously admired, and in return he was confining her to the house as if she was a potential nuisance to be contained within the house’s four walls. She couldn’t address this further without some advice. Fortunately for her, she knew just where to get it.

She forced her hands to unclench. “Fine, we’ll discuss this more later. If it’s possible, I would like to visit the modiste today to order some gowns, since I brought so few with me. I have a few pounds with me, and—”

“
I
will pay for what you need.”

“MacLean, this marriage isn’t
real
.”

“Caitriona, you are my wife. As such, I have the right and
privilege
of purchasing you anything I please. I’ll have Ferguson hook up the carriage after breakfast, and Mrs. Wallis can escort you. I have an account with the modiste, so you may order whatever you like.”

Why did he have an account with the modiste? Did he…did he have a mistress? Her jaw tightened, and suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was order more gowns.

He turned from the window, adding over his shoulder, “I will be very busy for the next few weeks. As I said, several mares are ready to foal, and my men and I must monitor the herds closely. So while you confine your efforts to the house—”

“Confine?” She plopped her fists on her hips. “I don’t know how things were for you, MacLean, but my parents run the vicarage
together
. What Papa can’t do, Mother does. And when things are truly busy, like at Michaelmas or if there are many weddings, the whole family helps. I know how to keep accounts and such. I can also—”

“I don’t need a partner.” His green gaze flickered over her, suddenly cool. “Not even for a month or two.”

She sucked in her breath.
I shouldn’t be hurt. He’s only reminding me of our situation, and I need to remember that.

His expression softened. “I’m not an unreasonable man, Caitriona. I daresay there are many things that could use improvement in the house and elsewhere. The servants have had their way for a long time.”

“Thank you so much,” she replied sarcastically.

“You’re welcome.” He sent her a hard look from under his lashes. “There is one important matter we must discuss. While you have carte blanche inside these four walls, you will not interfere with my daugh—”

There was the sound of feet running up the steps, as if a herd of wild boar had been let into the house.

“What’s tha—” Triona began.

The door flew open and three children appeared. A thin young girl of fifteen or so entered first. She had lank blond hair tied back in a tight bun, her face wreathed in smiles until she saw Triona. Then she came to an abrupt halt. Hard on her heels was a younger girl, probably thirteen years of age, of astounding beauty with black hair and thick black lashes around eyes of the darkest brown. She was moving so quickly that she narrowly avoided running into the older girl. Holding her hand, eyes wide, blond curls framing her round face, was a little girl of no more then six.

The three looked at Triona with shocked expressions that Triona was sure were mirrored on her own face.

Then the girls looked past her and they all brightened, smiles blooming once again on their faces. “Papa!” they yelled as they ran forward, swarming Hugh with hugs and kisses.

Chapter 11

“Och, lassies. Ye canna know the power o’ yer own anger till ’tis burnin’ in yer veins.”

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER’S NIGHT

D
ougal followed his brother into the library. “You should have told her!”

Hugh scowled as Dougal found the most comfortable chair and claimed it. “I was in the process of doing just that when the girls came in. I thought you were going to keep them until after breakfast.”

“I did! You’re lucky I made them wait as long as I did, for once they knew you were home, they kept begging and begging.” Dougal grimaced. “I was glad to return them.”

Hugh sighed and rubbed his neck, dropping into the chair opposite Dougal. “Bloody hell. What a mess.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t already up. It was well past nine, so I thought I’d given you plenty of time—” Dougal’s gaze narrowed on Hugh’s red face. “Ah, yes. Newlyweds. How could I have forgotten? I take it you were both decent when the children burst in?”

“Barely.”

Dougal grimaced. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think.”

“If I’d had just ten more minutes to explain things to Caitriona, all would have been well.” At least, he thought so. To be honest, their conversation hadn’t been going the way he wanted it to before the girls had arrived.

He was beginning to worry that marriage—even this one—was more difficult than he’d suspected.

“What did your new wife say when she met the children?”

“Not much. She was silent throughout breakfast.” Although she’d shot him an amazing number of dagger glances.

“And the girls?”

“They were just as quiet, but sulky.” Hugh rubbed his face with both hands. “Damn it, everyone is unhappy now! I should have said something to Caitriona earlier, but I was so bloody tied up trying to explain my expectations for our marriage that I put off mentioning the girls. And I didn’t even think that I should inform
them
about Caitriona, or how they’d react upon finding her here with no idea that I’d married.” Hugh leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. “Bloody hell, I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Yes, you have.”

Hugh glared. “I thought you were here to help.”

“Me? I’m just hoping Sophie doesn’t blame me for this mess. She has a tendency to think things are my fault even when they clearly aren’t.”

“We can talk about your marital troubles another time; I have enough of my own to worry about right now.” Hugh grimaced. “I just didn’t think they’d care so much. Females are such a pain! Dougal, if
you
had been forced into marriage and brought home your new wife,
I
wouldn’t be upset. I’d welcome her into the house and do what was proper. Whatever happened after that would be between the two of you, and I couldn’t care less, for that’s the way men do things. But women…” He shook his head.