“The sun had started to drop lower in the sky when the sleek, black carriage made its way around a huge lake that shimmered like a looking glass. In the very middle, swimming with their heads held high, were a pair of black swans. And that's when Kristen first spotted Chatsworth. She wasn't prepared for the enormous size of the mansion. How could one family live in a place that could house hundreds? There must be dozens of servants to clean a place like this and they would probably all laugh when she was introduced to them, Kristen thought. They would see that she was an imposter who pretended to be something she wasn't.
From what she could tell, the house had at least seventy-five windows across the front. There were towers that seemed to reach to the sky, and she could count at least ten chimneys from her view.
Trevor slept with his cheek resting next to her stomach and held the hand she had laid across his chest. Kristen looked down tenderly at him. She touched his forehead and wondered if he'd developed a slight fever because his forehead was so much warmer than before. Squeezing his hand, she sighed. At least Trevor would have help soon. His grandmother would know what to do.
Kristen glanced back to the castle, spreading out before them nestled on perfect green lawns. Come to think of it, it was much too perfect. And too cold. She could not question Trevor's wealth now, and Kristen doubted that she'd ever fit into such a place. A few table manners and some new clothes didn't change the person she was.
As she stared at her new home, another large estate took its place, a home she'd seen many times in her daydreams. Instead of white, this home had a rusty hue that blended in with the rolling green of the highlands. But how could she know this? She'd never been here before and she'd never seen homes this large.
For a fleeting moment, she envisioned a child running across the grass, her streaming red hair waving like a flag behind her. And if Kristen listened closely, she could hear the child's laughter as she played.
Who was this strange child who kept appearing to her? It couldn't have been herself, for surely she'd remember such a grand home. And all she could recall were small houses and unhappy times.
The vehicle drew to a stop and brought her back to the present. She had arrived at Chatsworth. She was going to meet her new family. How would the dowager duchess feel about her? Would she welcome her with open arms? Kristen made a face. More likely, his grandmother would look down on her as just another piece of trash.
"Trevor. Wake up. We're home . . . er . . . rather, we've arrived at yer home."
Trevor's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, the confusion of an abrupt awakening on his flushed face. "H--how long have I been sleeping?" He sat up. "Why didn't you wake me before now?" He moaned and winced groggily when he moved his shoulder. She wondered just how much pain he was experiencing.
"I thought I'd let the sleeping beast lie," she told him with a smile. "Sleep and a doctor are what ye need most."
The footman opened the carriage door and Trevor descended first, then turned to lift a hand for Kristen, but the sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and he swayed drunkenly. Kristen scrambled out the best way she could, and slipped an arm around his waist.
"Here, let me help you, mum," Rebecca said as she rushed up from the second carriage, followed by Hagan.
"That will not be necessary," Trevor said, evidently embarrassed that he couldn't make it without help.
However, Kristen wasn't fooled. "Lean on me," she whispered as they slowly made their way toward a most unusual door. She stopped and waited for someone to answer the knock. It gave her a chance to examine the doors.
The broken pediment was surmounted by a lion and a griffin. In the middle of the doorway, just above their heads was a carved shield that displayed a coat of arms in the center of the shield. Two large columns entwined with laurel leaves stood on the side of the double doors."
Finally the door swung open, and a tall, thin man with white hair filled the space blocking their entrance. "Who should I say is calling?" His graze raked over Hagan and Rebecca.
"Why, His Grace, of course, Billingsly." Rebecca informed him. "Where are your spectacles?"
"I--I beg your pardon." Billingsly stuttered, then blinked, and looked past Rebecca.
"Billingsly, kindly get out of the way and fetch my grandmother, posthaste," Trevor muttered, his voice demanding in spite of his pain.
The shocked butler instantly recognized the authoritative voice of his employer and practically ran to do Trevor's bidding or as fast as his seventy plus years would let him.
"Billingsly is a bit nearsighted, or he'd have recognized my coach. He's also a tad old, as you can see, but insists on answering the door. This has been his job for the last forty years, and he's loathe to give it up," Trevor explained while they stumbled into the house.
As they moved past the massive doors and into the main hallway, Kristen could only stare at the huge staircase that displayed portraits as large as she was. Everything was black and white, and except for the vivid oils in the portraits there was very little color in the room.
Cold, she thought again. Much too cold.
Now she could see why Trevor was so withdrawn and careful not to show much emotion at all.
"Ye actually lived here?" she whispered, while supporting his weight the best she could.
