The Seduction of Elliot McBride

Chapter 2

Elliot sat still, his eyes as gray as winter skies and just as cold.

Juliana realized that, when she’d blurted her question, she’d been thinking of Elliot, the teasing, warm-eyed young man of her youth. This Elliot McBride was a stranger. His light hair had been cropped close, his face hard, and thin scars laced his cheek.

This Elliot had tracked and killed other men, had been captured and held prisoner for so long that they’d all feared him dead. The ten months he’d been missing had been the worst of Juliana’s life. He’d returned to his brother’s house for a time to recover, but Juliana had not seen him. He’d visited no one, had let no one visit him, and had disappeared back to India again.

“As I say, a foolish idea,” Juliana said quickly. “You look a bit green, Elliot, so never mind. I didn’t mean to frighten the life out of you. Return to your cozy doze.”

Elliot’s gaze flicked to the bare altar and back to her, his fingers at her back hot in this chill place. “Not so foolish. I think it a grand idea.”

“Truly, pretend I said nothing. You didn’t hear me the first time anyway.”

Elliot moved his hand to cup her shoulder through the satin, his strength rippling heat through her too-cold body. “I cannae pretend I didn’t hear the second time, lass.”

“Well, I take it back. I shall remove to my father’s house and start returning the gifts. I kept meticulous notes, as I always do. Gemma smiles at me for my lists and notes, but she will thank me for them now.”

Her smile was wide, her eyes too bright, and Elliot’s heart beat so hard he was surprised it didn’t echo in the quietness.

He wanted to charge out of the pew shouting for joy, tow Juliana back into the church, and command the minister to get on with the ceremony. His family and Juliana’s were residents of this parish, they were both of marriageable age, and there would be no impediment. He knew people who could issue a new license quickly, and it would be done.

Elliot had traveled to Edinburgh to find her today, to continue plans he’d put in motion. The interminable wait in the crowded church had started to unnerve him, so he’d slipped away to be alone in the chapel. A few sips of whiskey, and his tired body—he never rested well at night—had taken him to sleep.

To be awakened by the delicious weight of Juliana in her satin and tulle, the scent of roses, the sound of her voice. Yes. This was right.

“I won’t be going back to India,” he said. “I’ve purchased a house, th’ old McGregor estate about thirty miles north of Aberdeen. McGregor’s my great-uncle on my mother’s side, and was in need of a bit of cash. You might as well marry me and have the run of th’ place.”

Juliana still stared at him, her lips parted enough for him to want to taste the moisture between them. If she said no, or that she wanted to wait, he had more plans for that. Elliot might be mad, but he intended to be very, very persuasive.

“That’s a bit of a journey,” Juliana said, her voice faint.

“Aye.” Trains made traveling much easier these days, but even so, the north of the country was remote, a peaceful retreat against the noise. Elliot needed so much peace.

Juliana’s blue eyes held trepidation. Under their scrutiny, Elliot felt his lassitude trying to descend once more, wanting him to lapse into a stupor again, to lean against the satin warmth of her and breathe her scent…

“Are you certain, Elliot?” Juliana’s voice brought him awake again.

Of course he was certain. Elliot needed her with him so he could be strong and well.

He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “I told you, ’tis a grand idea. Everyone is wanting a wedding. You’re in the bridal clothes, and I’m not likely to stay in finery long.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean that you want to do this today?”

“Why not? Your guests are here, the minister is waiting.”

Juliana pursed her lips, the little gesture heating his blood. “It would be quite a scandal.”

“Let it be. While they talk, we’ll be at our estate, far away.”

Juliana hesitated, then her smile took on a hint of wildness. “All right. As you say, why not?”

Elliot’s heart thundered, elation rising to choke him. He needed to finish this, take her home, be with her.

Elliot pulled her to her feet and propelled her out of the pew. Juliana half tripped in her high-heeled slippers, but he steadied her with a strong hand. The nearness of her, the feel of her soft arm beneath his scarred fingers, urged him on. He needed to seal this bargain before the darkness returned, and he didn’t mean the darkness of the nighttime.

They were at the door. Elliot stopped her, his grip on her too tight, but he couldn’t make himself ease it. “Stay with my sister while I go explain to the minister that the groom will be a different man. Will ye be ready?”

