The Highlander's Stolen Bride Page 18

  Both evenings she had seen Derek appear outside after dinner, which she had taken in her room. She would stand behind her curtains, her heart racing madly. He would stare directly at her window, knowing she was there watching him.

  Eventually he would leave, and she would sag against the wall, feeling as though every ounce of energy had been drained from her.

  A knock sounded at her door, startling Rosalyn from her thoughts. “Come,” she called out.

  The young maid who helped her dress stood on the threshold, appearing meek and ill at ease.

  “Yes, Margery?”

  “Sorry to be interruptin’ ye, m’lady, but his lordship wanted me to tell ye that Carew’s casket has arrived. He’s puttin’ it in the chapel, if ye’d like to pay your respects.”

  Rosalyn had spotted the chapel the day after her arrival, when Derek had taken her for a stroll along the parapets.

  “Thank you, Margery. I’d like that.”

  “His lordship said he’d take ye, if ye like.”

  “I think it’s best if I pay my respects alone.”

  “Aye, mum.” She nodded and backed out of the room.

  Rosalyn gathered up her shawl. The days had grown colder as the fall winds moved over the Grampians, and she did not have the proper garments.

  But soon she would be on her way back to London. Clarisse had written her, hoping they could spend some time at her country estate in Hampshire.

  A few months of quiet in the slower-paced environment outside London would do her a world of good. It would give her time to put memories behind her and figure out what she would do next.

  The corridors had become more familiar to her, and soon she was outside. She lifted her face to the late-afternoon sun.

  She walked toward the chapel, trying not to notice the curious looks the villagers sent her way. At least they weren’t all glaring at her, as they did when she’d arrived. They clearly didn’t know what to make of her. Rosalyn didn’t know herself. Was she a houseguest? Mistress? Or simply an interloper they wished gone?

  Within moments, she spotted the hill cresting the east side of the castle. Rosalyn paused to admire the old church, the spire rising like a long finger into the sky, the sun descending behind it, leaving a dazzling array of red and pink and gold.

  She hastened up the hill, slightly out of breath as she reached the top. The doors were open wide, and she could see the beautiful casket in front of the altar. A myriad of candles had been lit, creating a dusky, flickering glow as Rosalyn entered.

  It had been a long time since she had been in a church. Over the past year, the church had become a place of sadness for her, as she buried her mother, then her stepfather.

  But now a sense of peace washed over her. It seemed that what she had avoided was exactly what she had needed.

  She moved slowly down the aisle toward Carew’s coffin. Light from the waning sun shot prisms down through the stained-glass mural behind the altar.

  Rosalyn stopped to admire the beautiful winged angel, her face turned up to heaven, a beam of white light shining down on her, her arms upraised as though taking the souls of the dead to where they belonged.

  “She reminds me of you,” a voice said.

  Rosalyn whirled around, her heart missing a beat as she saw Derek standing in the open doorway.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as he walked down the aisle toward her.

  “I’ve come to see Carew.”

  “But…didn’t Margery tell you that I wanted to be alone, to pay my respects?”

  “I wanted to see you. You’ve been avoiding me, and I’d like to know why.”

  Rosalyn turned back to Carew’s casket and laid her hand on the closed top. “I’ve had much on my mind.”

  “So have I,” he said, coming up behind her so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Don’t you think we should talk about what happened the other day?”

  Rosalyn sidestepped away. “This is not the place.”

  “Then tell me where it is, and I’ll be there. We need to discuss this.”

  “Why? You didn’t have to say what you said the other night—so why did you?”

  He regarded her uncomprehendingly. “Why does any man ask a woman to be his wife?”

  He moved toward her but stopped when she put out her hand. “Can’t you just forget what you said?” she asked, almost pleadingly. “Why can’t we just enjoy each other’s company until I have to leave?”

  “You mean you’d prefer to remain my mistress, rather than my wife? Is that it?”

