Strangers at the Altar. Marguerite Kaye

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      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.

      Though it was July, it felt more like April. She made haste with her ablutions. Without the help of a maid, she laced her corsets loosely and tied her hair into a simple knot before pulling a woollen dress from her trunk. The colours, broad stripes of cream and turquoise, made her think of a summer sky that bore no resemblance to the one she could see through the window. The narrow sleeves were long, the tight-fitting bodice made doubly warm with the overlapping kerchief-style collar that came to a point at her waist. Woollen stockings and boots completed her toilette in record time. Reluctantly, she abandoned the idea of wrapping her cloak around her, telling herself that a lesson in hardiness was in order.

      The corridor outside was dark and windowless. The fading daylight darkened by the deluge that had erupted as she arrived yesterday had prevented her from gaining any perspective of her new residence. Exhaustion had set in once she had eaten, and Ainsley had retired almost immediately afterwards.

      Start the way you mean to go on. Muttering Madame Hera’s own advice like a charm, she stumbled her way towards the door where she had dined last night, cheered by the faint smell of coffee. The room looked much more attractive in the daylight, and the fire, which last evening had smouldered, today was burning brightly. ‘Good morning,’ she said.

      Innes was seated at the table, staring moodily at his empty plate, but he stood when she came into the room. His jaw looked raw. Most likely he’d shaved in water as cold as she’d used to wash. Perhaps he simply wasn’t a morning person. Ainsley hovered at the door.

      ‘Are you staying or going?’ Innes asked, and she gave herself a little shake.

      ‘Staying,’ she said, seating herself opposite.

      ‘I didn’t know if you’d want tea or coffee, so I had Mhairi bring both.’

      ‘Coffee, thank you.’

      He sat down and poured her a cup. ‘There’s crowdie and oatcakes, but if you’d prefer a kipper, or some ham or porridge?’

      ‘No, that will be fine—at least— What is crowdie?’

      ‘Cheese.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She took the oatcakes and creamy cheese. ‘This looks delicious.’ Innes poured himself a cup of tea. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked, cringing as she spoke, for she had already noticed his empty plate, and she sounded as if she was making polite conversation over the tinkling of teaspoons in an Edinburgh drawing room.

      ‘Yes,’ Innes said.

      Ainsley bit into an oatcake. The crunch was embarrassingly loud. She took a sip of coffee. It sounded like a slurp. This was ridiculous. ‘Innes, would you prefer...?’

      ‘Ainsley, if you would prefer...?’

      He stopped. She stopped. Then he laughed. ‘I’m not used to having company at breakfast. I don’t know whether you’d prefer to be left in peace, or— What?’

      ‘I don’t know. I’m not any more accustomed to it than you. It’s silly, I know it’s silly, but it feels strange.’

      ‘Would СКАЧАТЬ