The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

“You have yet to tell me how you got knifed in the thigh.”

Colin didn’t meet Douglas’s eyes. “It was a little bully who wanted to rob me. I knocked the man down and he pulled a knife from his boot. My thigh was as high as he could reach.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No, but I probably should have, the damned blighter. He wouldn’t have gotten much from me had he succeeded in picking my pocket. I had no more than two guineas with me at the most.”

“I got a letter just a while ago, accusing you of murdering your wife.”

Colin became very still. It was as if, Douglas thought, he had pulled inside himself, away from pain or perhaps guilt? He didn’t know. Colin looked beyond Douglas’s left shoulder toward the fireplace.

“It wasn’t signed. The person who wrote it sent a boy around with it. I don’t like letters like this. They’re poisonous and they leave one feeling foul.”

Colin said nothing.

“No one knew you’d already been married.”

“No. I didn’t think it was anyone’s affair.”

“When did she die?”

“Shortly before my brother died, some six and a half months ago.”

“How?”

Colin felt his guts twist and knot. “She fell off a cliff and broke her neck.”

“Did you push her?”

Colin was silent, a hard silence both deep and angry.

“Were you arguing with her? Did she fall accidentally?”

“I didn’t murder my wife. I won’t murder your sister. I gather the writer of the letter warned you about that.”

“Oh yes.”

“Will you tell Joan?”

Douglas blinked. He still couldn’t accustom himself to Colin’s calling Sinjun Joan. “I must. It would be preferable, naturally, if you told her, perhaps gave her explanations that you’ve not given to me.”

Colin said nothing. He was stiff, wary.

Douglas rose. “I’m sorry,” he said. “She is my sister and I love her dearly. I must protect her. It is only fair that she know about this. I do feel, however, that before the two of you marry, this must be resolved. That is something I must demand.”

Colin remained silent. He didn’t look up until Douglas had quietly closed the door behind him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He rubbed his thigh; the stitches itched and the flesh was pink. He was healing nicely.

But was he healing quickly enough?

Who, for God’s sake? Who could have done this? The MacPhersons were the only ones who came to mind, and it was a powerful motive they had, if they were indeed responsible. His first wife, Fiona Dahling MacPherson, had been the laird’s eldest daughter. But old Latham had supposedly absolved him, at least he had at the time of Fiona’s death. Of course her brother hadn’t, but the laird had kept Robert in line. During the past several months Colin had heard that the laird wasn’t right in the head, that his health was failing rapidly, which was only to be expected, since the man was as old as the Gaelic rocks at Limner. Ah, yes, the letter had to be from the MacPhersons, the wretched cowards, there was no one else.

The damned letter paled into insignificance. He had to marry Joan, and quickly, or all would be lost. He closed his eyes.

He forced himself to rest. Several hours later Colin rose from the chair and walked the length of the bedchamber, two times, then three. He was gaining strength, thank God. He just prayed it was quickly enough.

It was during dinner that evening, Joan eating her own dinner beside him, that he made up his mind. He looked up from the fork bite of ham to realize that she was speaking.

“ . . . Please don’t misunderstand me, the wedding gown is lovely, truly, but it’s all such a fuss, Colin. My mother would probably display you like some sort of trophy, she’s so pleased that I’m finally to be yanked off the Spinster Shelf. Oh, I do hate the trappings of it all. How I should simply like to whisk you away from here so we can begin our lives together. All this other nonsense is just that, nonsense.”