"I now pronounce you man and wife," Rhoades said, slapping shut his prayer book and making haste to where the license lay, quill and ink at the ready. "Sign, and all is official." He scrawled his own name while glancing at his watch, then cast the pen down and started to bustle from the room.
At the door he stopped, flinging over his shoulder the words, "You may kiss the bride."
Aidan had signed his name with a flourish, then handed the pen to Norah. The instant she was done, he caught her in his arms, brushing a quick kiss across her lips.
The haste of that gesture made Norah's eyes sting.
"Norah, forgive me, but I need to—to go, to try to talk some sense into Cass—" As if suddenly aware he had betrayed something, Aidan's cheeks reddened. Norah felt a little sick.
"What do you mean? Talk sense into her? You said she had a headache."
"Ahem, well, she does—one caused by being the most infernally stubborn little wretch in Christendom."
"You led me to believe that she had agreed to the marriage," Norah said, raw with a rare flash of temper. "Do you mean to tell me that she is unhappy?"
Aidan glowered. "She'll get over this mad fit of bullheadedness. I'm certain she—"
"How could you?" Norah blazed. "How could you lie to me? Make me think that all was well, when she—"
"If I had told you the blasted chit had locked herself in her room, what would you have done?"
"I would never have married you. Not until she had reconciled herself to the wedding!"
"Exactly. Reverend Rhoades is a busy man. God knew how long it might be before I was able to collar the infernal fool again. And I won't be staying at Rathcannon forever. I told you I wanted us wed as soon as possible. I did what was necessary to make certain we were."
"You lied to me, before we were even wed. Of all the insensitive, selfish—"
Something flared in Aidan's eyes—hurt, and the same stubbornness Norah was certain now seethed in his daughter's eyes. "I told you the first night you arrived that I change rules to suit me. I cheat when I have to. Now I have a girl barricaded in a tower room, an irate bride railing at me when she'd been warned of my nature, and a splitting headache from racing around to get this damned marriage taken care of. It's finished. Let's get back to Rathcannon before—"
Norah's chin bumped up a notch as what few webbings of romantic dreams she'd managed to cling to crumbled away into dust. "I would rather walk all the way to Rathcannon than to share a carriage with you."
"Fine. I suggest you return to Rathcannon in the carriage with Mrs. Cadagon. She'd be much more likely to lend a sympathetic ear." Aidan's lips twisted in a grim sneer. "You and Cassandra plot and conspire to get me leg-shackled, then the minute the noose is around my neck you both change your mind. Then, somehow, this whole mess is my goddamned fault."
Every word bit Norah like a lash, searing deep into places hidden and raw. "No," she said, each word a sliver of ice. "This mess is doubtless my fault. After all, I'm the bride you are saddled with."
Her words penetrated past the haze of frustration that seemed to hold Aidan in his grip. She could see him battle to rein in his anger. "Norah, listen to me. I didn't mean to begin this way."
"How does one begin a charade of a marriage? I'm certain I don't know."
"Norah—"
"Go to your daughter, Aidan. See if you can soothe the hurt we have both caused her."
"Tonight I'll make it up to you. I promise."
"No." The sting of humiliation made the denial sharp. "I would as soon spend tonight alone."
Was it hurt that flashed in his eyes at her rejection? In a heartbeat he shuttered it away. He sketched her a curt bow. "As you wish."
"Until you choose to change the rules, at least," she said. She fought the tears as he turned and stalked from the church. Norah chafed under the woeful gaze of the Cadagons, who hovered at the rear of the sanctuary.
Mrs. Cadagon came bustling up, catching Norah's cold hands in warm, comforting ones. "Never you mind Miss Cass's temper tantrums, dearie. The girl will be over it soon enough, and then you can forget all this unpleasantness."
Norah looked down at her hand, the wedding band Aidan had slipped onto her finger glinting in the light streaming through the window. The only way she could forget this unpleasantness would be to forget her wedding. Her wedding that was not a wedding, she thought, emotionally exhausted. A broken little laugh escaped her as she glanced down at the ring.
