The Pleasure of the Rose Page 6

  He squinted at her, appearing puzzled by the question. “Why, in the attic, mum, like you said. I’m taking them to the duke.”

  Rosalyn bit down on her lip to keep from smiling. Piled high in the old valet’s arms was a red silk coat, purple silk breeches, and a white neckcloth with a lace jabot. On top of it all was a white wig, tied at the back with a big black bow. And the duke thought the pink drawers were a problem.

  “Oh, thank you, Barnaby. I’m sure the duke will be so pleased that he finally has something to wear.” Rosalyn hurried away before she burst out laughing.

  • • •

  For many nights sleep escaped Rosalyn, both her body and her mind ever in turmoil. Sometimes she fell hard into a dream. One of the most disturbing was the one where she was drifting along in a boat and she wasn’t afraid. Odd. She had been afraid of the water ever since Fiona drowned. But here she was, floating in a small boat, the wind in her hair. She was cuddling a child close to her bosom. Was it Fiona? The child smiled up at her, eyes so dark they appeared bottomless. Mama, it mouthed; it appeared to have no voice.

  She drew the blanket away from the babe’s head and saw that it had an abundance of thick, black hair. A tiny round earring glinted from one delicate earlobe.

  Mama, it mouthed again, yet still no voice sounded, but the smile widened and a dimple appeared in one cheek. The bairn extended one small, pudgy hand, and suddenly she saw Fiona’s hand, clutching her favorite doll, the one she’d called Little Fifi.

  Mama!

  I’m here! I’m here. But she couldn’t reach the baby, for suddenly it was floating away from her, away.

  Mama!

  This time the sound reached Rosalyn’s ears.

  “I’m here!” she shouted.

  The dream came so often she just knew it meant something. Each time she woke, she would sit bolt upright in bed. She would pant, her heart drumming her ribs, the words I’m here still echoing in the dark room. Many mornings she woke crying.

  Chapter Five

  As January melted into February, the savage duke recuperated slowly. He still taunted her, but she was becoming accustomed to it. She often found him sitting outside, still wearing some of Geddes’s clothing and wrapped in his grandfather’s old fur greatcoat. Occasionally someone from the village spotted him sitting outside in a comfortable chair and stopped, always asking permission to do so. Rosalyn noticed that the duke was welcoming and never rebuffed his visitors. She commented on that one afternoon after a local crofter had left, and he said, “How else am I supposed to get to know these people? When I’m strong enough, I’ll spend as much time in the village and around the island as I can. I don’t want them to be afraid of me.”

  He took infrequent walks around the grounds, but that appeared to tire him out. He ate what was offered, never demanding anything special. Each day he seemed stronger, and when the doctor finally came to call the duke told him he didn’t need his services, for he was well taken care of. Rosalyn was actually relieved.

  Rosalyn was haunted by Geddes’s suggestion that she marry the duke. Each day the ultimatum hung over her head, briefly dipping down to engulf her senses. The dreams were not making any possible decision easier. Fen was the only one who knew the whole story of her horrific marriage, the whole story about Fiona. But only now did Rosalyn feel she could leave the castle for any period of time. Not only had the duke monopolized her time, she’d had to hire and teach new help how to handle the chores required of them. On top of that, Fen had gone to the mainland for a spell and only returned last week.

  She spotted Evan, the stable boy, in the distance and waved him over. Evan, who had come to the castle after losing his family at sea, or so the story went, was a young lad of perhaps thirteen or fourteen—no one knew for sure, although to Rosalyn’s knowledge no one had ever asked him. He was a handsome laddie, though, with curly black hair and startling blue eyes. He stopped in front of her, slightly out of breath. “The bitch is close to whelping, ma’am.” His eyes shone with excitement.

  “She is?” Rosalyn paused. “Poor thing has been carrying around her load far too long.” Sima, the beautiful wolfhound, had been bred with a crofter’s stud, whose owner only wanted a male pup in return.

  “I was going to ask for my gig, but if Sima is ready…”

  Evan assured her, “I know what to do. ’Tis anxious I am to see those pups.”

