‘I had fancied that I’d be a ghost by now,’ Riane returned his warm smile. ‘I owe you my life.’ She nearly choked on the realisation and her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears.
‘You’d be going into shock then,’ he advised, placing a fresh pot of tea on the table and going down on one knee before her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she brushed the streaming tears from her cheeks, ‘I don’t know why I’m crying like this.’
‘You’ve had a huge fright.’ Marcus’s accent exaggerated the fact, which made Riane giggle. Sliding up on to the lounge beside her, Marcus placed an arm across her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘Give yourself a break, Riane.’
‘It’s just that I heard all these stupid ghost stories back in the last town about girls going missing on the highland road.’ Riane let her fears come pouring out. ‘I was so scared I was going to end up as one of them.’ She collapsed into tears once again, her face becoming buried in Marcus’ warm, woollen sweater.
‘Women haven’t gone missing in these parts since the last war,’ Marcus informed her gently, ‘and their deaths were not accidental, in the main, but suicides.’
Riane had stopped crying, intrigued by his version of the tale. ‘Why would they want to kill themselves? The war?’
He nodded. ‘Mostly. There are many seafarers around here … fishermen, navy men. For centuries, many have left these shores and not returned, leaving wives and lovers to despair for them. All the cliffs along the coast provide an easy release from love’s torment.’
‘Love’s ghosts,’ Riane concluded sadly, feeling for the women who had managed to catch a good man only to lose him to the sea. ‘That would explain why she was so dark on men.’ This information put a whole new slant on her ghoulish dream.
‘Who?’ Marcus queried politely, but Riane was still dwelling on the tale.
‘The locals said some of the women had been found at ruins and sacred sites?’ Riane recalled.
Marcus shrugged. ‘Different strokes for different folks.’
Riane raised her brow and, finished with that issue, she moved on to another of even greater interest to her. ‘So, Marcus MacCloud, do you live all the way out here in this huge house all by yourself?’
He shook his head. ‘My younger brother and his minions drop in from time to time. I had half expected to see him this evening, which was why all the lanterns out front were lit. Normally I wouldn’t have bothered.’
‘A happy coincidence,’ Riane joked, breathing a sigh of relief.
‘Indeed,’ he agreed, and the underlying expression on his face was engaging.
Riane’s heart stopped beating as she thought he would kiss her.
‘The tea.’ He remembered himself, and moved to pour it.
A true gentleman. Riane’s heart was set fluttering in her breast, making her short on breath. And he is pursuing me. The chill still had a grip on her bones, but that didn’t prevent her cheeks and heart from feeling like they were on fire.
She recognised that look of longing in his eyes, but there was an element of hesitation underlying his desire. Perhaps he’d been hurt before? ‘So,’ she broke the silence, ‘a young man of means, alone in the highlands in the dead of winter. Are you an artist of some kind?’
‘Good guess, but … no.’ Marcus poured her a fresh tea. ‘My younger brother, Jasper, got all the artistic talent. I run the family business.’
‘And what business are you in?’ Riane accepted the cup as he passed it to her.
‘Shipping,’ he explained in a word. He sounded as if he thought it wasn’t tremendously exciting.
‘So, you’re a bit of a seaman yourself then?’ she assumed.
‘Was.’ He forced a smile, and Riane decided that was not a good topic to pursue.
‘What does Jasper do?’
‘Jasper!’ Marcus seemed undecided as to whether he should scoff or laugh. ‘Jasper lives in a constant party. Heaven forbid that I should ever let him near the family’s business affairs. Better that he is left to do what he is most accomplished at … nothing.’
‘You don’t get along, I take it?’ Riane could see how the brothers might clash, as Marcus certainly wasn’t your wild party-animal type.
Marcus smiled warmly, which confused Riane. ‘Everyone likes Jasper. That is his one true talent, he’s irresistible.’
‘Must run in the family.’ Her flattery captured the lord’s full attention, as she knew it would and the cheekiness she felt was reflected in her smile.
‘You won’t think so once you meet my brother … he way outshines me, I’m afraid.’ Marcus seemed quite happy about the fact.