"Most of the time. Don't you like it?" Trevor leaned against a table for support and to take some of his weight off Kristen.
"One couldn't help but like it, I suppose," Kristen answered, her voice betraying the doubt she tried to conceal. "How do ye keep from gettin' lost? I'm afraid I might take a wrong turn and never find ye again."
"Rest assured, sweetheart," Trevor said slowly, managing a low chuckle. “I'll always find you."
Kristen wasn't sure what he meant by that statement. Was he giving her a compliment or threatening her? However, she didn't have a chance to ask because a stout woman with white hair swept into the hallway. Kristen knew this had to be the Dowager Duchess by the regal way she carried herself. For her age, her skin was remarkably smooth, and her cheeks looked like rosy red apples, but those crystal blue eyes held no welcome as Kristen had hoped they would. The woman more or less glared at Kristen, then a shrewd look entered her eyes before she looked away, dismissing Kristen as one would a servant.
"It's about time you made an appearance, Trevor. And what do you mean sending word to prepare for a wedding when I've not even met the bride?" She stopped in front of Trevor. "I do hope you chose well and she's from a good family."
"You sure do talk a lot," Hagan said, stating the obvious.
The duchess turned until her gaze rested on Hagan. "Mind your manners, young man. And who, pray tell, are you?"
"Grandmere," Trevor said, his tone conciliatory. "I see you are feeling much better. I feared you might still be in bed."
"I could hardly stay in bed after your announcement. And why are you draped across that young lady. Stand up." She motioned impatiently with her hand. "Haven't I taught you anything?"
"Grandmere, you have taught me so much," Trevor managed to tease her even though his face still mirrored his pain. "This young lady is my fiancée."
"I see," Constance Claremont said. Her white eyebrow rose a fraction of a inch.
She inspected Kristen as if she were buying a horse. Kristen wondered if the woman would ask her to open her mouth so she could check her teeth.
"She is a pretty little thing," Constance finally commented.
Trevor sagged a little further. His added weight forced Kristen to finally speak. "Do ye mind if we get yer grandson tae a bed? He's been shot."
"My God, she is Scottish. You're marrying a Scot!" Constance's tone sounded chilly. "And you've been shot!" Her eyes grew wide with horror and her face paled with revulsion just before she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
"'Tis not good." Kristen shook her head.
"Doesn't appear so.” Trevor took a deep breath. “But actually she took it very well." Trevor gave Kristen a grave smile before he turned slowly and called, his voice growing weaker, "Billingsly."
"Gracious me!" Billingsly exclaimed as he peered down at the duchess, a look of horror on his face as he wrung his hands together uncertain of what he should do. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Please have someone fetch the physician and some smelling salts for grandmere. Rebecca, if you'll look after my grandmother, I'm going to find a bed while I can still stand."
Suddenly the room filled with servants helping the duchess as Kristen and Trevor moved up the grand staircase. She could hear the duchess mumbling to her servants.
"He's brought a bloody Scot home to marry! Claremont will roll over in his grave," Grandmere declared.
"I don't think ye grandmother is very happy with me."
"Grandmere is always unhappy, for one reason or the other. Don't worry, she'll get used to you," Trevor answered.
"I'm not tae sure about that. Ye could always change ye mind about marrying me."
"I--I," Trevor's voice cut off as he slumped halfway up the stairs, pulling Kristen down with him.
"Help!" Kristen screamed over the banister. "I need some help. Trevor has passed out."
"I'll help you," Hagan called out.
"Thanks, Hagan, but yer just a wee bit small." She managed to smile at him.
"We're coming." Several of the other servants hurried up the stairs and managed to get Trevor up and moving again.
The upstairs maid threw open a door at the end of a long hall. "The master's room," she announced.
They entered Trevor's room where they lowered him to the huge bed that commanded the room. Kristen didn't realize that Trevor had regained consciousness until he said, "I'm not going to change my mind, Kristen. You belong to me."
The man was stubborn even in an unconscious state. Kristen smiled. She would have informed him that she wasn't one of his belongings, but when she looked up to speak her mind she saw his face had lost the rest of its color. "Let's get ye settled in the bed."
The servants had left them alone, so she helped him remove his jacket and pulled the heavy embroidered spread over him, then she placed a couple of pillows under his head. Kristen laid his jacket over a chair, then she examined the room, unable to do anything else for Trevor until the doctor arrived. She noticed this room was definitely larger than the rooms in the London town house.