  Rosalyn swallowed the dry lump in her throat. “Yes.”

  A muscle worked in Derek’s jaw. “So that’s the reason you’ve been avoiding me, because I want more from you?”

  She nodded.

  He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Bloody priceless. Here I’ve been artfully dodging the bonds of wedded bliss, and as soon as I meet the woman who could change all that, she’s dodging wedded bliss.”

  He raked a hand through his hair and stared off at the stained-glass image of the angel. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  Rosalyn should have felt relieved, yet she wanted him to retract his words, even though she knew this was for the best.

  “Good night,” Rosalyn murmured. “I will see you in the morning.”

  She had only taken a few steps when he said, “I’ll see you well before the morning, my lady.”

  The tone of his voice had Rosalyn slowly pivoting to face him. “Excuse me?”

  “Midnight seems a fitting hour.”

  “For what?” she asked, an uneasy feeling welling up inside her.

  “For making love,” he replied. “You are my mistress, if you’ll recall.”

  He strode down the aisle to disappear into the dusky night.

  Rosalyn paced her bedroom for an hour before Derek’s appointed arrival. She had sent him a note shortly after she had returned from their confrontation in the chapel, explaining that she had a headache and would not be able to receive him.

  His reply came within minutes. He would arrive at midnight, as planned, and would certainly see to her well-being. He would not be able to sleep knowing she felt less than ideal.

  In other words, he didn’t believe her ploy, and he intended to hold her to her own damning words.

  Rosalyn contemplated the idea of meeting him in her most unappealing wrapper and nightgown with her slippers on, thinking that might deter him.

  “Not likely,” she muttered to herself. He would undoubtedly take her anyway.

  The thought made Rosalyn shiver. No matter what else might stand between them, in bed they were perfect together. She could never have imagined the feelings that Derek evoked, how skillfully he could make her body sing. And to her wonder, it seemed she did the same thing to him. It had given her the courage to be even bolder, which had garnered the most amazing benefits.

  Fanning her face with her hand, Rosalyn moved to the French doors and opened them wide, allowing the cool night wind to dance across her skin.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. A calm came over her, and she knew that she would not deny Derek. She didn’t want to fight with him—or fight what she was feeling. She wanted to enjoy whatever time they had together. She would give him memories, just as she would be taking her own away with her.

  At peace, she opened her eyes…and fell back against the chair, a scream building in her throat as a hand clamped down over her mouth to silence her.

  “How delightful. My darling stepsister has been found. You can’t imagine how worried I’ve been about you. But I’m here now to take care of you, so don’t fight me. I’m not very pleasant when I’m angry.”

  As Calder glared down at her, Rosalyn felt her body grow numb, realizing, as she began to slump against the chair, that he held an odd-smelling rag over her mouth and nose.

  Then the world went dark.

  Derek stared into the flickering flames in the hearth, his feet tossed up on the desk in his s
tudy and a warmed brandy in his hand. To the world he might look like a man well pleased with himself, but inside he was seething and confused.

  What the hell was Rosalyn doing to him? Whenever they were together, it seemed like she cared for him, that she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. There had been a connection from the moment they met. He knew she was the one.

  He didn’t want to believe she didn’t feel the same way. He was sure there was something she wasn’t telling him, something that made her keep him at a distance. But what?

  If another man held her heart, why would she have given her virginity to Derek? It didn’t seem likely; Rosalyn had too much integrity.

  Tonight, he would find out what was keeping her from marrying him.

  The creak of the door hinges brought Derek’s gaze swinging around. He’d thought everyone was abed, especially this particular visitor.

  “Nate?” Derek could see tears in the young boy’s eyes.

  He moved to where Nate stood, hunkering down in front of him and taking his thin arms gently in his hands. “What’s the matter?”

  “Are you my father?”

  Had the lad speared him with a pickax, Derek could not have been more stunned.