Riane sipped her tea to discover it was just to her taste.
‘White, no sugar … how did you know?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Marcus appeared to have forgotten himself. ‘Force of habit. That’s how I take it,’ he explained.
‘So we have something in common,’ Riane granted.
Marcus glanced at her quizzically, obviously reading more into her comment. ‘We are not so different as we might seem, Riane.’
There was that stare again: the one that made her feel as if she was drowning in a sea of formality and begged to know what her heart was really feeling. Not tonight however. As enchanting as Riane found Marcus, if she didn’t retire soon, she was going to jump straight in the deep end as she always did. You want him to think well of you, she lectured herself in her mind. Don’t blow this. ‘I’d like to think you’re right,’ she answered him at last, and then let slip a small ladylike yawn in the hope that he might direct her to a bed. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised, politely. ‘It’s not the company, just the mileage.’
‘That’s perfectly all right.’ Marcus raised himself. ‘It’s late and you’ve had quite a day. I have a room ready, if you’d like to follow me.’
Anywhere, Riane drooled on the quiet, suppressing a grin as she trailed him from the room, unable to resist admiring the rear view of his tall, slender form. This must be heaven, she decided, as it seemed that the man of her dreams had been plucked from her mind and made manifest.
A bright, full moon and a sky of stars light the roaring ocean beyond the dark outline of the cliff edge. A biting cold wind is ripping at her hair, freezing the features of her face as she watches.
Between her and the cliff edge, some distance away, is a lone, cloaked figure, silhouetted by the sparkling moonlight reflecting off the ocean. At first it is hard to tell if the figure is male or female, but the sound of weeping is carried on the wind. Casting aside the cloak, a waif in a white wedding dress walks toward the edge. Both the long white skirts of her gown and her long dark hair whip wildly about as she staggers with each step, overwhelmed by her grief.
‘You cannot come back from the dead,’ the bride screams. ‘I would never have married him had I known you lived! How am I to live in another man’s bed, whilst the one that I love sleeps alone, despising me as a fickle deceiver!’
As she observes the tormented bride, it suddenly dawns on her that the grieving female means to end her life. ‘No! Don’t do it! Life is too precious.’ She makes haste to prevent the disaster, but the woman does not acknowledge her call.
As the bride stands on the precipice, a foot poised in space, her dark eyes turn back. ‘Save yourself,’ the waif advises, then steps off the edge and plummets out of sight.
She stops short of the edge to look down upon love’s victim, to find herself standing on the rocks below looking down over the broken corpse. The waif’s face, pale as snow, transforms into her own and the wedding dress into the clothes she’d arrived at the manor in.
‘No! I’m safe now, I’m safe.’ Her eyes shot open, and the deafening sound of surf and wind subsided into the soothing crackling of an open fire. She was shivering violently and a cold sweat had saturated her bedclothes.
‘Riane?’ Marcus stuck his head in the door. When he spied her shivering form seated bolt upright in the bed he entered. ‘I heard you shouting,’ he explained
as he neared and felt her forehead. ‘You’ve got a fever and a chill,’ he sounded concerned. ‘I’ll get you some fresh clothes,’ Marcus backed away, ‘and I’ll get the maid to get some fresh linen.’
‘No, Marcus, please, it’s so early.’ Riane did not want to be a nuisance.
‘She won’t mind,’ he assured her. ‘Old Marge is very devoted to her duty. In fact, she will be most insulted if I don’t wake her. And besides, you need some broth.’
‘Oh …’ Riane was touched by his kindness and the lovely way he made her feel so at home. ‘Will you marry me?’ she joked, running her hands through her hair, knowing she must look a fright.
‘Only if you get better,’ he retorted, in a fake lecturing manner. ‘Now get out of that wet bed and sit by the fire.’
As she settled herself in front of the roaring blaze, it suddenly struck her as odd that it should still be burning away so furiously. The logs were large, however, and perhaps it was a slow-burn type of wood.