“Yes.” Juliana wet her lips. “Indeed.”

“Good.”

She reached for the door handle, but Elliot drew her back. “Wait.”

He slid his arm behind her, as solid as a tree branch, and drew her closer. So close she saw the pattern of white scars on his cheek, the thin lines that ran across his cheekbones and ended under the line of his hair. A thin, jagged blade had made those cuts.

He was going to kiss her. Juliana’s breath caught as she waited for the cool touch of his lips, the press of his mouth. She’d dreamed of his kiss so many times, after the one he’d stolen from her so long ago.

It never came. Elliot drew her hand to his lips, turned it over, and pressed a long, burning kiss to her palm. Any disappointment dissolved in the heat that swept down her arm and the wicked fire that streaked through her body.

Elliot opened the chapel door, propelled Juliana out into the cool mist of the courtyard, and closed the door behind her. Juliana found herself facing the concerned Ainsley, the bulk of Lord Cameron, and her stepmother, Gemma, hurrying out to see what had become of them all.

That was how Juliana St. John came to be married an hour later to Elliot McBride, in the church in which she was to have married Mr. Barclay that same day.

The guests watched in either shock or great enjoyment as Elliot, in formal black coat and McBride kilt, stood ramrod straight at Juliana’s side and said his vows. When Juliana’s father put her hand into Elliot’s, Elliot closed his fingers over hers in a hard grip. It wasn’t letting go, that grip.

The service was brief and simple. Ainsley had retied the roses in Juliana’s hair, and Juliana’s wedding finery cascaded across the plain floor of the church. Her bouquet was still fresh, thanks to Ainsley and Gemma, with a sprig of heather tucked into it for luck.

Elliot continued to clamp down on Juliana’s hand as the vicar moved through the service, not releasing her even after he slid the wedding ring onto her finger. They’d had to borrow the rings from Elliot’s brother Patrick and his wife, Rona. Rona’s ring was a bit too big for Juliana, and she had to squeeze her fingers together to hold it in place.

Now the vicar was pronouncing them man and wife. Elliot turned Juliana to face him, tilted her head up, and kissed her.

It was possessive, that kiss. A Scottish laird of old might have kissed his won bride like this, and Elliot was not so many generations removed from those lairds of old.

He raised his head after the kiss and looked down at her, his hands firm on her arms, gray eyes filled with triumph. And Juliana was married.

Several hours later, during the wedding feast at the St. John town house—Gemma seeing no reason to let all the preparation go to waste—Juliana escaped the laughter-filled public rooms and the scrutiny of her friends with the excuse of having to use the necessary.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped into an empty back hall. She was glad people were enjoying the banquet she and Gemma had meticulously organized, but the congratulations and the questions had begun to weigh on her. What she’d done would be a nine days’ wonder, and the first day of it was already wearying.

A strong hand landed on her shoulder, and Juliana bit back a startled cry. Elliot put his finger to his lips, leaned down, and kissed her cheek.

“Time to go,” he said.

She wanted to—restlessness gripped her like a fever—but Juliana mouthed the correct words. “That would be a bit rude, would it not? My stepmother has gone to all this trouble.”

Elliot ran his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with hers. “Do you want to go home, Juliana?”

Juliana closed her eyes, breathing in his warmth. “Yes.”

“Then we go.”

Without waiting for further argument, Elliot led her down the servants’ staircase and through the kitchen to the back door, where an Indian man in white clothes and turban waited with Juliana’s summer coat and two valises. The Indian man helped Juliana into her wraps without a word and just as silently opened the door and ushered them out of the house.

The ride to Juliana’s new home took a long time. They boarded a train that chugged slowly north and west, into the heart of the Highlands. In a private compartment, the wife of Elliot’s Indian servant helped Juliana change from her wedding gown into a traveling dress. Her valise proved to have been packed with sensible traveling clothes—Ainsley and Gemma looking after her to the end.

As they traveled, the day’s remaining clouds broke into tatters before a strong wind, the sun emerging to bathe the world in warmth and glittering raindrops. High summer was coming on, which meant, this far north, the sun would linger well into night.

At Stirling, they took another train toward the coast, heading north of Dundee toward Aberdeen, where they boarded yet another train on a smaller line. They finally disembarked at a tiny station in a village called Highforth, thirty miles north of Aberdeen, tucked between mountains and the sea. The late afternoon sun silhouetted hills to the west and reflected on the stretch of sea to the east and north.

