The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

“Aye. She said that if she saw anyone doing anything to make this pile of filthy rubble look cleaner, she would personally take a whip to them.”

“But she just told me how much she hated how everything was going to rot and how the crofters’ children were crying with hunger.”

“What wickedness! Our crofters’ children are never hungry! Och, if the laird had heard her say that, he’d have lost his wig right ’n tight!”

“How very odd. She’s trying to sow dissension. Now, why would she want to do that? Surely it couldn’t be just for my benefit.” And Sinjun wondered about the other things she’d said. Were they lies, too? Very probably.

“After her sister, Lady Judith, died some five years ago—that was his lordship’s mother—Miss MacGregor believed that the old laird would wed her, but he didn’t. I believe he bedded her, but it wasn’t marriage in the kirk he had in mind. Men, och! All alike they are, save for Mr. Seton, who has no interest at all in the desires of the flesh.”

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Seton.”

“Aye, my lady, I am, too. In any case, Miss MacGregor was very angry, and as time passed she became more and more bitter. Petty, I guess ye’d say, with all of us. Ah, but she loved and pet Malcolm—the Kinross laird for such a short time, he was—and she treated him like a little prince. Malcolm even preferred her to his own mother, he did, because she spoiled him into rottenness and his mother swatted his hands but good when he was naughty. He’d run to Miss MacGregor an

d whine. Och, it wasn’t good for his character, needless to say. A wastrel he became, beggin’ yer pardon, my lady, but a wastrel he was, truly, just like his pa. Then he died all unexpected like, and Master Colin became the Kinross laird. We’ve yet to see what he will do. At least he isn’t a wastrel, and he’s fair. Perhaps there is more, but I don’t know of it. As to the state of the castle, why, gentlemen rarely notice the state of things, until the cobwebs fall into their soup an’ wind about their spoon. O’ course, my lady, Fiona didn’t care. When finally I did mention it to the new laird, he said we had no money for anything.”

“Well, now we have money, and we have the will to do something, and you and I will see to it. By the time his lordship returns, Vere Castle will look like it did in his mother’s time.”

“Och, ’tis a fine day indeed when his lordship found ye to buy him.”

“I would prefer that you said that a bit more diplomatically, Mrs. Seton.”

“Aye, my lady.”

Sinjun left the housekeeper’s room whistling, tickled with herself that she’d had the foresight to remove her still nearly two hundred pounds from Colin’s keeping. She wondered what he’d think when he missed the money.

Sinjun lay in the huge laird’s bed, aware that even though the sheets were clean and the covers well aired, there was still a clinging musty smell of a room left closed up too long.

Her first three days at Vere Castle had passed quickly. Goodness, there was so much to be done. Mrs. Seton had already hired a good dozen women and another six men to come and clean the castle. Sinjun herself planned to scour this room. If she’d waited as her husband had demanded, her list for him would have stretched to the North Sea. Naturally, she’d never had any intention of waiting. She had visited Colin’s room in the north tower and had been charmed and dismayed. The stairs reaching the room were dangerous, the wood rotted in many places. Treacherous. The room itself was moldy, and all his books were in danger of rotting if she didn’t act soon. She intended it to be in perfect condition before her husband ever again ventured up to his tower room.

Mrs. Seton; Murdock the Stunted, who came only to Sinjun’s armpit and was one of Colin’s most trusted servants, who did a bit of everything; and Mr. Seton the Kinross steward—the abstinent steward—all had accompanied her to Kinross the day before. Mrs. Seton, a fount of local knowledge, had been right: Kinross boasted both a seamstress and a man who worked with wood, and every sort of shop one could wish for.

Kinross-shire was a small, quite pretty country town, mainly a base for the fishermen for nearby Loch Leven. A narrow road clung to the northern edge of Loch Leven, and the horses they rode knew the path very well indeed. The water was startling in its blueness and the hills that rose from it were alternately lush and green or barren and rugged and looked impassable. Nearly every foot of land was tilled, and now, in early summer, the land was covered with barley, wheat, corn, and rye.