‘I think my nightmares are giving me an overactive imagination.’ Her teeth chattered as she scoffed at her own paranoia. ‘Christ, it’s cold!’ She found it hard to believe that, so close to such an abundant heat source, so little of its effect could be felt. She gazed around the chamber. The walls were of stone; the floor was polished timber and adorned with lovely rugs. It all added up to being hard to warm in the heart of winter. The thing about open fireplaces was that most of the heat escaped up the chimney. She fed another couple of logs to the flames for good measure.
The door of her room opened and a woman of late middle age entered, clothes draped over her arm and carrying a tray of broth, bread and tea. She was dressed in a plain black dress that fell to the floor, and a white apron. Her grey hair was tied back in a bun. Riane thought she’d stepped back in time for a moment.
‘Here you go, missy.’ She set the tray down on the table by the fire. ‘I’m Marge,’ she informed Riane, warmly. ‘Anything you need, just ask me.’
‘Thank you so much, Marge, I’m Riane.’ She accepted the dry robe and pyjamas from the maid, and quickly changed. ‘I’m so, so sorry to have dragged you from your bed.’
‘Ah, fiddlesticks.’ Marge waved off the apology. ‘It wasn’t me beaten about by a storm last night and besides, I’ve been up for hours.’ She set to work stripping the bed.
Eccentric as she obviously was, Riane liked Marge from the outset. ‘So you take care of Marcus?’ She made conversation as she changed her clothes.
‘Aye. I’ve been taking care of both the masters since they were born. They are my life’s work.’ She had the smile of a proud mother upon her face.
‘Marcus has been too kind,’ Riane offered her assessment. ‘He is a great credit to you.’
‘Aye,’ Marge agreed, but as she fluffed the pillows of the bed, the smile slipped from her face. ‘I thought I’d lost him once … he went missing at sea.’ The maid shook her head, as if casting off the memory. ‘A terrible business that followed.’ She seemed disinclined to say more, but she had Riane curious now.
‘It must have been terrible for you,’ Riane sympathised, as she finished her quick change of clothes.
‘Oh, it wasn’t me it was terrible for.’ Marge brushed aside her own feelings and wandered over to talk more intimately with Riane. ‘Marcus was engaged at that time and believing that her intended had been killed, she married another. Marcus found his way home to us the very day of the wedding.’
Riane gasped as she heard the story, remembering the wild ramblings of the waif in her dream. ‘Please don’t say she killed herself rather than stay married to another man.’
Marge’s eyes opened wide and both women were startled by a knock on the door.
Marcus entered, his hands coming to rest on his hips when he saw the petrified look on their faces. ‘Sorry ladies, I didn’t mean to give you a fright. What have you two been discussing?’ His lighthearted tone carried a good deal of accusation.
‘Just girls’ talk.’ Marge winked at Riane. ‘Nothing that would interest you.’ Marge returned to her duty and finished making the bed before taking her leave.
Riane could feel the warm broth trickling down her insides and still she shivered with cold. ‘I just can’t seem to shake this frosty feeling.’ She did her best not to stutter as she spoke.
‘Well, that’s why they call it a chill.’ Marcus sat down behind her on the floor, and wrapping his arms and legs about her, hugged her tight.
‘Mmmm,’ she sighed, as she experienced the heat his body radiated, and there wasn’t anything sexual about the pleasure the body contact brought her. ‘You’re so warm,’ She turned and snuggled in. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised, realising how fresh she must seem, ‘you don’t mind if I just use you as a hot water bottle for a while, do you?’
‘Not at all,’ he encouraged, ‘use away.’
He sat and held her for what seemed an endless time. ‘That’s so much better.’ She dragged herself away from his embrace, feeling she’d imposed on him long enough. Huddled so close together as they were, Riane felt sure any other male would have taken advantage; the fact that Marcus hadn’t, had Riane a little confused. Maybe she’d misread his kindness and he wasn’t really attracted to her at all.
Once she found the courage to look him in the eye, the desire she saw there overwhelmed her and a moment later they were locked in a kiss, more meaningful than any encounter in her past.
