Page 8 of To Winter at Wildsyde

Regardless of having had a good idea of what she might be up against, the bold question took Ruth by surprise and it was an effort not to react. Her years of ignoring the vile and spiteful comments about her by some members of the ton, however, now stood her in good stead and she didn’t so much as blink.

“My position is to be the wife of the laird,” she said, quite unruffled. “And our marriage agreement states that the running of the household and staff is to be left entirely to me. I have the right to dismiss anyone who does not please me and if I feel the need they will leave without a character.” She let the words hang in the air, allowing them time to sink in. It did not take a genius to work out that there was little work to be had in such a sparsely inhabited part of the world. “However, that said I would very much like for us all to get along. It is in all of our interests to return Wildsyde to its former glory and I am eager to do so. I have no desire to upset the apple cart and am more than willing to learn the way of things here if you will help me do so. I do not consider myself an unreasonable woman, and I hope you shall not find me so. If there is a problem, I wish to hear of it, and we will resolve it, together. If you do your work, and do it well, I shall have no complaints.”

To her dismay their belligerent expressions only deepened. Sheenagh looked positively murderous.

“Ach, she’ll never stick it. She’ll be gone afore Christmas,” the young woman murmured, just loud enough for Ruth to hear.

Ruth ignored her. Fine.

“I must inform you that I am used to running a household far larger and grander than this, and with a vast staff. There is no scheme or snabble with which I am unacquainted. I will overlook any minor infractions that have occurred before my arrival. Rest assured they will not be so kindly treated from this moment on.”

Flora look like she might be sick, and Ruth wondered how much of the larder found its way back to other members of the Moffat family. Not that she could blame the girl, if life was as hard as she suspected. Well, she would need to investigate their wages and their situations and see what she could do to help. She hoped that was one way she might show them she was here to improve matters, not make them worse.

“Now, I need a lady’s maid,” she said, looking the three women over, though she had already decided. “Sheenagh, you may attend me. I will retire early tonight as it has been a long day and I shall not need you for now. You will wake me at six. I expect a cup of chocolate and hot water to wash with. That will be all for now.”

Ruth turned away from them, ignoring the looks of stunned disbelief on everyone’s faces. They could make of that decision what they would, but Ruth knew trouble when she saw it, and it was always best to keep that in plain sight. She returned to her room, unhurried, without a trace of doubt or dismay, her head held high. It was only after she had closed her bedroom door and crumpled on the bed that she allowed the tears to come, a violent storm of sobs that momentarily overpowered her.

Ruth calmed herself quickly, revolted by such a display of self-indulgence.

“You are made of sterner stuff than this, Ruth Stone,” she scolded herself, before washing her face in cold water and taking a few deep breaths. Once the storm had passed, she moved to the window and spent a long time looking out across the darkness beyond the glass. A dazzling display of stars glinted in the vast expanse of sky and all at once she felt her chest ease. This was right, this was her home now, and if she had to fight to get it, so be it. A shiver ran over her and she moved away, chilled by so long standing by the draughty window.

“Start as you mean to go on,” she muttered to herself, taking a moment to check her hair was tidy and her dress not unduly rumpled by having thrown herself down on the bed like some hysterical child. With that in mind, she went back down the stairs, in search of her prospective husband.

She found him in what she assumed was his study and discovered she needed a moment to catch her breath at the sight of him, which was irritating in the extreme. If she was to have any chance of dealing with him, she really had to get over this ridiculous urge to melt into a puddle every time she glimpsed his knees, for heaven’s sake. Still, on this occasion it was beyond her ability.

He stood before the fireplace, one boot resting on the fender, his gaze trained on the leaping flames that cast his features with glinting tones of gold and bronze. Clad in only kilt and shirt, the sleeves of which had been rolled back to his elbows, Ruth hardly knew what to stare at first. Bare knees had been enough of a jolt to her sheltered existence, bare forearms, heavy with muscle and dusted with dark hair was almost enough to feel some sympathy with her mother. Swooning was a temptation she would not give in to, however, no matter how difficult to resist.

“Mr Anderson,” she said instead, rather pleased when he started, having not noticed her come into the room. It was nice not to be the one taken by surprise for once. “If I may ask, when and where shall we be married?”

For a moment he just stared at her, and then his dark brows drew together. “Tomorrow afternoon, in the kirk at Canisbay.”

“Is it far?”

“Less than an hour.”

Ruth waited, hoping there might be something else, a polite hope that she’d settled in perhaps. Fool. “Very well, then. Good night, Mr Anderson.”

She turned and left him. Though she would have liked to have stayed and provoked him into speaking with her, she suspected her own patience and good judgement had been all used up for one day. Tomorrow she would be Mrs Anderson, for good or for ill. She could only pray it was the former, though for now, she had no reason on earth to believe so.

***

Gordy watched Miss Stone as she turned away from him. Head straight, haughty as a queen, and with such iron self-control. For a moment he allowed himself to consider the wedding night and just how he might go about dismantling that control and was alarmed by the fiery jolt of lust that surged directly to his groin. Damn, but he’d been alone too long.

“Pack it in, ye great lummox,” he muttered, glowering back down at the fire. For all she desired him—and she did desire him—she’d likely still pitch a fit when he tried to put a hand on her. No doubt she did not understand what a wedding night entailed, having been kept in ignorance like all nice girls. Well, it would be entertaining to enlighten her, he thought with a grim smile, though he did not find the idea as engaging as he perhaps ought. Instead a thread of anxiety wound its way down his spine. What if she swooned, what if she didn’t want him, or changed her mind? Well, what did he care anyway, so long as he had her money? That was the main thing, though he needed an heir. He tugged at his lip, disturbed by thoughts of trying to get a child on a woman who didn’t want him.

Ach, he was being a fool, there was no way she didn’t want him. He’d seen the look in her eyes, the fire there. She wanted him, and he’d make sure that, at least, was good for them both. There was no surer way of bending a woman to your way of thinking than pleasing her in bed. Of course, that worked both ways, but he’d not allow her that kind of power over him, nor any kind. Despite his best intentions, he glanced across the room to the portrait that filled the opposite wall. It had been painted before he was born. His father, mother, and two older sisters. The glittering eyes of his mother settled on him accusingly. They’d been happy before he was born, the proof of her shame.

Her fault, he told himself, gritting his teeth. It was all her fault. He hadn’t asked to be born, had he? She’d done it, not him. He was only the poor bastard who’d paid the price.

Gordy turned his back on them, as they’d done to him quick enough. Women. Two-faced, treacherous creatures who’d smile in your face and stab you in the back, and now he was doing what he’d sworn he’d never do and taking one as his wife. Holy God. He felt as if he’d made a deal with the devil. Fifty thousand pounds, though…. A long exhalation shuddered through his frame. Well, he’d not signed his soul away for that price, only his name. She’d have no more of him than that. There wasn’t enough money in the world to tempt him to give so much as an inch. He’d see her fed and well clothed, and she could do as she wished with the running of the household. She’d bear his sons and he’d never raise a hand to her in anger, but that was all he was willing to give. It was all he could give. If luck was on his side, he’d get her with child sooner rather than later and she could go back to England and leave him be. Once he had the requisite heir and a spare, she could do as she pleased, even take lovers if she wished, as long as she was discreet.

Until then, though… until then she would be at his disposal. His body tightened with anticipation. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they’d be wed, and then they’d see just who was managing who.

Chapter 5

Mrs Anderson.

Mrs Ruth Anderson.