  “I haven’t forgotten I promised you the pick of the litter,” Rosalyn said. “We’d better hope there’s more than one male in the bunch.”

  “Aye, but I’ll take a female if I have to.” He grinned, showing even white teeth. He disappeared into the stable and returned with the gig. Like a young gentleman, he aided Rosalyn into the seat.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Evan. I know I can trust you’ll take care of everything.”

  With a happy nod, he jogged back to the stables.

  As she rode toward Fen’s she recalled the old laird’s insistence that the boy sleep in the castle—perhaps not upstairs in one of the wings, but somewhere warm and away from the weather. Since that time, Evan had been calling the room behind the kitchen, the one with a wall that was on the other side of the fireplace, his own.

  It took only a few minutes to get to the snug cottage at the end of a lane near the outskirts of the northern village. Fen was at the door before Rosalyn even secured the reins. Once inside, Rosalyn removed her cape and gloves and then followed Fen, whose loose cough was muffled by a handkerchief, into her sunny little parlor.

  “Do you feel better now that you’re home? I know you dislike traveling, like Geddes.” Fen curled up on her Persian divan. “I’m fine, but you’ll never believe who showed up here earlier.”

  “Who?” Rosalyn sat on the faded velvet settee.

  “Angus MacNab, the nasty drunk.”

  Angus MacNab and his wife, Nessa, owned a pub in the village. Fen had helped Nessa when Angus had hurt her and Angus had not forgiven Fen for interfering. When Fen first settled on the island and MacNab discovered she was a nurse, he caused her as much trouble as he could, inciting the village men to fits of frenzy by plying them with ale and claiming she was a witch. Although often easily riled, most island men knew better than to listen to Angus MacNab.

  Alarmed, Rosalyn asked, “Where was Reggie?”

  “I’d sent him for a few supplies. Obviously that bastard MacNab saw him in the village and decided it was a good time to tell me what’s on his whisky-soaked mind.”

  “What happened?”

  “Reggie showed up and threatened Angus with an ax. Angus was still cursing at me as he ran away, claiming I was going straight to hell for interfering in his life.”

  “Undoubtedly he knows hell well. Ungrateful sot,” Rosalyn mumbled.

  “So tell me,” Fenella began, “how are things at the castle?”

  Rosalyn rested her head against the back of the settee and briefly closed her eyes.

  “That bad?”

  Rosalyn looked at her friend. “Geddes wants me to marry the duke.” It was the first time in nearly a month that she’d said the words out loud. They still sounded ridiculous.

  “What?” Fen’s laughter was loud and hard. When she’d composed herself, she said, “That’s priceless. The trip from America must have addled him.”

  “Aye, I’ve told him more than once that his brain has turned to pudding.” Rosalyn rose, poured herself a cup of tea, placed a scone on a small plate, and sat down again. “The will states the heir must produce an heir of his own within a year of assuming the title, or the money goes to the nasty great-nephew.”

  “Fergus? Good God…” Fen made a face.

  “My thoughts exactly. But I can’t do it, Fen.”

  Fen studied her, and then said, “What else did he say?”

  “He had the gall, the absolute gall, to suggest I have a child to replace Fiona.” Even now it made Rosalyn’s blood heat up.

  Fen didn’t say anything.

  “No one can replac
e Fiona,” Rosalyn said fiercely. “No one.”

  “It’s been three years. You were a good mother. You should have more children.”

  “Fen!”

  “Not to replace Fiona, of course, but for the joy of it, Roz. Think of the joy. Maybe he just thought you might like to have another baby. You remember what it was like to love a child.”

  Aye, she remembered the love, the all-consuming love she’d had for her precious Fiona. How does one not love a life so wee, so helpless, and so perfect? Even now she could almost feel that precious bundle in her arms, nursing at her breast, pressing that small fist against her skin. Even now it made her weak to think of her loss.

