"Obviously. Or you wouldn't have needed to sneak away." She marched past him. "Perhaps I’ll have a look for myself."
He slapped his palm against the door. "Dinna go in there."
"Why not? Have you something to hide? A rumpled bed, perhaps?"
"That room is forbidden to you." "This is my house now, too. I've a right to go wherever I please."
"The house is mine" he corrected. "And you'll keep out where you are no' invited. It shouldna matter when you'll be gone from here soon enough."
"I've no intention of leaving."
"Then think again," he said bluntly. "There's no point to us living together. Tomorrow, you'll go awa' back to London with your father."
Shock reverberated through Helen. She clasped her hands tightly to steady herself. "You can't toss me out. I won't go."
"Suit yourself, then. But you'd best get out before winter makes the roads too treacherous for travel." In the candleglow, his dark blue eyes showed no regret, only an embittered dislike.
Of course. He feared she would behave the same as his mother. The realization eased the sting of his rejection, and without thinking, she reached up and caressed his jaw, sliding her hand to his temple. His skin was taut to her fingertips, his hair like rough silk. Looking up into his stern features, she imagined the lonely little boy he had once been. And it reminded her of why, in the end, she had spoken her vows to him. Because she ached to reach the fiercely guarded softness she had glimpsed inside the virile man.
Her husband.
She pressed herself closer to him, flushed with the desire to bring light and affection into his bleak life. "I don't mind the winter, Alex," she said in a sultry tone.
"I'm sure we can find ways to keep each other warm."
His nostrils flared. His chest expanded against her breasts. His moody eyes glittered down at her, and she knew with reckless delight that he still wanted her. He too wanted to make the best of this marriage
Suddenly he thrust her away. "Nay. I willna risk having a child by you, Lady Helen. So heed me well. I will never, ever touch you again."
Chapter Seven
"Everything will be fine, Papa."
Helen stood with her father on the front porch the next morning. His black traveling coach waited on the drive, beneath the autumn splendor of a huge oak tree. Except for the mountaintops, the snow had melted and the roads were clear. He was taking Abbott back to England so the coachman could recuperate there. Cox and Miss Gilbert would stay on with Helen.
Lord Hathaway gripped her hands. "I mislike leaving you here," he said for the tenth time. "Perhaps I acted too hastily in forcing this marriage."
I will never, ever touch you again.
"Of course you didn't," she said, giving her father a sunny, reassuring smile. "You wanted to protect my honor. And I love you for that."
Worry deepened the lines on his dignified features. "I know the MacBrut can provide for you," Hathaway said, as if trying to convince himself. "I'd stayed the night at this house before setting out for his castle. His people led me to believe he is a fine, worthy man."
He searched her face, and Helen maintained her determined smile. The woeful state of this marriage was her problem, not his. "Yes, Papa, you've told me. And I know Alex is well regarded in the village."
He's also affluent from lucrative shipping investments. And you'll have income of your own. The MacBrut insisted the marriage settlement remain in your name. That proves he's a generous man."
It proved he wanted nothing to do with English money. "Then I shan't want for anything." She swallowed hard. "Although I shall miss you, Papa."
"And I, you."
He pulled her into a tight hug that Helen wished would last forever. For as long as she could remember, Papa had always been there for her. He had been her companion on journeys to far-flung places. Now she would be lucky to see him once a year. The magnitude of that realization threatened to shatter her, but she held herself together for his sake. He mustn't guess that she had spent her wedding night alone, that she had lain awake for hours in the four-poster bed, listening to the creakings of the strange house and wishing for the warm comfort of her husband.
When her father drew away, his eyes glistened with moisture. She fought back her own tears as he gave her one last gruff kiss. Then he strode down the steps and entered the coach.
Helen stood waving, smiling bravely as the vehicle started off into the majestic hills. Only when the coach vanished around a bend in the road did she let the tears fall. Warm, wet drops rolled down her cold cheeks. As if sensing her unhappiness, M'lord bounded up the steps and whined. She picked up the dog, hugging his small form as he nudged her with his cold nose.
Leaning against the stone pillar, she blotted her face with the corner of her apricot cashmere shawl. It was senseless to weep over matters of her own making. Better she should carve a place for herself here in Scotland. Of all the lands she'd visited, she loved these wild, windswept mountains the best.
The door opened behind her. She stiffened, bracing herself for Alex's ridicule. She hadn't seen him since the previous night when he had issued his ugly ultimatum.
I will never, ever touch you again.
A hand gently patted her back. But it was only Miss Gilbert, her plump face soft with concern. "You mustn't be distraught. His lordship will be back to visit. And surely you and the laird will go to England sometime."
Alex would sooner journey to the fiery pits of Hades.
And Helen refused to leave the Highlands without him. To do so would only prove his cynical prediction. Instead, she would wear him down with her persistence. Time would show him that she intended to stay.
Holding her beloved dog, Helen took a deep breath of crisp autumn air. Yes. Time alone might unlock the bars around her husband's heart.
Helen spent the rest of the day in brisk activity. Guided by Flora, she toured the house, room by room, assessing the antique linens in the cabinets and making lists of items to be purchased in Edinburgh. She would need drapery patterns and paint samples, furniture catalogs and upholstery swatches. It wasn't until mid-afternoon, when the housekeeper went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, that Helen came upon the closed door.
The one room Alex had forbidden her to enter.
She meant to walk away, to allow him his juvenile secrets, at least for the moment. But a muffled, whining voice issued from inside the chamber.
Frowning, she pressed her ear to the door, but could not make out the words beyond that the speaker was a man. Every now and then, she heard her husband's deep voice in reply. His tone had a patient, gentle quality, almost like a parent soothing a hurt child.
Was this Alex's office? Was he placating a disgruntled tenant?
Her fingers touched the brass door handle, but she resisted the impulse to enter. Men didn't care for women to interfere in matters of business. She intended to win her husband over, not irritate him. There would be time enough later to satisfy her curiosity.
Turning, she started down the passageway. An agonized howl came from the closed room. The sound sent prickles down Helen's spine.
Instinctively she responded to the cry of pain. She raced to the door and wrenched it open, lifting her skirts as she hastened inside.
She found herself in a long, spacious chamber lined by shelves full of apothecary jars and life-sized drawings of skeletons and anatomical forms. The tall windows let in the sunshine. In contrast to the starkness elsewhere in the house, this room contained a comfortable clutter of medicine cabinets, an examining table, and several cots. And Helen could not have been more surprised to discover a sorcerer's cave.
In the center of the room, Alex bent over a man who was stretched out in a leather chair with his white-knuckled hands gripping the arms. A wooden table held a host of metal instruments along with linen bandages and various bottles and jars. Alex straightened, holding a wooden drill-like implement with a wicked-looking hook on the end.