The station was nothing but a small building on the side of the track, the platform so short that passengers had to disembark one train car at a time. Elliot and his party were the only ones who descended, in any case.

Elliot went in search of the stationmaster, leaving his manservant and manservant’s family clustered around Juliana like colorful butterflies. A highland wind blew across the empty platform, swirling the colorful silks of the Indian women’s clothing, the creamy brown skirts of Juliana’s traveling frock, and the bright blue and green plaid of Elliot’s kilt.

The manservant, Juliana had learned during the journey, was called Mahindar, and he had brought with him from India his wife, Channan, mother, sister-in-law, and a small child who seemed to belong to the sister-in-law.

Mahindar’s mother calmly tucked a fold of her silk head scarf around her neck, looking neither left nor right as they waited for Elliot. Mahindar’s wife, Channan, plump and cylindrical, her shape emphasized by the narrow skirt and silks that wrapped her body, looked around with more interest. Channan’s younger sister—her half sister, if Juliana understood aright—held the little girl’s hand and shrank into Channan’s side.

Only Mahindar spoke English, though Channan, he’d said proudly to Juliana, was learning. Channan’s poor widowed sister spoke only a few words of English, and his mother, none at all.

Elliot, in his kilt, boots, and flyaway coat, was the only one of them who looked as if he belonged in this wild place. While he’d been in India, though, Juliana had heard stories about him going native, as people called it, staunch disapproval in their voices. Elliot had eaten Indian food, worn Indian clothing, and had even taken up with Indian women, it was rumored. He’d spent so much time in the sun that his skin was baked quite brown, and he’d hardly looked Scottish at all anymore.

Elliot turned and strode back to them, wind lifting the coat from his McBride tartan kilt. If Elliot had gone native in India, he’d certainly changed back to being fully Scots in his homeland.

“They have no transport,” he announced, no concern in his voice. “A cart is coming from the house to fetch us, but it won’t seat us all. Mahindar, you and your family will have to wait here for it to return.”

Mahindar nodded without worry. His mother didn’t look worried either as Mahindar translated, and she turned to study the mountains, the sky, and the cluster of buildings that made up the village.

Channan’s sister—Nandita—when she understood that they would be left behind for a time, chattered something in a terrified voice. She clung, trembling, to Channan, her dark eyes wide.

“She is afraid soldiers will come to arrest us if we stay here,” Mahindar said. “It is what happened to her husband.”

“Oh, the poor thing,” Juliana exclaimed. “Mahindar, please explain to her that such things do not happen in Scotland.”

“I have tried,” Mahindar said in a tone of long-suffering patience. “She does not understand. But we are strangers here, and she cannot know.”

Juliana held out her hand to Nandita. “She can come with us. We’ll squeeze. We’ll take the little girl too. Come along. I’ll take care of you.”

Mahindar rapidly translated. Nandita didn’t much like the arrangement of leaving her family behind either, and started to cry.

Mahindar’s mother snapped two words at her. Nandita dropped Channan’s hand and scuttled to Juliana, dragging the child with her, though silent tears continued to trickle down her face.

The child, a little girl of about three, seemed undaunted by any of this. She gave Juliana an adorable gap-toothed smile then watched with interest as the dogcart clopped into the yard.

The cart was driven by a thick-muscled lad with brilliant red hair and a face awash with freckles. He stared with unabashed curiosity at Juliana and Mahindar’s family as he pulled to a halt a foot away from Elliot.

Elliot helped Juliana and Nandita into the cart’s narrow seats then took the rear one, which would be the muddiest. Nandita had to let go of the little girl to adjust her wind-whipped veils with shaking hands, and Juliana reached for the child.

She happily climbed into Juliana’s lap, and Juliana closed her arms around her. The little girl had dark hair and brown eyes, and her body was warm as Juliana gathered her up.

“What’s her name?” Juliana asked Elliot.

Elliot closed the rear door of the dogcart. “Priti.”

“Priti.” Juliana tried out the name, and Priti looked up in delight. “Fitting, because she is pretty.”

“Yes, she is,” Elliot said in all seriousness.

The cart jerked forward. Mahindar lifted his hand in a wave while his wife and mother continued to look about at their new surroundings.