  But a baby with the savage duke? “I’ve had a recurring dream that I had a bairn. I would hold it briefly, and then it would float away and I couldn’t get to it. It kept calling to me and I would answer, but…” She pressed her fingers against her eyes. “You know, so many times I think of Fiona and that day. She must have been so very, very frightened. First to have Leod whisk her away like he did, then…then to be forced into a boat. She never liked the water, did you know that?”

  She picked up her cup and then returned it to the saucer, her fingers shaking. “She didn’t like it at all. When we went to the beach she would clutch my hand so hard, like she was afraid the wind was going to lift her up and toss her into the waves. I keep thinking how she must have called out for me, over and over again that day, and I wasn’t there to help her.”

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the harsh memory still as painful as an open sore. “I had always been there for her, Fen. Always. And that time when she truly needed me I wasn’t, and because I wasn’t, she died.”

  Fen was studying her with shrewd eyes. “Don’t do this to yourself. There was nothing you could do.”

  Rosalyn tried to get control of her emotions. “I know, I know. But I still think about her fear, her terror. Poor wee darling. And don’t tell me not to reflect on it, because it doesn’t work.”

  They sat quietly for a few moments. Then Fen said, “As bad as you say the new duke is, he can’t be as bad as Leod.”

  “You’re right, of course, but I just don’t know if I can go through with another marriage. When Geddes suggested it, my first reaction was anger. I railed at him for even thinking such a foolish thing. But now it’s haunting me, even in my sleep.”

  Fen picked at her scone, popped a small piece that contained a currant into her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s not so insane. But then I haven’t met the duke.”

  “Whether I agree or not isn’t the point. He, himself, might have something to say about it.”

  “I think you should do it.”

  Surprised, Rosalyn said, “Marry the savage duke?”

  Fen’s lips curled into a sly smile. “The savage duke. I do like that.”

  Rosalyn had to laugh. “Geddes is afraid I’ll call him that to his face.”

  “He might like it.”

  “Aye, he might,” Rosalyn agreed, remembering his penchant for barbaric nudity.

  “At first I thought the whole idea was ridiculous, but now I think you should do it. I’d absolutely hate to see you alone for the rest of your days. You deserve children and someone to love you.”

  “Someone to love me? That’s hardly likely to happen, Fen. The man and I can barely tolerate one another as it is.”

  “If he’s half the man his grandfather was—”

  “He’ll be half man, half lecherous coot,” Rosalyn finished with a laugh.

  “All right, so the old duke wasn’t exactly a pillar of sanctity and wholesomeness. But, from what everyone says, Shamus was a good man, and it stands to reason that the young duke would be like his father.”

  “I don’t know…” Rosalyn gnawed at her lower lip.

  “What? What is it?” Fen asked.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Did I tell you that he threatened to strut around the castle nude if I didn’t find him suitable clothing?”

  “Yes, well, if I remember right, you burned his clothes,” Fen reminded her.

  She recalled their heated exchange. “Aye, but it’s all so ridiculous, don’t you think?”

  Fen shrugged. “Not really. Someone will marry him, why can’t it be you?”

  Rosalyn could think of many reasons, but didn’t respond. “I need to get back. Thank you for the tea, and for listening.”

  Fen walked her to the door. “I have to take a trip to Ayr next week.”

  “Again?” Rosalyn asked.

  “Aye, another piece of business, a loose end, to do with Ewan’s affairs. It still amazes me how much I didn’t know about the man even though we’d been married. But Roz, do think about marrying the duke.”

  I am, she thought, I am. Rosalyn said goodbye quickly and got into her gig. As she left the village road, she waved at Reggie, who was chopping wood. She was halfway back to the castle path when Angus MacNab blocked the road.

  Concerned, Rosalyn asked, “What do you want?”

  “It’s ye and that woman! What I do with my Nessa is no one’s business but mine.”

  Rosalyn felt the anger rising in her chest. “Her arm was broken. She came to us. We helped her.”

  “Ye stay away from my wife!” He lurched forward and grabbed her.

  She fell sideways, striking her temple on the frame of the gig. She saw stars and raised her crop in self-defense.

  “Stay out of my business,” he repeated, and as he ran away he added, “Or ye’ll be sorry!”

