A Winter Wedding: Strangers at the Altar / The Warrior's Winter Bride

‘I know them every bit as well as you.’

‘You used to.’ Eoin made no attempt to hide his enmity, but glared at Innes, his eyes, the same deep blue as Innes’s own, bright with challenge. ‘It’s been a long time.’

Innes’s fists clenched and unclenched. ‘I know exactly how long it’s been.’

A gust of wind took Eoin’s words away. When Innes spoke again, it was in a soft, menacing tone that made the hairs on the back of Ainsley’s neck stand on end. And it was in Gaelic. Eoin flinched and made to hand over the tiller, but Innes shook his head, joining Ainsley in the prow, turning away from her to stare out at the white wake, his face unreadable.

The wind that filled the sail blew in her face, whipping her hair from under her bonnet, making her eyes stream. Innes had not worn a hat today, a wise move, for it would surely have blown into the sea. Though he was, as ever, conservatively dressed, his trousers and coat dark blue, his linen pristine white; compared to Eoin’s rough tweed trews and heavy fisherman’s jumper, Innes looked like a dandy. She had watched the other man noticing this when he docked, but couldn’t decide whether the twitch of his mouth was contempt or envy.

The boat scudded along, the keel bumping over the waves of the outgoing tide. While the paddle steamer had felt—and smelled—rather like a train that ran on water instead of rails, in this dinghy, Ainsley was acutely conscious that only a few planks of wood and some tar separated her from the icy-cold strait. Spray made her lips salty. The sail snapped noisily. She began to feel nauseous, and looking up, catching a cold smile on Eoin’s face as the boat lifted out of the water and then slapped down again, began to suspect that he was making their voyage deliberately rough.

‘You’re from the city, I hear. You’ll not be used to the sea,’ he shouted.

Ainsley gripped the wooden seat with both hands, determined to hold on to the contents of her breakfast. She wished she hadn’t had the eggs. She mustn’t think about the eggs. ‘How did you know that?’ she asked.

‘Himself told Mhairi McIntosh, the housekeeper, in the letter he sent.’

Innes snapped his head round. ‘Well, it wouldn’t have done me any good to write to you.’

Eoin, to Ainsley’s surprise, turned a dull shade of red, and looked away. Innes swallowed whatever else he had been about to say and resumed his staring out at the sea. The undercurrent of emotion that ran between the two men was as strong as the ebb of the tide that was making their entrance into the bay a battle.

* * *

The pier was old and crumbling, extending far out into the bay. The low tide forced them to berth right at the very end of the structure, where Innes threw the rope neatly over a post to make fast. It was only as he put one foot on the first rung of the ladder that Eoin spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder, making him freeze.

‘You’ll find the place much changed.’

‘If you tell me once again that it’s been fourteen years...’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘It’s not that.’ Eoin pulled his hand away, a bleak look in his eyes. ‘You know Mhairi’s got the Home Farm ready for you? The big house—ach, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. Give Angus a shout; I can see he’s there with the cart. I’ll see to the luggage.’

Innes ascended the worn ladder quickly, then turned to help Ainsley. She was eyeing the gap between boat and pier with a trepidation she was trying—and failing—to disguise. Her cheeks were bright with the wind, her hair a tangle. She looked endearing. She was most likely wondering what the hell she’d let herself in for, with the enmity between himself and Eoin almost palpable. He swore under his breath. Whatever was going on in Eoin’s head, there would be time enough to sort it out. Right now, he needed to get poor Ainsley, who might well be his only ally, out of that boat before she fell out of it. ‘Put one foot on the bottom rung and give me your hand,’ he said, leaning down over the end of the pier.

She looked at the seaweed-slimed lower struts of the ladder pier dubiously. ‘I can’t swim.’

Innes went down on his knees and leaned over. ‘I can. If you fall, I promise I’ll dive in right behind you.’

‘And walk up the beach with me in your arms, dripping seawater and seaweed.’

‘Just like a mermaid.’

Ainsley chuckled. ‘More like a sea monster. Not the grand entrance that the laird and his lady are expected to make. It’s as well we’ve no audience.’

‘I told Mhairi—that’s the housekeeper—that we did not want a formal welcome until we were settled. I must admit, I’m surprised she listened, though,’ Innes said, looking about him. Save for Angus, making his lumbering way down the pier, there was not a soul in sight. Perhaps he’d maligned his friend after all. Eoin knew how much he hated the pomp and ceremony of the old ways that his father had gone to such pains to preserve. He looked over Ainsley’s shoulder to thank him, but Eoin was busying himself with the ropes.