A simple band with the mellow sheen of gold long worn next to someone's skin. Norah's throat constricted. Had this belonged to another woman, the way Aidan's heart had? The way his daughter had? Was it possible that it had belonged to... her? To Delia Kane? The woman who had tried to murder Aidan, steal his child.
I change the rules to suit me, his words echoed through her. I cheat.
Was it possible that he had lied about Delia's death as well? Norah brought herself up sharply. No, he couldn't have been lying to her. He looked so solemn, his pain still all too evident in his eyes. Why would he have fabricated such a hideous tale when she'd asked him for nothing save the truth?
What would you have done if you'd known the truth? His hard demand seemed to haunt her from the shadows pooling on the stone walls.
I would never have married you.
Exactly.
She could still see the resolute jut of that hard, masculine jaw, the fierce determination in his eyes.
She was still shivering long after the Cadagons had brought her out into the sweet Irish sunshine.
* * * * *
Rathcannon's gardens were a wonderland, every blossom and vine, every statue and path woven to delight a little princess. Norah wandered through the flower-spangled beauty, running her fingertips over child-sized benches and sculptures fashioned to intrigue the imagination.
A stunning Pegasus spread stone wings in flight, his magnificent equine head tossing, his eyes fixed upon the heavens. Three unobtrusive stone steps led up to where a celestial saddle spanned the mythical creature's broad back. Fading scuff marks, not worn away by rain or time, made Norah wonder how many times a far younger Cassandra had clambered up upon the delightful beast to go off adventuring.
A dragon with deliciously sharp teeth peeked about a flowering hedge, its fierce stone claws extended as if to devour any child who dared challenge its wrath.
At the far end of the garden, an orangery filled the air with citrus smells, and Norah knew instinctively that it had been put there because a girl with golden curls had a penchant for the sour sweetness of the fruit.
Her throat tightened with the knowledge that Aidan had crafted this garden in a desperate effort to make his daughter want to remain a child forever. To build a world for just the two of them—father and daughter, walled off from hurt and pain and betrayal. Safe from the madness Delia Kane had spun about them both.
There was no real room for anyone else in this ancient castle, no room for anyone else in their hearts. She had been a fool to believe otherwise, even for such a brief moment in time.
Norah rounded a shrub and discovered an elegant stone chair very like a queen's throne situated beneath the quiet shade of an arch of roses. She sank down into it, exhausted, drained, more confused than ever before.
She had barely finished her vows when Aidan had made it clear that she was still an outsider. He had offered her protection when she desperately wanted acceptance. He had offered her passion when her soul had craved love. His wedding gift to her had not been some cherished family heirloom or even words of love, far more precious than any gems could be. Rather, his gift had been heartache, more savage than any Norah had ever felt before. Now he was somewhere in the castle, attempting to reason with his daughter, a quest he had made certain Norah knew she was not welcome to participate in.
She plucked the white rose from her hair, her fingers tearing the delicate petals, her throat aching. Tears splashed her fingers, tears she would never let Aidan or Cassandra see. Tears for something
that never really was, would never really be.
"Miss Linton?" the respectful query echoed along the path. Calvy, the footman she had come to like so much, was heading toward her.
She scrubbed at her cheeks with the backs of her hands and climbed to her feet, hurrying over to a patch of shade she hoped would hide the reddened state of her eyes. Who had sent him to find her? she wondered. Aidan, perhaps? Or Cassandra?
"Calvy, I'm over here. By the roses."
He stepped into her line of sight, and one look at his features let Norah know that he had heard about the fiasco that had been her wedding. She cringed inwardly, infusing her voice with a regalness she prayed would hide the fact that she felt as if her heart were breaking into little pieces.
"Does someone require my presence?"
"Yes, miss... I mean, my lady. There is a—an English gentleman here to see you."
Norah's heart plunged to her toes. "But—but who on earth could it be?"
Calvy extended a gilt-edged card, a name scrolled across it in elegant print. "I told him 'twas your wedding day, but he insisted. He seemed most distressed."
