Teresa Medeiros - [FairyTale 02] (28 page)

“Look at your clansmen, Bernard. Aye, they made a mistake just as my father did—a terrible mistake. And they’ve been paying for it ever since. Not because of your father’s curse, but because of their own shame.” The villagers shuffled their feet nervously, as if unsure whether to stay or bolt. “By returning to Ballybliss, you’ve given them pride in their name and a hope for the future. And you have it within your power to give them something even more precious than pride or hope. You can give them mercy!”

“Damn it to hell, woman!” Bernard roared, his mask slipping to reveal a face twisted in a spasm of grief. “I don’t have any mercy left to give!”

Gwendolyn rose and moved to stand between the two men she loved. “Very well, then. If it’s blood you want, then it’s blood you’ll have. Mine.”

Bernard’s eyes narrowed. “Just what are you offering me?”

Gwendolyn shrugged. “What else? Revenge? One life for another.”

As he began to move toward her, claymore in hand, Glynnis made a choked sound and Kitty buried her face
in Tupper’s coat. Izzy unfolded her arms, but Gwendolyn stayed the glowering maidservant with a warning shake of her head. As if unable to watch what was going to happen next, Izzy abruptly turned and ducked back into the manor.

Only Gwendolyn watched unflinchingly as Bernard approached, because she knew something the rest of them did not.

She knew the Dragon’s heart.

Despite her faith in that heart, she had to set her chin a little higher to keep it from quivering. It was as if she were once again bound to that stake in the castle courtyard, watching her destiny melt out of the shadows.

Then Bernard tossed the claymore to a startled Lachlan.

He stretched out his hand. Gwendolyn was a breath away from taking it when that hand closed like a vise around her wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, staring stupidly at her captive arm.

“Taking you up on your offer.” He drew her hard against him, then leaned down until his lips were less than a breath away from her own. “If I can’t have your father, Miss Wilder, then by God, I’ll have you.”

A
S
BERNARD
STARTED toward the cliff, giving a dazed Gwendolyn no choice but to follow, Nessa thrust herself into their path.

“Forgive me for interfering, m’laird,” she said with a flutter of her silky lashes, “but if it’s revenge you want, then I’m the lass for you. Our dear, sweet Gwennie has already suffered enough at your hands.”

“How very kind of you to notice,” Bernard replied.

Glynnis appeared out of nowhere. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nessa. As the eldest, I should be the one allowed to atone for Papa’s sins.” She flattened one hand against Bernard’s chest. “I can assure you, m’laird, that I’m fully prepared to slake your hunger for vengeance.”

Bernard gently returned her hand to her. “While I find your concern for your sister’s welfare quite… um, touching, I’m afraid such a sacrifice won’t be necessary.”

Offering each of the crestfallen sisters a curt nod, he
continued toward the cliff, his fingers laced through Gwendolyn’s. He’d barely taken three steps when another obstacle appeared in their path. Although the top of the man’s graying head barely came to Bernard’s breastbone, he was armed with an expression of dogged self-righteousness and an enormous black Bible.

“Should I choose a second and send for my pistols, sir? “ Bernard asked, coming to a halt. “It won’t be dawn for a few more hours, but perhaps we could pass the time with a reading from one of the Psalms.”

Reverend Throckmorton’s hand trembled as he reached to adjust his spectacles, but his reedy voice was as sharp as a whip. “The pistols won’t be necessary, lad, unless you persist in this madness. As the spiritual authority appointed to this village by both the Crown and our almighty God, I cannot in good conscience allow you to drag this poor child back to that castle for your own nefarious purposes. She’s already spent a fortnight in your company without benefit of a chaperone or the church’s blessing. Her reputation may have been soiled beyond repair, but her soul might still be salvageable.”

“I can assure you,” Bernard said, his voice just silky enough to make several of the nearby villagers exchange apprehensive glances, “that you won’t find another soul in this village that could compare to Miss Wilder’s.”

