The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

Colin stared at Aunt Arleth. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she rode away from here and the hussy wasn’t even wearing a riding habit. Her gown was hiked up, showing her stockings. I watched her from the dining room windows.”

“Will you be able to keep her money, Colin?”

This was from Serena, who was flitting about the entrance hall, looking at herself in every shiny surface she passed.

He had no time to answer, for at that moment Murdock the Stunted appeared in the doorway, his frayed red cap in his gnarled hands.

“I be a mite worried, milor” was all he said.

Colin cursed, long and fluently. Murdock looked upon him with grave disapproval. Aunt Arleth opened her mouth to round on Murdock, but she didn’t have time. Colin was out the front doors.

He cursed all the way to the stables. His own stallion, Gulliver, was blown. He took Old Cumber, a gentle ancient fellow who’d known more feud fights than most men who lived here.

“Which way did she ride?”

“Toward the western end of the loch.”

He didn’t find her, not a trace, not a single damned track. He spent two hours searching, alternately cursing her, then so worried that one of the MacPhersons had stolen her that he shook. He found himself doubting that Latham MacPherson, the old laird, had truly managed to forbid any further raids on Kinross land. Hell, it was quite possible Robbie MacPherson had left his father’s side—that is, if he’d ever gone to it in the first place. He sweated. Finally, as the sun was beginning to set, he returned to the castle. Her mare, Carrot, was munching on hay.

Murdock the Stunted merely shrugged, but he didn’t meet the laird’s eyes. “She came in a good hour ago, milor’. Quiet she were, but all right an’ tight.”

“I see,” Colin said, and flicked his riding crop angrily against his thigh.

He wasn’t overly surprised to find the laird’s bedchamber not only empty but as sparkling clean as the rest of the castle. It was still as dark as before, but not nearly so dreary now. He hated to admit it. When he went downstairs for dinner, bathed and dressed in formal evening attire, he decided he would hold his tongue. He didn’t want another scene in front of the entire family.

He saw her standing beside the empty fireplace, wearing the same gown, holding a glass of sherry. Aunt Arleth was holding forth about something doubtless unpleasant, Serena was seated on a settee looking dreamily off into space, and the children were there, sitting side by side on a love seat, Dulcie standing like a big-bosomed pixie guard behind them.

Sinjun looked up to see him striding into the room. Damn, but he was splendid. She didn’t want to take his place, the stupid lout. How could he be so blind? She wanted her own place, not his, she wanted to be beside him, laughing with him, working with him, kissing him and feeling his body with her hands.

“Good evening,” Colin said to all assembled.

“Papa, she said we couldn’t have any dinner, but since you’re here she had to give in.”

Dulcie gasped and grabbed Dahling’s arm. “Ye’re a wicked wee mite, ye are, Dahling Kinross!”

“A veritable witch, I see,” Colin said.

“You overdid that one a bit, Dahling,” Sinjun said, smiling toward her stepdaughter, “but it was a worthy try. I will give you dramatic lessons. You mustn’t ever overdo a role, you know, that’s the cardinal rule of the theater.”

“I should like to tread the boards,” Serena said. “That is the correct way the English say it, isn’t it, Joan?”

“That’s exactly the way. You already walk so gracefully it’s as if you float. The rest would be easy for you.”

“All of this is nonsense,” Aunt Arleth said, standing. “What are your intentions, Colin?”

“To dine, Aunt Arleth. Joan, here’s Philpot to announce our dinner. Give me your arm.”

She didn’t want to, particularly, but everyone was watching and she had no choice. She tensed as he patted her hand, preparing for battle. “Oh, my dear, not here. When I tell you what I expect from you it will be from behind a locked door in my bedchamber—the laird’s bedchamber—the laird’s very clean bedchamber.”

CHAPTER

12

COLIN WAS GOOD to his word. He gently shoved Sinjun into the laird’s bedchamber, then closed and locked the door. He watched her even as he slipped the key into his vest pocket. He watched her walk to the center of the vast room and stop, rubbing her arms with her hands.

“Should you like me to light a fire?”