"Norah?"
The card dropped from her numb fingers. She didn't need it to recognize the identity of her visitor. She needed only to hear the impeccable and elegant tones of Lord Philip Montgomery's voice.
She stumbled back a step, feeling like an awkward girl again, wishing she could spin around and run headlong into the tangle of trees behind her. But it was too late, for Philip had followed the footman and was striding into sight, his brown-gold hair glinting in the sun, his tall-crown beaver hat in his exquisitely gloved hands.
Norah's stomach gave a sick lurch as she desperately attempted to paste a smile on her face.
"Philip!" she said, her tone so bright it hurt her own ears. "What a surprise! Whatever are you doing here?"
"Richard assured me he'd informed you I would pay a visit. He—" Philip stopped, his aristocratic brow creased in puzzlement.
"I—I suppose he did. I just didn't expect you quite so—so soon."
"Not soon enough, by the looks of it." Philip's blue eyes traced her features—features she was certain were blotchy and red from her recent bout of tears.
Norah's cheeks flamed, and she was certain he could tell she had been weeping. The knowledge was humiliating beyond belief.
"Norah, tell me it isn't too late to—" Philip stopped and seemed to shake himself, as if suddenly aware of the footman still hovering there, watching with mistrustful eyes. "You are dismissed," Philip bit out in a clipped voice.
Calvy merely stood there stolidly, looking to Norah. "My lady?"
"It's all right, Calvy. Lord Montgomery and I are old friends."
The footman still looked distrustful of the Englishman, but he bowed and retreated down the path.
Philip watched him go, his classically handsome features clouded with concern, his shoulders, beneath the impeccable cut of his Weston-tailored coat, set at a curiously challenging angle.
When he turned back to Norah, she was stunned by the expression in the man's eyes. "It's true, isn't it?"
"True? What?"
"Dear God, I had hoped I could stop you before it was too late! But that servant claims you are already Kane's wife."
Norah gaped at him, stunned and confused. Why would it matter to Philip if she had wed Aidan? What could the odd light in his eyes possibly mean? "We were married this morning," she said, a little unsteadily.
Philip's mouth twisted, as if she'd suddenly caused him pain. He turned his back toward her, his voice tight. "Norah, you must believe me, I had no idea what madness Richard had stirred up, involving you in such a crazed affair. Sending you off to wed a stranger."
"But Richard said that you knew—that he told you."
"Before you left, he told me that you were marrying a widower in Ireland with whom you'd been corresponding for months. He damned well didn't tell me it was Aidan Kane! Aidan Kane!" Philip all but spat the name. "Norah, I... when I got Richard's letter revealing the name of your betrothed, I... God, it drove me mad."
Norah felt as if her nerves were raw, frayed first by Cassandra's rejection, then Aidan's lies, and now the obvious concern of a man she had once believed herself to be in love with. Had Philip come all this way because he cared for her, at least a little?
There was a time when that knowledge would have been heavenly, as unbelievable as any fairy tale. Now it only cinched tighter the crushing weight of sadness that held Norah in its grasp.
"Philip, I—" She couldn't squeeze the words through her aching throat.
"I hold myself responsible for this. I should have looked into it further. Pushed Richard to tell me more. I should have come to you and... and told you—"
"I'm not your responsibility, Philip, regardless of our past friendship. And it was my decision to marry Sir Aidan. No one else's."
"You were desperate. That bastard of a stepfather, plotting to give your hand to that asinine child! It must have seemed so... so hopeless to you. And what did I do? The fine and noble Lord Philip Montgomery? Did I help you? Did I tell you how I..." He broke off the words, capturing her hands in his own. "Maybe it's not to late to dissolve this... this travesty you've entered into with Kane. It can be annulled. I'm certain Kane cannot have any true affection for you—the man is incapable of realizing what a treasure you are. And you—you are far too fine a woman to fall in love with such a villain."
Norah looked down to where Philip's hands clutched her own, the wedding ring Aidan had slipped onto her finger glinting in the sunlight streaming into the garden.