‘Christ, I’m so sorry.’ Marcus was on his feet apologising, before Riane had even realised their lips had parted. ‘Here you are unwell, and I …’ He waved his arms about, annoyed at himself. ‘The last thing I want is for you to feel obliged to me. What I mean to say is —’
‘Obliged to you!’ Riane laughed off his fear. ‘I’ve been trying to figure how to work my way into your life since the second I met you. And my conviction had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you saved my life,’ she said bluntly to set the record straight. ‘Although the fact does obviously work to your favour, making you close to a prince in my eyes … but, what I am trying to say is,’ she took a deep breath, having gone so far out on a limb that she figured she might as well go all the way, ‘if you have the desire to warm these bones, they would dearly love to be warmed by you.’
With a tender smile of acceptance, Marcus picked Riane up and carried her to the bed, and robe and all he bundled her into the covers. ‘I make a great electric blanket, too,’ he commented as he climbed in beside her.
Riane was surprised when he didn’t disrobe. Instead, Marcus wrapped her up in his arms, stroked her hair and they just lay there, content to be still.
The warmth was utter bliss and working her hands into Marcus’ robe, Riane discovered a smooth chest as warm as a sun-baked stone. Her hands must have been freezing and yet he didn’t wince. ‘I’ve fallen under your spell, Marcus MacCloud,’ she yawned, as a deep sensation of comfort and safety sedated her. ‘Do with me what you will.’ Her body sank into a closer union with his and she drifted contentedly back off to sleep.
No nightmares were looming over Riane as she woke, just dreams of grand parties and intimate encounters by the fireplace. She was still curled up alongside her full-length body warmer, who had kept her snug as a bug during her relaxed slumber. Looking up, Riane discovered that Marcus was awake and wide-eyed. ‘Good morning,’ she smiled, elated by her circumstances. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.’
He shook his head slowly, with a smile of contentment gracing his face. ‘Just a couple of hours.’
‘A couple of hours!’ Riane raised herself from him, embarrassed. ‘You could have slipped away, or woken me, honestly.’
‘I though you might be alarmed if you woke and found me absent,’ Marcus justified and he was right, she would have been.
Riane’s heart melted down into her stomach. ‘I think that’s the sweetest thing a guy has ever done for me.’ She moved to kiss his cheek, whereby Marcus turned his head and bequeathed a deeper reward. By the time thei
r lips parted Riane was ready to strip off and see if she couldn’t detain Marcus in her bed for the rest of the day.
‘If what you say is true,’ he rose and clambered out of the covers, ‘then I ought to fare well.’
What do you mean, ought to? Riane thought as she watched Marcus pull his robe tight around himself and find his slippers. ‘I suppose you have work to do.’ She did her best not to sound disappointed by his sudden departure.
‘No, no,’ he assured her, as he rose from pulling on his slippers. ‘I’m going to chase up breakfast … or perhaps lunch,’ he decided as he considered the hour. ‘Won’t be long.’
As they’d slept late, it was well into the afternoon by the time Riane and Marcus had eaten, changed and begun a grand tour of the house.
The place was absolutely steeped in history: the walls were covered with the portraits of the great-great relatives of the family that spanned over four centuries. Priceless works of art, tapestries, suits of armour, ancient weaponry and antique treasures from abroad embellished every exquisite room in the manor. Marcus had a plentiful supply of historic tales to tell about royal visits and harbouring spies and rebels.
‘Do you have any ghosts?’ Riane asked, as they descended the main staircase into the grand hall, which opened on to the entrance foyer.
‘Every square inch of Scotland has a ghost,’ he replied, ‘and we’ve our fair share. Although,’ Marcus raised a finger to stress the point, ‘ours are all very congenial.’
‘Wow,’ Riane said, emphatically, ‘even the ghosts are hospitable.’ She was not spooked by Marcus’s claim, as she’d been by the old men’s tales at the pub, and she figured it must be all in the delivery. She didn’t find the house at all foreboding; in fact, just the opposite was true. ‘It’s all just beautiful, Marcus. You must be extremely proud.’
At that moment the front door burst open and in walked a dashing young gent dressed to the nines for a seventeenth-century engagement — white wig and all. In behind him came four young women, all dressed in ballgowns from differing periods of history. It was like something straight out of a delightful dream.