A disagreeable jolt struck Helen. Beyond their two nights together, she knew little about his romantic life. Yet certainly he'd had practice in the art of lovemaking. And the pair of them appeared suspiciously cozy.

"Och, dinna look so fierce," said a tall, gaunt woman who introduced herself as Flora, his housekeeper. "Meg is complainin', and the laird is polite enough to listen. But he willna take up wi' the likes o' her now that he has a bonny bride. That auld nag has sent two husbands to the grave already."

Helen could not be so certain of his loyalty. The auld nag was flaunting her lush bosom in his face. Gritting her teeth, Helen deliberately turned her back. "How long have you worked here, Flora?"

"Long enough to have changed the laird's nappies when he was a puir, motherless bairn."

Helen's attention perked. "Did you know Alex's mother, then?"

"Aye, she was a frail lady, looked as if a gust o' wind would blow her awa'. And too proud for her own good." The housekeeper stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. "Truth be told, I wasna sorry to see her go."

"I'm English," Helen said. "Wouldn't you want me to leave, too?"

Smiling, Flora wagged a gnarled finger. "I can take a person's measure well enough. Ye're strong like the laird. An' 'tis pleased I am to see him wed at last. He needs a family to brighten up this lonesome place,"

"He needs the braw task o' gettin' himself some bairns," said the little man who joined them, his brown eyes twinkling beneath a cap of tight red curls. "Though 'twould seem the MacBrut wasted no time wi' the bed-din'."

Helen blushed. Everyone knew she and Alex had met only two days ago. They surely guessed what had happened during that unseasonal blizzard.

Flora chided, "Go awa' wi' ye, Jamie. The lady's too fine for yer stableyard jests."

"An' here I polished up me best manners." Jamie cocked a kilted leg and bowed. "Might I have the pleasure of this dance, m'lady?"

Helen smiled as she dipped into a curtsy. "Why, certainly, sir."

She accepted his arm and went out into the thick of the dancers. It was a lively jig, which Jamie performed with enthusiasm, his bandy legs a blur of motion. Catching a glimpse of Alex still engaged in conversation with the widow Meg, Helen concentrated on the dance steps, moving cautiously at first, then with growing confidence. When Jamie whirled her around, she found herself laughing from the dizzy sensation.

"Ye're a bonny dancer," he said at the end of the set. "Just what the laird needs, I trow."

"He needs a dancer?" she asked in mock innocence.

Jamie flashed his teeth in a grin. "Someone to gi' him a merry chase, that's what. Crivvens! No man ought to glower so on his weddin' day."

She glanced across the long room at Alex. When their gazes met, he scowled. With a pang, she recalled that moment in church when she'd lifted her face for his kiss and he had turned from her. No doubt his male pride was stung by the forced nuptials. Well, she too had never intended to wed, yet she saw no reason to sulk. Her life had changed more drastically than his, with her traveling ended for good. But she would make the best of their marriage.

Despite her indignation, Helen felt a flare of possessiveness. He was her husband now. Only she had the right to claim his attention, to go with him upstairs. A delicious shiver warmed her inner depths. Tonight they would make love as man and wife…

Another man claimed her for a dance, and she tucked away her private fantasies. The party was hardly the lavish festivity she had once envisioned as a starry-eyed girl of eighteen, in love with the pageantry of being a bride. Nor was it an elegant affair attended by the cream of the ton. Yet as the clansmen came one by one to partner her, she was touched by their efforts to welcome the laird's lady. Their kindness helped to ease the abrupt change from independent woman to unwanted wife.

An hour later, as she danced a reel with a gangly farmer, she noticed that Alex had vanished. So had the dark-haired Meg.

Suspicion pricked Helen. How long had they been gone?

At the end of the dance, she murmured her excuses, then searched the downstairs rooms, peeking into a quiet library, an empty morning room, a vacant butler's pantry. Alex's house-her house-was sparsely furnished. Many of the rooms lacked wallpaper and draperies, yet she could see possibilities in the airy ceilings, the tall windows, the finely detailed woodwork. Drat Alex for letting her believe he lived in that old, drafty castle with its eerie, cobwebbed table. And now the rascal had gone off with another woman on his wedding day.

It was time he showed his wife respect.

Her displeasure multiplied when she couldn't find the missing couple. Nearing the end of the gloomy passage, she spied one last door at the back of the house. She was marching toward it when the white-painted panel swung open, and her husband stepped out, a candlestick in his hand.

Behind him sauntered Meg. She was looking down while adjusting her dark green bodice.

A chill crawled over Helen, followed by a flash of rage. It was one thing to suspect them of a liaison; quite another to catch them after the act.

Alex halted, the candle flame casting shadows over his craggy features. He shut the door behind them. His dark eyebrows were lowered, giving him the aspect of a wary wolf. "What are you doing awa' from the dancing?"

"I should ask you that question." She glanced pointedly at Meg, who wore a cat-in-the-cream smile. She either used carmine to darken those ruby lips. Or she had just been soundly kissed.

"It isna your place to question me," Alex said ominously.

"Oh? Then I'll issue a few orders instead. Starting with your partner." Helen swung to the widow. "Bother my husband again, and I'll unman him. Now leave this house before I turn my wrath on you, as well."

The smirk vanished. Her brown eyes rounded, Meg scuttled past Helen and vanished down the corridor.

A fierce satisfaction gripped Helen. Before she could revel in her victory, Alex spoke in a low, melodious brogue.