"Philip, I—"
The sound of footsteps made Norah jump, and she tugged against Philip's hands in alarm, but the aristocrat only drew her into the protective circle of one arm, turning to face whoever approached with a challenging glare.
Norah's heart fell when her own gaze collided with the tall, muscular form of Aidan, his wedding garb disheveled, his hair tousled by the impatient raking of his fingers. He looked as if he'd fought a dozen battles in the hours since they had left the small stone church. But it seemed he had won the war, for behind him, her steps dragging, came Cassandra, sullen-eyed and somewhat repentant.
The instant Aidan saw her with Philip, Norah saw something flare with white-hot intensity in the Irish knight's eyes, something that made her struggle free of the Englishman's grasp, her cheeks flaming as if her new husband had caught her in some flagrant tryst with a lover.
Wanting desperately to drive that expression from Aidan's eyes, she hastened toward him and linked her arm with the rigid curve of Aidan's own. "Aidan, I'm so—so glad that you have found us," she said with a wobbly smile.
"That is a new twist to such... garden visitations at Rathcannon," he observed, the jeering bitterness that laced his voice making Norah wince.
She was painfully aware of Cassandra's eyes regarding the whole scene intently.
"Aidan, this is an old friend of mine from England. Lord Philip Montgomery."
"Lord Montgomery?" Cassandra repeated the name with such sterling innocence that Norah's nape prickled with apprehension. "Oh, Papa, this is the dashing hero who rescued our Norah at that dreadful party in London! Norah, isn't he the one who danced with you?"
Norah wished the garden path would open up and swallow her. "That was only one example of Lord Montgomery's kindness to me. He—he is on his way to his family's estates in Sligo."
"Then he's going in the wrong direction." Aidan's stormy gaze clashed with Philip's. "Sligo is a good deal farther north. I know you English landlords rarely visit your holdings. But if you'll follow the coast, I'm certain you'll stumble across it eventually."
"Aidan!" Norah gasped. "That was hardly necessary. He merely came to—to wish me joy in our... marriage." She tried to forget the stricken expression on Philip's noble face, the sound of his desperate denial.
But she felt as if the whole scene was branded on her face. Aidan flashed those green eyes in her direc
tion, and she saw a muscle in his jaw knot. He looked as sullen as his daughter for a moment, then his shoulders slouched into that position of lazy arrogance she'd grown to know so well. "I suppose I must apologize for being a trifle uncivil, Montgomery, but it is disconcerting to come in search of one's bride, to find her in the arms of another man."
"And I suppose I might apologize as well," Philip allowed with palpable hostility. "But surely you cannot blame me for wanting you to know that Norah is not completely friendless in this godforsaken land."
Norah worried her lower lip. If they exchanged many more apologies like these, the two men would likely be on a dueling field before nightfall.
"I have made a good many friends since I arrived here," she interjected hastily. "Mrs. Brindle is delightful, and the Cadagons are absolute treasures. And Cassandra..." She stopped, glancing at the girl she already loved nearly as much as she loved Cassandra's reckless father. But she much doubted Cassandra would welcome any claims of affection at the moment.
"The Cadagons?" Philip demanded. "Not Lord and Lady Cadagon of Finnsbar?"
Cassandra broke into silvery laughter, batting her long lashes at the nobleman. "No, Lord and Lady Cadagon of Groom's Cottage. Gibbon rules over our stables, and Mrs. Cadagon is the most delightful housekeeper in all Ireland."
"You have befriended the household staff?" Philip gaped at Norah with well-bred horror.
"Norah hasn't been here a month, you know," Aidan said, more than a little defensively. "Cass and I have kept her quite to ourselves."
Philip's lip curled. "I'd wager you would, Kane. A gentleman must protect a lady like Norah from wagging tongues. One wouldn't want to risk a prospective bride hearing anything unsuitable."
Norah felt the subtle shift in Aidan, the slight tensing of his arm, the lift of that strong-carved jaw. "Oh, I have no fear of Norah overhearing anything, Lord Montgomery. She has already heard all from my own lips."