  He lifted the boy into his arms and sat in a chair beside the fireplace, settling Nathaniel across his lap and brushing the hair from the boy’s forehead.

  “No,” he replied gently. “I’m not your father, Nate.”

  Nate stared at him with big brown eyes. “But I heard Mr. Darius say ye were.”

  Everything inside Derek stilled. “You did? To whom?”

  “He was talkin’ to Mama. He yelled at her that she was to keep the secret or go to her grave with it.”

  “When was this?”

  “A little while after Miss Rosalyn and Mister Ethan went lookin’ for ye.”

  In all the years Caroline had been at Castle Gray, he couldn’t remember Darius even acknowledging her, let alone speaking to her. To Darius, servants and children were neither to be seen nor heard.

  Had Nate misinterpreted something he heard? Darius knew Derek was not Nathaniel’s father; he had been abroad the year before and after the boy’s birth.

  “Is that why you’re up so late?” Derek asked.

  Nate shook his head. “Mama’s gone.”

  Derek frowned. “Gone?”

  The boy nodded. “All day. She kissed me on the forehead and told me to be a good boy, and then walked away. She hasn’t come back. Do you know where she is?”

  Derek was going to have Darius’s head. His uncle’s job was to keep on top of the things Derek couldn’t.

  “No, but we’ll find her. Don’t worry. Now why don’t we get you back to bed, all right?”

  Nate yawned and rubbed his eyes.

  Derek held him close, feeling comforted as Nate dropped his head onto his shoulder. The lad’s small fingers gripped Derek’s shirt.

  The clock on the mantel chimed midnight as Derek strode to the back stairs to return the child to his room. His rendezvous with Rosalyn would have to be postponed, but she would understand. She had grown quite fond of Nathaniel; it was hard not to.

  Soon he arrived at Nate’s bedroom. A stubby candle burned beside the bed, an unseen draft of air making it flicker. The bed opposite Nathaniel’s was conspicuously empty. Where had Caroline gone? And why? Had something frightened her?

  Derek gently laid the boy down on the bed, tucking the covers around his shoulders.

  “Sleepy?” Derek murmured as he stared down at Nate’s drowsy brown eyes.

  The boy nodded. “Will ye stay until I fall asleep?”

  Derek didn’t have the heart to deny the request, even though he was anxious to find his uncle. “Of course.”

  Nathaniel was trying valiantly to keep his eyes open; he seemed not to want to let Derek out of his sight.

  “I’m not leaving,” Derek quietly assured him.

  Just as it looked like the boy was finally asleep, Nate murmured in a blurry voice, “If I was your son, would ye love me?”

  The question hit Derek square in the chest. “I would love you with all my heart, just as I do now. You’ll never be alone, Nate. You’ll always have me.”

  Nate smiled as his eyes closed.

  Derek leaned over and kissed him, then rose and blew out the candle.

  Quietly, he closed the door. If Darius was asleep, he would soon be awake. This could not wait until the morning.

  Twenty-one

  R osalyn blinked open her eyes. Her head felt fuzzy, and she couldn’t get her gaze to focus clearly on the space above her. Everything was dark.

  She frowned, trying to recall if she had drunk anything with her dinner. Her body had never handled alcohol well, which was why she generally stayed away from it. But perhaps her nerves had needed calming?

  As she struggled toward consciousness, images began to crowd in on her—Calder standing in her room. Had it been a dream? Her stepbrother could not possibly be within Castle Gray’s walls.

  Her imagination had been running rampant for months. She thought she had gotten it under control. Obviously she hadn’t, if she was still having such flights of fancy.

  Rosalyn tried to sit up, but her limbs felt wooden. She concentrated, but could manage no more than minimal movement before she was hampered.

  She realized she was not in her room, not in her bed—and something was keeping her immobile.

  Shaking off the cobwebs enshrouding her mind, she forced herself awake. She pressed her hands upward against a hard, unyielding surface, her mind working feverishly. The last thing she remembered was entering the chapel and seeing Carew’s coffin.