Shrugging inwardly, Innes held out his hand to Ainsley, pulling her up without a hitch and catching her in his arms. ‘Welcome to Strone Bridge.’

She smiled weakly, clutching tight to him, her legs trembling on the wooden planking. ‘I’m sorry, I think my legs have turned to jelly.’

‘You don’t mean your heart? I’m not sure what you’ve let yourself in for here, but I am pretty certain things are in a bad way. I’ll understand if you want to go back to Edinburgh.’

‘Your people are expecting you to arrive with a wife. A fine impression it would make if she turned tail before she’d even stepped off the pier—or more accurately, judging by the state of it, stepped through it. Besides, we made a bargain, and I plan to stick to my part of it.’ Ainsley tilted her head up at him, her eyes narrowed, though she was smiling. ‘Are you having cold feet?’

‘Not about you.’ He hadn’t meant it to sound the way it did, like the words of a lover, but it was too late to retract. He pulled her roughly against him, and he kissed her, forgetting all about his resolution to do no such thing. Her lips were freezing. She tasted of salt. The thump of luggage being tossed with no regard for its contents from the boat to the pier made them spring apart.

Ainsley flushed. ‘It is a shame we don’t have more of an audience, for I feel sure that was quite convincing.’

Innes laughed. ‘I won’t pretend that had anything to do with acting the part of your husband. The truth is, you have a very kissable mouth, and I’ve been thinking about kissing you again since the first time all those weeks ago. And before you say it, it’s got nothing to do with my needing an emotional safety valve either, and everything to do with the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it, though I know perfectly well it’s not part of our bargain.’

‘Save that it can do no harm to put on a show, now and then,’ Ainsley said with a teasing smile.

‘Does that mean you’ll only kiss me in public? I know there are men who like that sort of thing, but I confess I prefer to do my lovemaking in private.’

‘Innes! I am sure we can persuade the people of Strone Bridge we are husband and wife without resorting to—to engaging in public marital relations.’

He gave a shout of laughter. ‘Good grief, I hope not. That makes it sound like a meeting of foreign ministers.’

‘It does? Really?’ They began to make their way slowly to the head of the pier.

‘Really,’ Innes said.

‘Oh. What is your opinion on undergoing a husband’s ministrations?’

‘That it sounds as if the husband is to carry out some sort of unsavoury medical procedure. You may as well talk about performing hymeneal duties, which is the sort of mealy-mouthed and utterly uninformative phrase I imagine any number of poor girls hear from their mothers on the eve of their wedding. They probably think they’re going to be sacrificed on the matrimonial altar. Whatever they imagine, you can be damned sure they won’t be looking forward to it.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more. The belief that innocence and ignorance must go hand in hand seems to me quite perverse. I wonder sometimes if there is a conspiracy by society to keep young girls uninformed in order to encourage them into marriages they would not otherwise make.’

The sparkle had returned to her hazel eyes, but it was no longer teasing. Rather, Innes thought, studying her in some surprise, it was martial. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

‘My mother died when I was twelve, and I had no other female relative close enough to divulge the pertinent facts before my wedding night. It was a—a shock.’

He was appalled, but she was bristling like a porcupine. ‘Perhaps there should be some sort of guidebook. An introduction to married life; or something of that sort.’

He meant it as a joke, but Ainsley seemed much struck. ‘That is an excellent idea.’

‘Though if what you say about the conspiracy is true, then mothers will surely forbid their daughters from reading it.’

‘More likely fathers would.’

Most definitely martial. Intrigued, he could not resist pushing her. ‘Since the shops that would sell such a thing are the kind frequented by men and not women, then your plan is defeated by the outset,’ Innes said.

‘That shows how little you know,’ Ainsley said with a superior smile. ‘Shops are not the only outlet for such information.’

Above them the white clouds had given way to iron-grey. The wind was picking up as the tide turned, making white crests on the water, which was turning the same colour as the sky. While they’d been talking, the luggage had been loaded onto the cart, where Angus was now waiting patiently. Of Eoin there was no sign. Reluctantly, Innes abandoned this intriguing conversation. ‘Whatever else has changed,’ he said, ‘the weather is still as reliably fickle as ever. Come on, let’s get out of this wind before you catch a cold.’

* * *

Ainsley woke with a start and sat up, staring around her at the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was panelled and sparsely furnished. It had the look of a place hastily put together, and it felt as if the fires had not been lit for some time. Shivering as she threw back the covers and stepped onto the bare floorboards, she could feel the cold begin to seep into her bones.