The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [51]
When Ryder gathered her against him, he said, “Yes, I shall kiss Sophie for you and hug and pet all the little heathens. And I’ll miss you like the very devil, Sinjun.”
“Don’t forget Grayson, Ryder. He’s so beautiful, and I miss him dreadfully.”
“He’s the picture of Sophie, only with Sherbrooke blue eyes and the Sherbrooke stubborn-as-hell chin.”
“Yes, and I love him dearly.”
“Shush. Don’t cry, love. I understand a bit how you must feel, for Sophie had to leave her home in Jamaica to come to England, and I know she was sometimes heartsick. At the very least she was cold here. But Colin is your husband and he will take care of you.”
“Yes, I know.”
But she didn’t sound like she knew it, Ryder thought. Oh hell, what were they to do? She was married to the man. Ah, but to leave her here alone . . . he didn’t like it. But Douglas had insisted that they’d interfered enough. “Sometimes at the beginning of a marriage, things aren’t quite as straightforward as one would wish them to be.” She just looked at him, her expression remote, and he floundered on. “That is, occasionally there are slight problems. But any problems are resolved with time, Sinjun. You must be patient, that’s all.”
He had no idea if what he’d said made any sense to her situation, but the pain in her eyes smote him. He didn’t want to leave her in this damned foreign land with this damned husband she’d only just met.
Colin stood apart from the three of them, watching and frowning. He felt jealous, oddly enough, and he recognized it for what it was. The three of them were so very close. He and his older brother, Malcolm, had always been at each other’s throats. And their father had just laughed and sided with his brother, because he’d been the future laird, the future earl, and it was his opinion that counted, his words that were believed, his wishes that were important, his never-ending gambling debts and wenching expenses that must be paid. Then Colin had refused to join with Napoléon, knowing that his father was skirting disaster with his damnable beliefs, beliefs that weren’t really all that strongly held; no, they were beliefs that it amused his father to hold, nothing more. And his brother shared the beliefs as well, to taunt him, to try to make him leave Scotland, but he wouldn’t go. He wanted a commission in the English army, but naturally his father refused to buy it for him. No, his father had other plans for him. He’d been used to end the feud with the MacPhersons. He’d wedded Fiona Dahling MacPherson when he was twenty years old. It had ended the feud—until a month ago. Until something had happened that had set Robert MacPherson off.
“Is something wrong, Colin?”
It was Douglas speaking, and Colin quickly brought himself away from his miserable memories. “No, certainly not. I will take care of your sister. Don’t worry.”
“You will also bring her to visit her family early next fall. Is it possible, do you think?”
Colin thought for a moment, then nodded. “You have now given me the means to recover myself, my home, and my lands. There is much for me to do. However, all should be in good order by the fall.”
“All the money was rightfully Sinjun’s, not mine. I’m glad it will be put to good use. I personally hate to see an estate fall into ruin.”
“Perhaps,” Colin said slowly, looking toward the two magnificent Arabian stallions who were blowing and snorting, one held by Angus and the other by a clearly frightened stable lad, “you would wish to come and visit us sometime in the future. After, of course, Vere Castle has been refurbished a bit. The drive to the castle is very beautiful, all tree-lined, and now, in the early summer, the leaves form a canopy overhead.”
“No doubt we would be pleased to,” Douglas said. “Ryder can bring all the children.”
“I like children,” Colin said. “Vere Castle is a large place, surely there are enough rooms to house all of you.”
Then Douglas and Ryder were gone, with one last wave, riding down the cobblestoned street, their great coats billowing out behind them.
Sinjun stood there on the street,