  The threat was real, she knew. Frightened, Rosalyn righted herself and snapped the reins across the bay’s rump. He reared up, almost tossing her from the seat, and took off toward home.

  Her heart was still pounding when she pulled the mount to a stop in front of the castle. She fought to catch her breath. She touched her temple. There was blood on her glove. She took out her handkerchief and pressed it hard against the wound. Her hands were shaking.

  “Are you all right?”

  The duke’s voice startled her; she quickly tucked the bloody handkerchief into the sleeve of her cape. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He turned her face toward him. “You’ve been hurt.”

  “It’s nothing, truly.” She pulled off her gloves.

  “You’re shaking.”

  She attempted to escape, but just then Geddes bounded out of the castle.

  “Rosalyn. You’re hurt. What happened?”

  “It’s nothing.” She clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking.

  “It’s something, Geddes, her temple is bleeding.” The duke’s voice was stern. “What happened?”

  Feeling trapped by the two of them, she admitted the truth. “I was attacked on the way home from Fen’s.”

  “Who did this?” the duke demanded.

  With reluctance she said, “Angus MacNab.”

  The duke turned to Geddes. “Who is this MacNab?”

  With men on either side of her, she went into the castle. “He owns one of the pubs in the village,” Geddes answered. “I told you so, didn’t I? Didn’t I? I knew you would get hurt. And you were coming from Fenella Begley’s cottage, weren’t you?” Geddes was beside himself.

  “Geddes, I could have been coming from anywhere and he might have stopped me.”

  “But you weren’t coming from just anywhere.” He drove his fingers through his hair and swore. “That woman will be the death of me.”

  “Who is Fenella Begley?” the duke inquired.

  Rosalyn hung up her cape and unwound the scarf from around her neck. “She’s a nurse and my friend.” She glared at Geddes. “I…I would have had her look in on you, but she herself was ill at the time.”

  “But, MacNab is—”

  “He’s just an ill-tempered sot and a bully; I’ll be fine.” But this was the first time she had ever been physically attacked, and she was shaken.

  The duke stood by the door. “Why don’t I put your gig away? But later I want more
information on this MacNab.”

  Rosalyn nodded her thanks, and when the duke was gone, Geddes made sure he was out of hearing distance before he said, “Well, if this doesn’t change your mind about marrying the duke, I don’t know what will.” He took her cloak and tossed it on a chair.

  “Please. Not now.” Rosalyn stopped at the mirror. There was a stream of dark blood on her temple, cheek, and jaw. She dabbed at her wound with her handkerchief. “I refuse to let a nasty, small-minded drunk drive me into marriage with any man, especially a stranger who is completely oblivious as to what you’re trying to do to him.”

  “Good God, Rosalyn, this is only the beginning. Weren’t you frightened? You should have been.”

  Her heart pounded still. “Yes. I was frightened.”

  “Next time he might startle the horse, and you could end up dead.”

  She would not admit that she’d nearly lost control of the gig as it was. “Don’t be overly dramatic.” But she knew he was right. Things could escalate. Some people weren’t happy unless they drew blood. And it appeared Angus MacNab was anxious to spill someone’s. Fen had Reggie for protection, but she must warn them.

  Geddes removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rosalyn, my dear, I know all of this is quite distressing, but considering what’s just happened, please, I beg you, reconsider.”

  But he didn’t have to beg. She had been doing a lot of thinking and she was weakening. “What if he doesn’t want to marry me? We don’t get on very well, you know. And anyway, he just might prefer a maiden without the baggage I have.”

  “Baggage? What baggage?”

  “Oh,” she said, impatient, “I’m a widow.”

  With a wave of his hand, Geddes brushed the comment away. “You are a beautiful woman.”

  “And just tell me how you’re going to approach him with this ridiculous scheme of yours? You can’t saunter up to him and merely say, ‘Well, old chap, you need an heir and my sister is fertile’—”

  “Of course not,” he assured her. He cleared his throat. “I have a plan; don’t concern yourself.”