‘Nothing to forgive,’ said Bryce. ‘The fault was all mine.’ He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘But eventually, this dam of feeling between us will break. There is no escaping it.’ He turned and looked into her eyes. ‘Tis sitting there, between us.’
‘I know,’ said Maren. She closed her eyes and turned her back to him with a thumping heart. How close she had come to danger, yet somehow she still felt comforted by his nearness.
Chapter Thirteen
Maren pulled hard on the reins of her horse to slow its pace. It was a magnificent white stallion with a thick grey tail and a speckled rump, and the beast longed to be given its head. She had never ridden anything so magnificent or headstrong, and Maren tried hard to outpace Bryce and his father as they rode to a place called Machrie - the seat of Bryce’s uncle, a Laird Dunbar Gordon. She was still seething at Bryce for his overbearing manner. If she’d let him have his way, she might be having hers now and still be snuggled in a nice warm bed.
‘Maren, slow down. You do not know the way, and we are almost upon Machrie,’ shouted Bryce, riding alongside her.
Maren’s temper flared at his tone of command. Despite her protests, she had been dragged from her bed at dawn and ordered to dress for riding to hounds. After a hasty breakfast of porridge and kippers, the three of them had ridden out into the misty morning through fields of dewy grass. A half an hour’s ride through steep-sided glens, past herds of startled deer, brought them to a halt at the crest of a hill.
‘Who are these people again? I forget for you have so many friends and relations,’ said Maren to Bryce sourly.
‘Dunbar Gordon married my father’s sister, Ada, so he is my uncle by marriage and a very influential man in the county. Look, there it is, up ahead - my Uncle Dunbar’s estate,’ shouted Bryce. ‘Stop a moment here.’
Machrie Castle was every bit as huge and grand as Maren had feared, and the sound of hounds baying, and braying voices wafted up from the valley below. The great and the good of the county were all assembled, and it was into this wolf pack that she was to be thrown, all primped up to make a good impression. The riding clothes that Bryce had somehow acquired from his cousin, Orla, were fine indeed – a dove grey coat which flared at the waist, adorned with brass buttons and trimmed in navy brocade.
The under-waistcoat of cream was a little too snug, and Maren longed to tear it off so that she could breathe properly. Bryce’s cousin, Orla, who was Dunbar’s daughter, was obviously less well-endowed across the bosom. Maren clutched at her hat so that the wind did not claim it. A nonsense of a thing, it sported a peacock feather set at a jaunty angle which, while very handsome, was totally impractical and bobbed on her head as she rode. She tugged at the white kerchief set about her neck. It was nought but a noose to choke her.
‘Stop fidgeting. You look very well,’ said Bryce.
‘I care not how I look. And I do not care for the good opinion of your friends.’
‘I know that, Maren. But we have a bargain, so please play the obedient wife if you can. Ah, my father is almost upon us.’
Jasper Cullan skidded to a halt and smiled at her. ‘By God, lass, you ride well. I could scarcely keep up, and you have certainly tamed Hawk. I wondered at Bryce giving you that mount as he has quite the temper and headstrong nature.’
‘Obviously, Bryce recognised a kindred spirit, Laird,’ said Maren, eliciting a chuckle from Jasper.
‘Aye, well said, Maren. And do you find him hard to handle?’
Maren favoured Bryce with a sickly smile. ‘The mount, no. Your son, even less. A firm hand is required, that’s all.’
Jasper gave a deep, throaty laugh. ‘Glad to hear it, lass. Shall we get on while the day is young? I have a terrible need to chase down some prey.’ He spurred his horse onward, and Maren watched him go with a heavy heart. While Jasper Cullan was all graciousness so far, his gaze was penetrating as though he sought a chink in her armour. He did not trust her nor Bryce’s account of their meeting, though he had not pressed on it so far. Would he do so when they were alone?
Bryce kicked his horse onward, and Maren followed, and soon they were clattering through the gates of Machrie and into its yard, which was a tumult of horses whinnying, dogs barking excitedly and finely dressed gentry shouting over one another. Upon their arrival, a hush descended, and all eyes turned to Maren. Most of the men’s eyes widened, while the women’s narrowed. It seemed that despite his self-confessed shortcomings of arrogance, profligacy and lust, Bryce Cullan was quite the catch, and she was now the cause of disappointed hopes.
This was worse than expected, for there were a great many people. She would have to keep her wits about her to triumph this day. Though several ladies were amongst the party of riders, most stood to one side on the steps leading up to Machrie’s cavernous doors. Obviously, not all of them were up to riding to hounds.
Maren’s eye was drawn to a voluptuous woman who sported a garish yellow dress, a sullen expression, and a rounded belly. She snarled something at a handsome young man who burst out of Machrie’s door pulling on gloves. But he snapped at her and then waved her rudely away with a flap of a glove.
‘Hew,’ the lass cried, but he ignored her. The woman glared at his retreating back and then glanced at Maren. Their eyes met, and Maren gave her a little smile, for she pitied the lass. Her reward was an icy scowl. The woman turned to a companion beside her and whispered something in her ear, her eyes still on Maren. They both smirked and burst out laughing.
Bryce came alongside her. ‘Our marriage is a day old, yet the news has already spread. Such gossipy servants we have at Penhallion.’
‘Everyone is staring,’ hissed Maren. ‘I told you that I should not have come.’
‘Hold your courage, and take my lead, lass,’
An elegant man rode forward and boomed, ‘Fashionably late, as usual, Bryce.’
‘Aye, but I now have a lady in my company, and you know how they are with timekeeping.’
Dunbar Gordon, brother-in-law to Jasper and uncle to Bryce, regarded Maren with interest as he addressed Bryce. ‘We were about to ride out without you. The beaters have caught a whiff of a fox, and we don’t want to lose it. And yes, news of your nuptials has reached my ears, nephew, but I could scarcely believe it. The biter bit with love’s nip. Can this be true, I asked myself?’
‘It is true, Uncle Dunbar.’
‘And this is the lass,’ he said, riding in for a closer look. Dunbar Gordon smiled at Maren in a friendly and slightly lascivious way, eyes lingering a little on her bosom. ‘Very nice. Very nice indeed,’ he said. ‘It seems my nephew has hooked quite the beauty, and you, in turn, have caught yourself a fine husband, lass, and not a moment too soon. We despaired of him ever finding a wife, for he is a slippery fish and will not be caught. An honour to make your acquaintance, my dear,’ he said with a bow of his head.