Mr. Seton had quickly pointed out the kirk when they entered Kinross, extolling the local minister’s virtues and condemnation of all those who were ripe for the nether regions. He pointed to the old town cross that was still attached to the iron collars for wrongdoers. As for Murdock the Stunted—all of four feet three inches in height, with a great head of red hair—Sinjun saw that he avoided going anywhere near the kirk or that town cross with its iron collar.

She’d discovered quickly enough that she might be the countess of Ashburnham, but all the locals were leery of her ability to pay the bills, and she knew she had to hoard the two hundred pounds. After all, as old Toothless Gorm pointed out, the old laird had sold the Kinross Mill House, hadn’t he? And now a demned ironmonger was living there and lording it over all the locals. It took Mrs. Seton at her most undiplomatic—aye, my lady’s an heiress, just dripping groats, and the laird got her married to him right and tight!—to bring old Toothless Gorm and the others back to smiles and enthusiasm. They’d purchased materials for new clothes for the children, for the servants, and for Sinjun, new plates for the servants’ hall, new linens, and the list went on and on—Colin’s list that he would never see, and many items were now duly crossed off. What a day it had been, full and satisfying.

Sinjun now turned onto her side in the huge bed. She was tired but that didn’t help her to sleep. She thought of Kinross Mill House. She’d asked Murdock the Stunted to take her there. It was a lovely house with superb gardens planted in the seventeenth century and an old mill with its wheel still poised above the water of a rushing stream. She’d stood there, looking at the lovely fish ponds, the graceful statuary, the topiary, and the immensely beautiful rose gardens, and vowed that somehow she and Colin would bring Kinross Mill House back into the family. Their children and grandchildren deserved to have their heritage restored.

She missed Colin dreadfully. He, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be in any hurry at all to return to her. She had come to realize that men had to have women, it was that simple. Not just kissing, but their sex had to come into a woman and they had to release their seed. She would have to suffer this to make him content with her. And it had doubtless been the three times that had hurt her so much, that followed by the hard riding the following day. If she could convince him that just once would be sufficient for his needs, she could bear that easily. Once a night? Once a week? These were things she didn’t know. As for her brothers Douglas and Ryder, she wondered how often they made love to their wives. Why the devil hadn’t she spoken to Alex and asked her some pointed questions? Ah, she knew why. She’d believed she’d known everything there was to know. She’d read all of Douglas’s Greek plays, after all, and they weren’t at all reticent about matters of the flesh.

Blessed hell. She pictured Alex and Douglas, always touching, those two, kissing ardently when they believed no one was looking. And Ryder and Sophie were much the same. Ryder laughing as he fondled Sophie, teasing her even as he was nibbling on her ear. She would like Colin to do those things as well. It was just the other. Why hadn’t she asked Alex? And Alex was such a small woman, much slighter than Sinjun, and Douglas was as large as Colin. It didn’t make sense that Alex could possibly tolerate it. Blessed hell.

She sighed and rolled onto her back. It was then she heard the noise. She cracked an eye open and stared off into the darkness in the direction of the noise. It was just a very low scratching sort of noise. She must have imagined it. It was a very old house. All old structures had strange, unexplained shudders and sounds. She closed her eyes and snuggled down.

The noise came again, a bit louder this time. Scratching, as if something were trapped in the wainscoting. A rat? She didn’t like that thought.

It stopped yet again but Sinjun was tense, waiting for it to resume.

It did, louder now. There was another sound with the scratching. Behind it, sort of. It sounded like something dragging along the floor. Something like a chain, heavy and slow, dragging across a wooden floor but oddly muffled.

Sinjun bolted up in bed. This was absurd!

Then there was a moan, distinct, sharp, a human moan that made gooseflesh rise on her arms. Her heart pounded. She strained to see in the darkness.

She had to light the candle. She reached out toward the night table to grab the lucifer matches, but she knocked them to the floor instead.

The moans stopped suddenly, as did the scratching. But the chain, dragging slowly, was louder now, and it was coming closer, still muffled, but it was coming, closer. It was in the bedchamber now.