Two big windows graced one wall and let in plenty of light. The drapes were of Damask silk, flowered with gold. Kristen pulled the panels open and tied them back with a gold cord to let in more light. Turning she saw a mahogany kneehole desk with matching wardrobe. Trevor's room seemed a little more inviting than the rest of the house, but still very plain and impersonal.
Though Kristen knew there were an array of servants who could care for Trevor, she couldn't bring herself to leave him. Surprisingly, she wanted to care for him herself.
On a small washstand, she found a purple flowered, porcelain pitcher and bowl. She poured fresh water into the bowl, then picked up a cloth and carried everything back to Trevor's bedside.
Carefully, she removed his shirt. He managed a weak smile. "You're the prettiest nurse I've ever had."
"Thank you," she murmured as she let her gaze travel over his magnificent chest. He was so big. She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Now lie still, so I can cleanse yer wound." She placed the damp rag gently over the ugly, red hole.
"Ouch," Trevor said and flinched.
"What are you doing to my grandson?" Constance Claremont entered the room without knocking.
"I see she's recovered from her 'Scot' attack," Kristen said softly as she straightened.
"Move aside," the old bat ordered, and Kristen had a good mind not to budge an inch, but Trevor was too sick to cause a scene, no matter how much she wanted to.
"What has she done to you?" Constance asked Trevor, her tone considerably more gentle than the one she'd used with Kristen.
"Grandmere." Trevor sighed and took her hand. "You need to calm yourself. Remember, you have a condition," he warned her gently. "Kristen has done nothing." He paused, as if mustering his strength. "We were set upon by highwaymen on our journey, and I seem to have gotten in the way of a bullet." He didn't bother to tell her about the other bullet hole, compliments of Kristen.
"And where, pray tell, were your guards?"
"With the second carriage. Really, Grandmere, I'm not up to this discussion at the moment. Where is Dr. Harrison?"
"Here I am, young man. Let me see what you've done to yourself." The old doctor went to the side of the bed and pushed Constance gently aside. "You need to sit over there, Constance. I can only handle one patient at a time."
"Don't be impertinent!" She glowered at him. "You forget whom you are speaking to, Harrison."
"You shouldn't forget who takes care of you," he shot back.
The duchess did have the grace to blush as she set her mouth in a thin, firm line, but she did make her way over to a chair. Evidently, no one usually talked back to her.
Kristen couldn't hold back the chuckle, and for that slip, she received a sharp look from the old bat.
"And who are you?" the doctor asked.
"I'm Trevor's fiancée."
"Well done, son." Harrison patted Trevor's hand. "It's about time you settled down." The doctor bent over his patient. "Now, let me see to this wound." His bushy brows drew together as he prodded the hole.
"Easy!" Trevor all but shouted.
"Not good." He shook his head and sighed. "I'm going to have to take that bullet out, son."
Trevor's voice was absolutely emotionless when he spoke. "I was afraid you would say that."
"Constance, bring me a bottle of whiskey."
Surprisingly, she did as she was told. Though the old woman tried to hide them, Kristen saw the tears in her eyes. At least Constance did have a heart, though it seemed to be buried under a thick layer of ice.
"I think it's best you wait downstairs with that weak heart of yours," Doctor Harrison told her gently.
"Should I leave, too?" Kristen asked.
"If you have a strong stomach, you may stay." He looked at her over his wire-rimmed spectacles. "I can use some help." He smiled a generous smile.
Kristen stepped forward. "What should I do?"
The doctor poured a second shot of whiskey and held it to Trevor's mouth. "I need fresh water and some bandages." He nodded to the whiskey in his hand. "A few more of these, and Trevor will be good and numb."
Kristen didn't waste any time getting everything they needed. She hated seeing the pain that dulled Trevor's eyes.
"Christ!" She heard Trevor swear.
"What happened?" Kristen asked.
"I disinfected his wound. Now . . ." The doctor looked her square in the eyes. "Can you hold him still?
Kristen swallowed, then nodded.
"This won't be easy," Dr. Harrison warned one last time.
The odor of the liquor brought back too many ugly memories for Kristen, and she started to shake as the bile began to rise in her throat.
"Young woman, if you cannot handle this, I shall have to get someone else."
"No-no. I can do it," Kristen shook her head, forcing her stomach to behave. She knew she was being silly, letting all those old memories scare her. This was Trevor. He'd never beat her or hurt her in any way. She needed to push the old memories aside.