The reverend had enough decency to look abashed. “Which is exactly why I cannot allow you to take her unless your union is sanctioned before God.”

The two men regarded each other in stony silence. Beads of sweat popped out on the reverend’s brow, but it was Bernard who finally sighed his defeat.

He drew Gwendolyn in front of him. “It seems the good reverend here is determined to give us his blessing whether we want it or not. So what say you, sweeting? Would you care to marry me?”

Bernard’s words brought Gwendolyn back to reality. She turned her wrath on the hapless minister. “How could you ask such a thing of me? He’s a coldhearted, unforgiving ogre without an ounce of mercy or compassion in his arrogant soul!”

“You heard the lady. The matter’s settled. Now if you’ll excuse us…” Bernard smoothly sidestepped the reverend, leaving him hugging his Bible to his chest.

Bernard and Gwendolyn had nearly reached the outskirts of the village when a shadow fell across their path. As Bernard looked the towering behemoth before them up and down, a speculative gleam lit his eye. If his years with the Royal Navy had taught him one thing, it was just how rare it was to find a worthy adversary.

Izzy hefted the ax in her hand to her shoulder, her curls bobbing like a nest of adders. “If ye care to keep that bonny head o’ yers, lad, ye’ll do right by my lass just as the reverend says. I might not have looked after her as well as I should’ve, but I’ll be damned if I’m goin’ to just stand by while some randy scoundrel makes off with her without so much as a by-yer-leave.”

Bernard looked over his shoulder to find the reverend’s face wreathed in an angelic smile.

Bernard swept Izzy a gallant bow. “Never let it be said that I could refuse a lady with an ax. Come, Gwendolyn.” He tucked her icy hand in the crook of his arm. “It seems you’re to become my bride.”

Gwendolyn and Bernard were married at the manor less than an hour later. Unwilling to miss a moment of the spectacle, the villagers crowded into the smoky kitchen, taking turns gawking at their chieftain and his sullen bride. Never before had there been so many heartfelt tears shed at a Highland wedding.

“It was supposed to be
my
wedding!” Kitty wailed, staining the silk of Tupper’s frock coat with her tears.

“He was supposed to be
my
husband!” Glynnis whined, honking into her lace handkerchief.

“It’s not fair! Why does Gwennie have all the luck?” Nessa sobbed, sniffing frantically to keep her own nose from turning an unsightly red. Suddenly her eyes brightened. “He may have a wife, but he’ll still have need of a mistress, won’t he?”

Tears of paternal pride kept fogging up Reverend Throckmorton’s spectacles while Marsali’s sallow baby sent up a howl that drowned out most of the vows. Even the stoic Izzy, who had planted herself firmly behind the groom just in case he decided to bolt, was seen lowering her ax long enough to dab a sentimental tear from her cheek.

Only the bride remained dry-eyed as she repeated the words that would bind her to Bernard MacCullough
for as long as they both should live. Someone had plucked the halo of roses from Kitty’s curls and placed it on Gwendolyn’s head, from where it kept sliding down over one glowering eye.

The ceremony had to be interrupted twice—once when Lachlan caught Auld Tavis sneaking out to the side yard to try and dig up the gold, and again when Gwendolyn’s father climbed out of his bed for the second time that night and wandered into the room wearing nothing but a plumed bonnet and a vacant smile.

Someone had had enough foresight to send for the carriage that was supposed to take Kitty and Tupper to Edinburgh, and it was into that carriage that Gwendolyn was bundled after Bernard had brushed her lips with a chaste kiss and promised to worship her with his body. He sank into the velvet-upholstered seat opposite her, giving the door a sharp rap to signal the driver.

As the carriage rolled into motion, the villagers sent up a rousing cheer. The joy on their faces made it plain that they believed their debt to their laird had finally been paid in full, leaving them free to get on with the business of living.

As the carriage creaked its way up the cliff path, Gwendolyn’s anger slowly gave way to apprehension. She stole a look at Bernard, finding it hard to believe that he was now her husband. Before, he could only steal what he wanted from her, but now she belonged to him body and soul.

