Chapter Eighteen

Robert Campbell was a large man with an even larger voice. From the instant he stepped onto the grounds of Campbell Castle, his gravelly baritone infiltrated every inch of the castle. And that was even before he entered the stone foyer.

Apprehensive to meet her new father-in-law, a man whom she'd already unconsciously judged and found wanting for both his affairs and abandonment of his kin, Brynne lingered behind the children as they threw themselves into Robert's enormous arms.

They were, she noted with some relief, happy to see him. Even the twins stopped their squalling to stare at him with big, wondrous eyes. After doling out candy from a paper sack, he settled Tavish on his left side, Eara on his right, and beckoned Brynne over with a laughing shout.

"Aye, let me have a look at me new daughter!" he roared, leading her to question if he wasn't a tad hard of hearing. Dressed in a kilt and leather vest with his red hair, several shades lighter than Lachlan's deep auburn and peppered heavily with gray, loose and flowing over his shoulders, he was the very picture of a Scottish warrior of old…and not at all what she had expected.

Certainly her father had never dangled his children off his hip or bribed them with sweet treats. When the Marquess of Dorchester had seen fit to visit–despite it being his home as well as theirs, it had always felt like a visit–he was cold and contained. Brusque, even. And he'd never shown them any sort of physical affection.

Brynne gasped aloud when Robert wrapped her in a hearty embrace that stole the breath from her lungs and lifted her onto her tiptoes. It was like being hugged by a giant! Giggling, Eara and Tavish pinched her cheeks and stroked her hair as Robert rocked all three of them back and forth.

"Pwetty," Tavish gurgled, closing his chubby fist around one of Brynne's curls, and Lachlan's father gave a shout of laughter.

"That's me boy!" He tossed his youngest son into the air and caught him in the crook of his elbow as Brynne gave a tiny squeak of alarm. "Already flirting with the ladies, are ye? A Campbell rite of passage, tae be sure."

Unsure of what to make of the Marquess of Kintore, Brynne darted a glance at Lachlan, but he was little help. Standing off by himself in the far corner of the foyer, her husband gave her as much acknowledgement as he had this morning after joining her for breakfast. Which was to say, none at all.

After their argument yesterday, he'd gone off to the distillery and had spent the night there while she'd laid awake staring at the ceiling, replaying his words over and over again in her mind as she struggled to make sense of his rage.

What had begun as her attempt to communicate that she merely wanted to be included in important decisions had quickly spiraled into something else. In all the time they'd known each other, she had never witnessed such anger. Such animosity. Such…such fury . The things he had said to her, coupled with the way he had said them, had revealed a side of his personality that she'd never witnessed before.

The Lachlan she knew–the Lachlan she had married–was sweet, and endearing, and charming. But the Lachlan in the orchards, the Lachlan who had unleashed a torrent of barbed accusations that she'd been helpless to protect herself against, was abrasive, and callous, and hostile.

She wanted to be as angry with him as he was with her.

But she couldn't.

Because he was right.

About her reluctance to tell Weston she was married. About her dismay at the condition of the castle. And while she wasn't ashamed of their marriage, she was self-conscious of it. Of what others would say once it became public knowledge. Of what they would think. Of what they would do.

She knew that she shouldn't have cared. And maybe she wouldn't have, if she hadn't learned at her governess' knee that the ton's opinion of her wasn't just one thing, it was everything .

Who was she, without the approval of her peers?

She'd prayed that the answer would reveal itself when she came to Campbell Castle. Or disappear entirely. Instead, all she had were more questions…and a husband who refused to look at her. Biting the inside of her cheek in an effort to quell the unease in the pit of her belly, she turned her focus to the other red-haired Scot in the foyer.

"I've light refreshments in the parlor if you'd care for some, along with fresh lemonade," she offered, bestowing upon Lachlan's father the same smile she'd used when she'd met Queen Victoria. By her estimation, making a good impression on one's father-in-law was just as beneficial as impressing England's reigning monarch.

"Och, and are not ye a sweet lass tae offer such a warm welcome?" Robert boomed. "Ye have married a fine lady, Lachlan. A far sight better than that witch yer brother stuck himself with."