  Reality swamped her.

  She was locked inside Carew’s coffin.

  Panic flooded her veins. She screamed for help and pounded against the lid, the wood battering her hands but not budging, the sound of her terror filling her ears.

  “Calm yourself, dear stepsister,” came Calder’s cold voice. “I was merely acquainting you with your final resting place. I thought you might like a taste of what is to come.”

  In the next moment, the upper half of the casket opened, spilling in muted candlelight and the scent of musty air. Rosalyn inhaled frantically.

  “What have you done?” she demanded in a hoarse voice. Her hands and feet were bound.

  Black eyes stared down at her with heartless regard. “I merely substituted one body for another. It was not all that difficult. I plied the old codger with one drink after the next at the local tavern, until he had given me the information I wanted. Then I slit his throat in the alley outside. I knew his bloody lordship would have the man’s body sent home. I merely put myself in his place at the last moment, and here I am.”

  “You’re evil,” Rosalyn rasped out, anguished at knowing that Carew’s body would most likely never be found.

  “Some might think that. Certainly you and my father. My own flesh and blood didn’t trust me—a shame.”

  “You gave him reason.”

  “No reason!” he snapped viciously, grabbing her shoulders as though he meant to shake her. With a curse, he snatched his hands back. “What would you know about it? He treated you like a princess. Anything darling Rosalyn wanted, she got. Your mother ruined my life. She thought she would blot out my existence entirely by having a child, as though the two of them were in the prime of their life.”

  “They were.”

  “They weren’t! There was no room in my father’s life for another child.”

  “That wasn’t for you to decide.”

  “But I certainly did something about it, didn’t I?”

  Rosalyn stared at him, horror squeezing her chest as she realized what he was saying. “William?” she said in a stricken voice.

  “Yes. Dear, sweet William. He was such an adorable little tot. Such a shame he took a spill off the cliffs. Your mother should have known better than to have left him alone. She should have demanded that my father return to London, w
here such a thing could not have occurred. She had no one to blame but herself, and she did that admirably after the lad’s untimely demise, didn’t she? She never quite resurfaced from her grief. It really was too bad.”

  “You killed him!”

  Calder shrugged. “Let’s just say he was born under an unlucky star—as were you. Fate really is fickle. If only your mother had chosen Lord Keaton rather than my father, she might be alive now, and you might not be about to die.”

  “But why?” Rosalyn asked, her mind moving at a frantic pace as the minutes remaining in her life ticked away. He would not be deterred now. She had to keep him talking.

  “Why do I want you dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had you and your precious mother never come into my father’s life, I would be very wealthy. Consider that: young, titled, and bloody rich. Why might I loathe you for changing that? If you can’t figure it out, I guess you’re stupider than I thought.”

  “Why couldn’t you just accept that your father wanted a new start?”

  “Because he didn’t deserve one. He had a wife; she died. I was his heir. No one else should have gotten a single shilling. Certainly not you.”

  “He left you with plenty. Three estates, a working mine, money.”

  Calder leaned down close to her face, his breath warm and foul-smelling. “He should have left me everything. He sealed your fate when he gave you a trust fund.”

  “You can have it.”

  “That’s what I intend, my dear. You took me for a fool—that was your first mistake. You had to know I’d hunt you down, and shouldn’t have put me through all this effort. Your lover didn’t help matters by throwing Bow Street runners on my tail—or his bloodhound friends. They were worse than the law; one actually came close to catching me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has discovered my destination and is closing in as we speak. So I hope you don’t mind if I make your end quick. I can’t promise it will be painless, however. You did cause me quite a bit of trouble.”

  “Calder, listen to me.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t the time,” he remarked as he extracted a small knife from his jacket pocket, the metal blade glinting wickedly in the light. “Hold still now. I wouldn’t want to slip and have to start all over again.”