Mary Putney - The China Bride

"Actually, the secret of many great beauties is exactly that-not giving a damn whether or not they impress people. Because they have confidence and a reckless disregard for appeasing lesser folk, they are mesmerizing even if they aren't beautiful, and often they aren't, at least not objectively."

"If beauty isn't required, at least I have that part right."

"On the contrary. You have a beauty that makes men catch their breath, and a modesty that makes other women like you. You dazzled as thoroughly at the cèilidh as you as did at Dornleigh." He gave her a satiric glance. "You also gave a very good imitation of enjoying yourself."

Uneasily she recognized the truth of that; she'd had a fine time on both occasions. "By your own admission, the most I could ever expect from your father would be bare tolerance. I don't want that, and I don't want you to be caught between your duty to him and your duty to me, because one should honor one's parents first."

"This isn't China." He turned to face her, eyes glittering with exasperation. "Hear me well, Troth Montgomery. As my wife, you would always come first. If you don't wish to live under the same roof as my father, so be it. We can live elsewhere. If you choose to avoid society, so be it, though I think that when you became comfortable in your new world, you would make a very great and admired lady. If you won't live in London during the months I must sit in Parliament, you may stay in Melrose even though I'd miss you as a fire misses fuel. Does that address your objections to marriage?"

She stared at him, shaken by the passion in his eyes. He was becoming the man she had first met in Canton-full of life and conviction. And if he kept saying she was beautiful, someday she might actually believe him. "I… I don't know what to say."

"You needn't say anything yet. We've time ahead of us for you to produce more objections, and for me to counter them. But while you're thinking, include this."

He wrapped his free arm around her and drew her hard against him, his mouth demanding. Her lips opened under his and she clutched his arms as she responded almost against her will. At Dryburgh Abbey, he'd kissed her with tender promise. This time he was branding every fiber of her being with reminders of the intimacy, wonder, danger, and rapture they had shared.

She had come to cherish her independence, yet how could she ever be independent if she surrendered to this ? When they had been lovers, she had been his slave, willing to do anything he asked.

Then he had asked very little, except for the opportunity to please her. But if he learned that she might be carrying his child, he would demand her body and allegiance for the rest of her life, and she wasn't ready to yield them. At least, not her allegiance. Her body was willing to yield right now…

He broke away, breathing quickly, but there was no triumph in his eyes-only the same yearning reflected in hers.

Unsteadily she brushed her mouth with the back of her hand. "I thought you proposed a courtship without a bed."

"That was no seduction. Merely something to think about." The flock of sheep had finally passed, so he set the carriage into motion again. "I thought that if I had to burn, you might as well also."

She stared at his profile with furious indignation. If he'd wanted to make her burn, he'd succeeded.

Damn him . Damn him !

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Castle Doom

The Highlands

Kyle shaded his eyes as he studied the boldly silhouetted castle that crowned the crag ahead of them. "I'd forgotten just how ominous this place is. It chills the bones."

"You remembered the steepness of the hill correctly, though," Troth said. "Can the horses make it up there?"

"I wouldn't ask it of them. You and I shall walk and learn if the chi exercises have been working." He climbed from the carriage and helped Troth out, then hobbled the two horses where they could drink from a small stream.

"Where did the name come from? It sounds like a Gothic romance."

"The original name was several syllables longer and Gaelic, but the first syllable was Doom, and it fit so well that it stuck. It's a Clan Campbell fortress that was destroyed by the English after the Forty-Five. No one has lived here since."

He swung a picnic basket from the curricle. The food had been packed by the landlord's wife at the small inn where they'd stayed the night before. Their trip north had been leisurely, with plenty of detours to see things he thought she'd enjoy.

As he'd hoped, the sheer normalcy of their journey created a relaxed, easy mood they'd never shared before. Except when he kissed her good night. In a spirit of feminine revenge, she had taken to kissing him back with a thoroughness that threatened to bring him to his knees, begging to share her bed.

The hard part was knowing that she'd probably bed him gladly. But he was playing for higher stakes than a single night's pleasure, so he'd always returned to his room alone.

As they crossed a crude plank bridge that had been laid over the stream, Troth said, "This seems like the end of the world, as if no one has been here for decades."

"Few people do come-it's well off the main roads, and that last stretch was almost too much even for a carriage like ours." He squinted at the sky. Was that a wisp of smoke rising from the castle? No, it must be a ribbon of cloud. "It's been many years since I visited here with Dominic, and I doubt the castle has changed at all. Yet not far from here in the Hebrides, modern steamboats are now carrying people through the islands in luxury. Quite a contrast."

"Steamboats? I'd like to travel on one of those someday. But I like the wildness of this better."

Conversation ceased as they started to ascend the rough track that snaked up the hill to the castle. A quarter of the way along, Kyle said breathlessly, "Let's take a rest. I need to hang over the edge and gasp for a bit."

"I'll bet the people who lived in the castle never came down, not when it meant climbing back up again!" Troth gratefully sank onto the low stone wall that protected travelers from the sheer drop. "I'm glad you suggested wearing Chinese trousers. This is not a ladylike excursion."

"Definitely not for the faint of heart or weak of lungs." A category that included Kyle at the moment; apparently he still hadn't recovered fully from the malaria.

Warmed by the climb, Troth loosened the plaid she wore draped around her slender frame. She'd been enchanted when they found a tartan shop in Stirling, then disappointed that there was no plaid for Montgomery.

Kyle had cheered her up with a Campbell plaid, saying she had a right to wear it since his mother had been a Campbell. Troth and the green-patterned plaid had become inseparable. When she wore it with a Chinese tunic and trousers, the effect was improbable but charming.

She peered over the wall. "There are two streams, not one. They flow together at the back of the hill."

"The one below is called the Burn of Grief, and the other is the Burn of Despair. Another reason for calling this Castle Doom."

She made a face. "What a grim lot these Highlanders were."

"There's truth in the romantic tales Walter Scott and others have woven about the Highlands, but it's always been a hard life." He looked north toward Kinnockburn. "I think my mother married my father mostly to bring English money to her glen so the crofters wouldn't starve. She was the Maiden of Kinnockburn-the hereditary chieftain of her branch of the Campbells. The only asset she had was her beauty, so she went to London and found a lord so besotted he'd agree to her marriage terms."

"Wrexham, besotted?" Troth asked in amazement.