"Kristen," Trevor slurred her name as he held out his hand for her. His motion was jerky and sudden, so Kristen knew the drink was working. She grasped his hand, and he squeezed hers as if he were trying to reassure her when she should be the one comforting him.
"I'm ready, doctor," Trevor said.
Harrison picked up his scalpel, and his eyes went again to Kristen. "Let go of his hand and hold him down."
The doctor poured liquor over his scalpel. Turning back to his patient, he pressed the point of the knife down into the wound and Trevor hissed with a sharp intake of breath as he tried to move away from the red hot pain.
Kristen had to put all her weight on his body, attempting to keep him still, and yet she could feel him quiver with every probe of the knife. She couldn't imagine the pain he must be in.
She felt so helpless.
"Just a little bit deeper, and I'll have the ball. Any normal man would have been unconscious by now," the doctor said, more to himself than to anyone.
When Dr. Harrison reached the metal piece, Trevor let out a roar and bucked against Kristen's restraining hands. She was going to need more help but before she could ask Trevor to quit moving, he suddenly lay still. Too still.
"What's happened?" Fearing the worse, Kristen looked down at Trevor's closed eyes, the sweat beaded on his brow. "Is he all right?" She realized, for the first time, that she had tears streaming down her face, and she had to remind herself that she didn't cry. Crying showed weakness. She must be strong.
"Yes, ma'am. Here's the slug." The doctor held up the dark piece of metal with his forceps. "He's just passed out as most mortal men should, which will make it a little easier when I start stitching him up." The doctor patted Kristen's hand. "Now, now. Let's not have any tears. We're not finished yet, and I still need your assistance."
Kristen felt Trevor's forehead. It was clammy. "But he'll be fine?"
"I promise he will not miss your wedding if that's what you're worried about." Harrison chuckled. "I'll wager that the next time I'm summoned here, it will be for your firstborn child."
"I can't imagine having children," she admitted. As a matter of fact, she'd never considered the possibility that she might have a baby. She could have Trevor's baby. The thought frightened her. How would she leave if that happened? There were so many things she'd never considered. As usual, she only took care of the immediate situation.
"Young lady, can you hold his wound together so that I can stitch?"
"I'm sorry. My mind must have wandered." Kristen quickly did as instructed.
"What's your name?" he asked as he expertly placed tiny sutures, closing up the wound.
"Kristen."
"Kristen, don't let childbearing bother you. Believe me, I've delivered scores of babies during my day, and it's a natural part of a woman's nature. You'll do just fine," he said, trying to reassure her.
"'Tisn't childbearing that frightens me as much as Trevor."
The doctor had been taking neat little stitches, but he stopped and chuckled at that comment. "If you can ever get beneath that hard shell that he's put up around himself, then you'll have no problems. But you will be the first young woman to do so."
"Why?"
"I really should not be telling you this." Dr. Harrison leaned back, having finished his task. "But in this family, I'm sure no one else will, if I don't. You really don't know much about the man you're going to marry, do you?"
"Nay. He's never said much."
"Didn't think he would."
Kristen looked at him, imploring. "Can you tell me something that will help me understand him?"
Doctor Harrison looked up and studied her a long moment before he spoke. "Trevor's mother didn't want him. When he was two, she left him and never came back."
"How could she do something like that?" Kristen gasped. "He was her own flesh and blood."
"I've often wondered that myself." Dr. Harrison shook his head sadly. "Trevor was such a beautiful child. Always laughing. Always happy. But she simply didn't want children, so she brought him to Chatsworth and left him with Constance to raise."
"What about his father?"
"He wanted no part of Trevor after that. Seems Trevor was the image of his mother, and that reminded Claremont of his unfaithful wife. So, what I'm saying to you is that this boy has never known much love. And he doesn't trust easily." The doctor reached over and took her hand. "I hope you can provide what he needs. I delivered this boy, and I've watched him grow into a lonely, driven man."
Now, Kristen felt really guilty. She wanted to confess that their marriage would be nothing more than a sham. They were not marrying for love . . . .
Then she realized that's just what Trevor wanted.
A cold marriage . . . .
And who better than a stranger to have it with?
With an agreement such as theirs he didn't have to worry about wooing a woman, he didn't have to worry about love. His marriage would be just like his life . . . empty . . . safe.
Kristen stared down at this man who had given her so much. He had so much to give. Somehow, she sensed that. But would the wall be too thick?
What could she give him that he truly needed? And could she teach him to love, when she'd had so little of that commodity of her own?
And that's when Kristen realized how much they were both alike.
Alone and unloved.