Yet this man seemed more of a stranger to her than
the faceless creature who had once slipped into her bedchamber. Fighting shyness, she gazed out the opposite window. But the moonlight sifting through the shadows only reminded her how many hours of darkness were left before the dawn.

Bernard must have noticed her faint shiver. Tugging the pin from the MacCullough badge, he drew off his plaid and wrapped it around her shoulders. He had clung tightly to her hand while they exchanged their vows, but now that they were alone, he seemed almost reluctant to touch her.

As he settled back in the seat, Gwendolyn said, “Congratulations, M’lord Dragon. It appears you’ll have your virgin sacrifice after all.”

He returned to gazing out the window, his profile as stony as the landscape. “You should never offer a man anything you don’t want him to take. Especially—”

“—a man like you? “ Gwendolyn finished softly.

Before he could agree with her, Castle Weyrcraig loomed out of the darkness.

The carriage drew up before the gates, and a footman came running out to throw open the door. As Bernard escorted her to the castle, Gwendolyn remembered that stormy night when he had carried her through this very courtyard in his arms. And now she was returning to this place not as his captive, but as his bride.

A man garbed all in black greeted them at the door. “Good evening, sir. Shall I have Cook prepare a late supper for you and your…”—he peered down his long
patrician nose at Gwendolyn, his hesitation betraying volumes—
”lady? “

Bernard shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Jenkins. I want you and the rest of the servants gone. Take the longboats and spend the night on the ship.”

“But, sir,” the man protested, plainly scandalized by the suggestion that he abandon his duty, “what if you should require something during the night? “

Bernard rested a possessive hand against the small of Gwendolyn’s back. “I can assure you that I’m more than capable of providing my
lady
with whatever she needs.”

His words sent a dark shiver down Gwendolyn’s spine. At least before there had been Tupper. Now she would be utterly at the mercy of a man who had already confessed that he had none. Before the servant could hasten to obey his instructions, Bernard was gently, but firmly, guiding her toward the stairs.

The main staircase was no longer littered with fallen stones and draped in shadows, but swept clean and lit by two rows of flickering candles set in iron sconces. The splintered railing of the gallery had been replaced by sturdy mahogany carved with fanciful scrollwork. Gwendolyn expected to find such cozy touches everywhere they went, but as they started up the winding stairs that led to the tower, a blast of chill wind whipped right through Bernard’s plaid. The scattered rubble made it plain that no workman’s hand had been allowed to alter the desolate chaos of the stairwell.

They rounded the first turn, bringing Gwendolyn
face-to-face with the jagged hole in the north wall. Civilization might be slowly reclaiming the rest of the castle, but here the night still reigned in all of its wild and tempestuous beauty.

The stars were strewn across the brooding sky like glittering shards of ice. The waves crashed against the rocks at the foot of the cliff, churning the sea into a bubbling cauldron.

Bernard’s hand tensed, and for one dizzying moment Gwendolyn actually believed he might hurl her over that precipice to punish her for her father’s betrayal. Then his arm stole around her waist, drawing her back from the brink. Closing her eyes, she sank against him.

“Watch your step,” he murmured, urging her past the chasm.

The panel door at the top of the stairs creaked open at his touch. Moonlight streamed through the bars of the grate, casting a hazy glow over the half-melted tapers and rumpled bedclothes.

The trunk in the corner sat open, spilling out an array of lace and ribbons. Manderly’s
The Triumph of Rational Thinking
was still sprawled on the floor. Everything was exactly as Gwendolyn had left it.

“So did you save all of this for me,” she asked, “or were you hoping the villagers would leave another virgin on your doorstep?”

Bernard leaned against the panel, folding his arms over his chest. “I was rather hoping for a strumpet this time. Virgins are too damn much trouble.”

“Speaking of strumpets,” she said, drifting over to
the trunk to finger a length of ribbon, “I would have thought you’d have returned these gowns to whichever one of your light-o’-loves they once belonged to.”