What must they think of this place? Juliana had seen photographs and paintings of India, and this isolated corner of Scotland must be vastly different for them—cold woods climbing up high hills, farmers’ fields between mountains and the sea. No slow rivers, elephants, tigers, or jungle.

Priti gazed around with much more interest than did Nandita. The child’s skin was not as dark as Nandita’s, and strands of brown laced her black hair. Juliana wondered whether the girl’s father had been European, and if that was why Nandita had agreed to leave India with her sister and Mahindar. If her European husband was dead, perhaps Nandita had no one to turn to except Channan.

But Mahindar had said that Nandita’s husband had been arrested by British soldiers. Puzzling. Juliana would have to pry out the entire story later.

The dogcart bounced up a steep road paved with broken stones. The road turned to hard earth as they climbed into the hills, the track lined with rocks, heather, and greenery. The sea stretched to the east, sun touched and breathtaking.

The red-haired lad, who said his name was Hamish McIver, talked at them over his shoulder as he drove.

“The village is down there, m’lady.” Hamish swiveled in his seat, gesturing with a long whip. “Not much to it, but it does for us. There’s a pub, of course, and a brewery that used to belong to old McGregor. He sold it a few years back to some English people, and Mr. McBride, of course, has bought the house. The McGregors have been in these parts six hundred years, but McGregor’s skint and everyone knows it.”

The cart listed into the mud on the side of the track, and Nandita made a noise of terror.

“Watch the road, lad,” Elliot said in a quiet voice.

Hamish made an adjustment to the reins without concern. “My great-aunt, old Mrs. Rossmoran, lives down there.” Hamish nodded at a gate that sagged, half open, between two trees. “Half out of her mind she is, with only my cousin, her granddaughter, to look after her. She’ll be expecting a visit from you, m’lady, now that she knows the new laird’s taken a wife.”

Juliana stared at the gate as it dropped behind them. “Goodness, how does she know? We only married this morning.”

Hamish grinned over his shoulder. “Came over the stationmaster’s telegraph, didn’t it? Stationmaster’s son found me in the pub and told me, and we had a drink to your health, begging your pardon, m’lady. Someone would have gone out and told my cousin, who was doing her shopping, and she would have run back and told my great-aunt.”

The cart gave a large heave and dropped over a bump, and Hamish swung to face front again. Nandita squealed, and Juliana cried out with her, but Priti only laughed with the joy of a child.

They’d gone through an open gate and dropped down a foot from the eroding road to a wooden bridge. Hamish clattered the cart over this, while a river rushed below them in a great freshet.

Nandita grabbed the side of the cart, her eyes round, her veils fluttering about her face. The cacophony of the wheels on the boards along with the rush of river were loud, but Nandita’s voice rose above them. The young woman looked no older than the lad Hamish himself, perhaps nineteen or so, much younger than her sister, Channan. And she’d already lost a husband. No wonder she was so frightened.

“It’s all right, lass,” Hamish said as the cart clattered off the bridge. “No need to be afraid of the stream. There’s good fishing there.”

Nandita’s cries ceased now that they were on solid ground again, but her eyes remained huge.

“Elliot, can you tell her?” Juliana asked. “Tell her she’s safe.”

The cart hit a wide hole in the road just then, rocking them all. The latch on the door beside Elliot came open, the door flapping wildly.

“Elliot!” Juliana cried. She couldn’t lunge for him, because she had Priti, and Nandita was screaming again.

A less athletic man than Elliot would have been thrown free. Elliot gripped the cart, sinews standing out through his tight leather gloves. He maintained his balance, grabbed the flailing door, and closed and latched it again.

He turned to Nandita as though nothing remarkable had happened and began speaking to her, unhurried, in a language Juliana knew not one word of. Nandita listened, at last comforted by whatever he said. Her cries wound down, the road quieting as the river dropped behind them.

They came out of the woods and started downward, the road hugging the side of a steep hill. At the bottom of the hill was wide field of green, bordered by mountains marching in the distance and a sweep of sea far to the east.

At the end of the road sat the house.

It was was gigantic. And rambling. And ramshackle, crumbling all over in complete and utter disrepair.

Juliana put her hand to her throat, half rising in her seat. “Oh, Elliot,” she said.