"Ye didna think she was a witch when ye asked her tae marry ye," Lachlan said mildly.

"Aye." Robert gave an unapologetic grin. "That's the truth of it. A good thing she said no, as I wouldna have wed me Heather, and she wouldna have blessed an old man with these two bairns." This time, he tossed both Eara and Tavish high into the air and they let out matching squeals of delight while Brynne cringed and clapped a hand over her eyes.

"Where is me dear stepmother?" asked Lachlan.

"Decorating the nursery with as many toys and rocking horses that she can find." Robert waggled his bushy eyebrows at Callum, who'd been about to drop a tiny garter snake into Brynne's pocket as a farewell gift. Blushing, the boy put the creature into his own pocket instead. "She feels poorly for leaving the children here for this long. We both do." He sobered. "It wasna yer burden tae bear, Son, and the last thing ye need is a pack of cubs running underfoot when ye're trying tae begin a new life with yer bonny bride."

Brynne found such an admission touching, but Lachlan merely snorted.

"And what do yer mistresses have tae say about sharing yer attention with yer wife and four brats?" he said even as he gave Blaine's tangled black hair an affectionate tousle.

"They will not complain after I give them a shiny bobble," Robert said cheerfully. "What do ye think, Daughter? Would ye rather rubies or emeralds tae soothe yer injured feelings?"

Brynne blinked. "Ah…"

"Ye are shocking my bride's delicate sensibilities." At that, Lachlan finally crossed the room to stand beside her. He even slipped an arm around her waist, but either did not see or chose to ignore the cautious curve of her lips. "Ye forget, Father, that the English are not nearly as bluntly spoken."

"But she's no longer an English rose, is she?" Handing Eara and Tavish off the nursemaid to be fed, Robert scratched under his chin. "Yer wife is a Campbell now, and pretty as a bouquet of wild heather." He gave Brynne a wink. "Sorry, lass, if I offended ye. Having six sons, I tend tae forget tae curb my tongue in polite company."

"That is quite all right," she said, and she meant it.

The Marquess of Kintore was as different from the Marquess of Dorchester as the light of day was from the pitch of night, but she vastly preferred Robert's–admittedly flawed–character to her father's icy demeanor. It was obvious where Lachlan had gotten his charm from, and while she'd never want to be married to a man whose eye wandered as freely as Robert Campbell's, she was of the opinion that he'd make a fine father-in-law.

Again, she invited him into the parlor, but he declined with a regretful shake of his head.

"Next time, lass. But I'm sure me boy is as eager tae get ye all tae himself as me wife is tae see the twins. She had a bad spell of it, after they were born." Robert tapped the side of his skull. "Something went off, up here. Which is why I suggested she spend a few months in Bath. A change of scenery, and all that. It must have worked, for now she's right as rain and eager tae begin mothering."

Brynne had heard of new mothers who did not bond with their babies right away. A different sort of anxious mannerisms that had left her friend, Lady Wright, in bed for nearly half a year after the birth of her daughter. Thankfully, with time and patience and a good doctor (the first two had been fired after they suggested leeching), she'd made a full recovery and was due to welcome her second child any day, if she hadn't already.

"I am glad to hear it." Kneeling, Brynne gave each of Lachlan's brothers and little Eara a farewell hug. Her chest tightened as she rose, and she averted her gaze as the corners of her eyes stung. She must have touched her face after squeezing the lemons for the lemonade. Or else she'd grown more attached to this rambunctious group of miscreants than she'd thought.

"They'll be happy at Kintore Manor," Lachlan said quietly as he joined her in the doorway to wave a final goodbye. "Spoiled rotten, I am sure, but Lady Heather will have a veritable brigade of governesses at her disposal tae keep them in line. We can visit once they've settled in."

Brynne frowned. "Does she…that is to say, is your stepmother aware that your father–"

"Is a lecherous old goat who canna keep his pecker in his pants?" Lachlan said dryly.

Her cheeks suffused with color. "I don't know if I'd put it that way."