"Unman me, will you?" One eyebrow cocked, he lounged with his shoulder propped against the wall as he looked her up and down. "And just how would a wee lass like you propose to do that?"

His lazy perusal sparked a heat in her that had nothing to do with anger or triumph. He stood so tall and muscled in his linen shirt and fine kilt. How well she remembered the hardness of that masculine body. The memory made her feel weak inside, yearning for his big hands to touch her.

Hands that had just been caressing someone else.

Helen clenched her silk skirt. "Test me and find out," she said with icy bravado. "I will not abide my husband bedding another woman."

He snorted. "I didna bed Meg."

"Then what were you doing with her in there?"

The glower returned, making his cheekbones stark and his expression grim in the meager candlelight. " 'Tis a private matter."

"Obviously. Or you wouldn't have needed to sneak away." She marched past him. "Perhaps I’ll have a look for myself."

He slapped his palm against the door. "Dinna go in there."

"Why not? Have you something to hide? A rumpled bed, perhaps?"

"That room is forbidden to you." "This is my house now, too. I've a right to go wherever I please."

"The house is mine" he corrected. "And you'll keep out where you are no' invited. It shouldna matter when you'll be gone from here soon enough."

"I've no intention of leaving."

"Then think again," he said bluntly. "There's no point to us living together. Tomorrow, you'll go awa' back to London with your father."

Shock reverberated through Helen. She clasped her hands tightly to steady herself. "You can't toss me out. I won't go."

"Suit yourself, then. But you'd best get out before winter makes the roads too treacherous for travel." In the candleglow, his dark blue eyes showed no regret, only an embittered dislike.

Of course. He feared she would behave the same as his mother. The realization eased the sting of his rejection, and without thinking, she reached up and caressed his jaw, sliding her hand to his temple. His skin was taut to her fingertips, his hair like rough silk. Looking up into his stern features, she imagined the lonely little boy he had once been. And it reminded her of why, in the end, she had spoken her vows to him. Because she ached to reach the fiercely guarded softness she had glimpsed inside the virile man.

Her husband.

She pressed herself closer to him, flushed with the desire to bring light and affection into his bleak life. "I don't mind the winter, Alex," she said in a sultry tone.

"I'm sure we can find ways to keep each other warm."

His nostrils flared. His chest expanded against her breasts. His moody eyes glittered down at her, and she knew with reckless delight that he still wanted her. He too wanted to make the best of this marriage

Suddenly he thrust her away. "Nay. I willna risk having a child by you, Lady Helen. So heed me well. I will never, ever touch you again."

Chapter Seven

"Everything will be fine, Papa."

Helen stood with her father on the front porch the next morning. His black traveling coach waited on the drive, beneath the autumn splendor of a huge oak tree. Except for the mountaintops, the snow had melted and the roads were clear. He was taking Abbott back to England so the coachman could recuperate there. Cox and Miss Gilbert would stay on with Helen.

Lord Hathaway gripped her hands. "I mislike leaving you here," he said for the tenth time. "Perhaps I acted too hastily in forcing this marriage."

I will never, ever touch you again.

"Of course you didn't," she said, giving her father a sunny, reassuring smile. "You wanted to protect my honor. And I love you for that."

Worry deepened the lines on his dignified features. "I know the MacBrut can provide for you," Hathaway said, as if trying to convince himself. "I'd stayed the night at this house before setting out for his castle. His people led me to believe he is a fine, worthy man."

He searched her face, and Helen maintained her determined smile. The woeful state of this marriage was her problem, not his. "Yes, Papa, you've told me. And I know Alex is well regarded in the village."

He's also affluent from lucrative shipping investments. And you'll have income of your own. The MacBrut insisted the marriage settlement remain in your name. That proves he's a generous man."

It proved he wanted nothing to do with English money. "Then I shan't want for anything." She swallowed hard. "Although I shall miss you, Papa."

"And I, you."

He pulled her into a tight hug that Helen wished would last forever. For as long as she could remember, Papa had always been there for her. He had been her companion on journeys to far-flung places. Now she would be lucky to see him once a year. The magnitude of that realization threatened to shatter her, but she held herself together for his sake. He mustn't guess that she had spent her wedding night alone, that she had lain awake for hours in the four-poster bed, listening to the creakings of the strange house and wishing for the warm comfort of her husband.

When her father drew away, his eyes glistened with moisture. She fought back her own tears as he gave her one last gruff kiss. Then he strode down the steps and entered the coach.

Helen stood waving, smiling bravely as the vehicle started off into the majestic hills. Only when the coach vanished around a bend in the road did she let the tears fall. Warm, wet drops rolled down her cold cheeks. As if sensing her unhappiness, M'lord bounded up the steps and whined. She picked up the dog, hugging his small form as he nudged her with his cold nose.

Leaning against the stone pillar, she blotted her face with the corner of her apricot cashmere shawl. It was senseless to weep over matters of her own making. Better she should carve a place for herself here in Scotland. Of all the lands she'd visited, she loved these wild, windswept mountains the best.

The door opened behind her. She stiffened, bracing herself for Alex's ridicule. She hadn't seen him since the previous night when he had issued his ugly ultimatum.

I will never, ever touch you again.

A hand gently patted her back. But it was only Miss Gilbert, her plump face soft with concern. "You mustn't be distraught. His lordship will be back to visit. And surely you and the laird will go to England sometime."

Alex would sooner journey to the fiery pits of Hades.