The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [35]
The morning they rode ahead of the carriage across the border into Scotland, Colin reined in and called out, “Stop a moment, Joan. I would speak to you.”
They were in the Cheviot Hills, low, rangy mounds that were mostly bare, stretching as far as she could see. It was beautiful and lonely as the devil and not a soul was to be seen, not a single dwelling. The air was warm and soft, the smell of heather strong. She said to him, “I’m pleased you remember how to speak, given how long it’s been.”
“Hold your tongue. It defies belief that you are angry with me just because I wouldn’t bed you, and here you are a young lady of quality.”
“That isn’t the point—”
“Then you’re still holding your sulk that we didn’t go to the Lake District, a ridiculous ploy that wouldn’t fool an idiot.”
“No, I’m not angry about that. All right, what do you want, Colin?”
“First of all, do you still want to marry me?”
“If I refuse, will you force me because you must marry me because you need my money?”
“Probably. I would think about it, perhaps.”
“Excellent. I won’t marry you. I refuse. I will see you in hell first. Now force me.”
He smiled at her, the first time in four days. He actually smiled. “You aren’t boring, I’ll give you that. Your outrageousness even occasionally pleases me. Very well, we’ll marry tomorrow afternoon when we reach Edinburgh. I have a house on Abbotsford Crescent, old and creaky as the devil and needs money poured into it, but not as badly as Vere Castle. We will stop there and I will try to have a preacher wed us. Then we will ride to Vere Castle the following day.”
“All right,” she said, “but I will tell you again, Colin, and you really should believe me. Douglas is dangerous and smart; he could be anywhere waiting for you. He conducted all sorts of dangerous missions against the French. I tell you, we should wed immediately and—”
“That is, we will ride to Vere Castle unless you’re too sore to ride. Then I will prop you up in the carriage.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about taking you—our wedding night—until you’re raw with it.”
“You’re being purposefully crude, Colin, purposefully nasty and unkind.”
“Perhaps, but you’re in Scotland now, and you will soon be my wife, and you will learn that you owe me your loyalty and your obedience.”
“You were one way when we first met. Then, when you were ill, you were really quite nice, albeit irritable because you hate weakness. Now you’re just being a fool. I will marry you and every time you’re a fool in the future, I’ll do something to you to make you regret it.” There, she thought, that was setting things straight. She loved him to distraction—a fact she knew well that he knew, and thus his outlandish behavior toward her—but she wouldn’t allow his character flaws or his outmoded notions of husbands and wives to interfere with what she insisted that he be.
He laughed. It was a strong, deep laugh, a laugh of a man who knew his own worth and knew it to be above that of the girl who rode beside him. He was well again and strong of body and ready to take on the world—with her groats. “I look forward to your attempts. But be warned, Joan, Scottish men are masters in their own homes, and they beat their wives, just as your honorable and kind Englishmen occasionally do.”
“That is absurd! No man I know would ever raise a finger against his wife.”
“You have been protected. You will learn.” He started to tell her that he could easily lock her in a musty room in his castle, but he kept quiet. They weren’t yet married. He gave her a look, then a salute, and kicked his horse in its sides to gallop ahead of her.
They arrived at the Kinross house on Abbotsford Crescent at three o’clock the following afternoon. It had been drizzling lightly for the past hour, but Sinjun was too excited to be bothered about the trickles of water down her neck. They’d ridden the Royal Mile, as fine as Bond Street, Sinjun gawking all the way at the fine gentlemen and ladies who looked just as they did in London, and at all the equally fine shops. Then they turned