"Why, when that's the way it is? The way it's always been. Robert Campbell is a man of few vices. He doesna drink tae excess–at least not so much anymore. He's never raised a hand tae me or my brothers when it wasna needed. He honors his bets. But it has never been said that he is a faithful husband. Something Lady Heather well knew before she married him. Especially given that he was still married tae Blaine's mother when they… met ."

"Then how–"

"If memory serves, me father claimed the marriage was never valid and paid a parishioner tae say the same. Blaine's mother trotted off with a hefty sum for her troubles, and Lady Heather trotted in. Not tae say she hadna already been doing some trotting, if ye understand me meaning."

"I–I see." As her blush deepened, Brynne wondered if she could abide such an arrangement. Affairs were more common in the ton than fidelity and if both parties were aware of their partner's indiscretions, as was the case with Lachlan's father and stepmother, then what was the harm? Except she didn't think–in fact, she knew –that she'd never want to share her husband with another. Just imagining him doing to another woman what he'd done to her…it was impossible. It was intolerable. But it was also something she'd never have to worry about.

While Lachlan had spoken harshly to her yesterday, he'd never hurt her on purpose. Of that, she was certain. She had to be certain. Because if he did…if he did, it would take them to a place that they'd never recover from.

She was already clinging by her fingernails. Such a betrayal would wrench her hands free, and then there'd be nothing to do but fall.

Nibbling her bottom lip, she cast her attention to the drive. All of the children–with the exception of Blaine, who hadn't been allowed to bring his snail collection into the carriage–were eager to set off to their new home, and they quickly found a seat in the enormous landau with the twins on Robert's lap. A crack of the whip, and the team of four horses set off in a plume of stone dust.

"Do ye hear that?" Lachlan asked, cupping his ear.

"What?" she said.

"Silence."

It was silent.

Almost eerily so.

But instead of finding respite in the quiet, the unease she'd been able to tamp down when Robert arrived resurfaced again. She didn't like this divide between her and Lachlan. This distance , even though they were standing side by side. They needed a bridge. Something to close the gap between her insecurities and his doubt. If she had to lay down the first plank, then so be it. Because she hadn't learned how to trap a frog in a silk stocking just to give up now.

"Lachlan–" she began.

"Bry–" he started.

They stopped.

Stared at each other.

"Ye said there were refreshments?" he said gruffly.

At her nod, they went into the parlor, which was really nothing more than a sparsely furnished room with a table in the middle surrounded by mismatched chairs. But the windows offered a view of the fields, and the sunlight trickling in through the glass caught on the tiny pieces of mica in the stone walls, and the air smelled of fresh citrus.

There was beauty to found here, Brynne reflected as she sat across from her husband. It wasn't obvious, or easy to find. It would take work–hard work–to make it shine. For the castle and this marriage. But it was possible. All hope needed was a single drop of rain to bloom. And heaven knew they had enough of it sitting around in buckets.

As Lachlan gazed at Brynne, her gloved hands demurely folded, her chin bowed, her eyes cast to the side, he felt like exactly what he was.

A great, bumbling lummox.

He'd let his Scot's temper get the best of him…and he'd said things that he shouldn't have. Things that were going to be difficult to take back in the calm after the storm. But damned if he wasn't going to try.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Until all hell broke loose.

"PIGS!" Adam McCrery cried as he catapulted into the parlor, splattering mud everywhere. An experienced farmer whom Lachlan had hired on last year to assist him in preparing the fields for sowing and planting, he was a quiet sort who never wasted a word. This was the first time, to Lachlan's knowledge, that he'd ever raised his voice above a thoughtful whisper.

"What?" Brynne exclaimed as she half-rose from her seat.

" Pigs ," Adam repeated, throwing his arms wide for emphasis. "Twenty of them, maybe more. They got out of their pen last night and ontae the barley sometime early this morning."

Lachlan could feel the blood draining from his face. He gripped the arms of his chair to steady himself. "How much damage?" he asked grimly.

"We tried tae herd them off at the high ridge, but–"

" How much damage? " he repeated.

Adam hung his head. "All of it, Lachlan. They destroyed all of it."