Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books) (5 page)

She didn’t have to repeat the order. Her sons charged off with cheers of excitement.

Thea retied the bonnet ribbon beneath her chin. “Unfair,” she said to Neal.

“But necessary,” he assured her, quite proud of himself. She needed this outing. He knew it. “We will talk, Thea.” He paused and then added quietly, “You were important to me.”

She looked away.

The boys joined them. They had matching coats and wide brimmed hats that were exactly the sort any child of the gentry would wear. Christopher was so excited that he was having trouble putting his coat on. Neal helped and then opened the door. The boys fairly ran down the stairs.

“Wait,” their mother warned them. “You know the rules.”

Her sons came to a halt and stood like two racehorses anxious to take off out of the gate.

“You must be gentlemen at all times,” Thea chided and, after locking the door, went down the stairs to take their hands.

Neal followed, rather enjoying the boys’ excitement.

On the street, Thea kept a firm hold on her sons. There was much activity, mostly neighbors sitting on the stoops and in the doorways of surrounding buildings. Christopher tried to gallop, and Jonny had to try it a step or two.

Harry and Neal used to play that game of horses when they were the ages of Thea’s boys. Margaret had played too when the nanny would let her. They had spent hours at Morrisey Meadows, the family’s country estate, setting up jumps and then trotting or galloping over them.

Funny, but it had been years since he’d thought of the good parts of his childhood.

“Which way shall we go, my lord?” Thea asked.

“My coach is at the end of the street. This one was too narrow for it to travel down,” Neal said, pointing to the right. He saw his coachman waiting for him. “Let them go,” he said to Thea. “Bonner is there waiting for them.” Bonner was the name of his coachman, and he already had a small audience of children around him.

She ignored him, but her sons did not. They were both pulling on her now, anxious to have a look at his coach. She still held fast, until their excitement overcame them. They were pulling too hard, and when they were fifty feet from Bonner, she took Neal’s advice and let them go.

They ran to the coach. Their first stop was Neal’s matched grays.

The coach itself was Neal’s pride and joy. His father had designed it out of burled wood. The seats were covered with tufted red velvet. The overall vehicle was smaller than most coaches and very comfortable for town riding. It was so distinctive that his father had never bothered placing a coat of arms on the door. It was unnecessary. Everyone recognized the Lyon when he traveled.

“They are horse mad,” Thea admitted to Neal, who fell into step beside her, “and I don’t know why, because they haven’t been around many. They’ve always been that way.”

“We all are at that age,” Neal answered. “And remember, their mother was a bruising rider.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I did outride you on more than one occasion.”

“Yes.” He paused a moment and then said, “How was your money stolen?”

She looked to her sons. Bonner was telling the boys the horses’ names: “Blen and Cully.”

“Why did you name them that?” Christopher wanted to know.

“Lord Harry named them, laddies, after famous battles.”

“He is the one in the Horse Guard, isn’t he, sir?” Jonny asked.

“Aye, he is,” Bonner answered.

“Don’t worry about them,” Neal told Thea. “They are in good hands. Bonner will have them feeding the horses molasses bits.”

She crossed her arms. He sensed she wanted to tell him that how her money was stolen was none of his business. And then she surprised him by saying, “I
didn’t
leave them alone if that is what you suspect. I would never do that. Those boys mean more to me than my own life. When I received Sir James’s request for an interview, I went to see if Mrs. Hadley upstairs would watch them. She wasn’t at home, but her sister-in-marriage was. I didn’t know Mrs. Gray, and
now
I feel foolish. Mrs. Gray’s husband had been a vicar. I assumed . . .” Her voice trailed off. She was not happy with herself. “I didn’t know the vicar had been a thief and a drunkard, two traits that have obviously been carried on by his widow. When I returned home after our interview, I discovered the door was open and the boys left alone.”

“And the box empty.”

“She took all the money I’d saved,” Thea said. “Every penny. Mrs. Hadley doesn’t know where she is. Apparently Mrs. Gray has a fondness for drink. She could be anywhere right now.”

“And what of your marriage?” he asked, pressing his luck. “I hadn’t heard that you had married.”

Thea’s lips quirked into a smile. “Aren’t you being nosey, Neal?”

She’d called him by his Christian name, certainly a sign of a truce growing between them. “I am, but only because I care.”

She shook her head, humming her disbelief. “No, we shall not go there.”

Neal tamped down the desire to argue. He really was curious about what path her life had taken. If she’d been in trouble, she could have contacted him—but then she was right. He had abandoned her all those years ago. He
had
turned his back on her.

Regret was an uncomfortable emotion.

“Come, Thea. Let us have a good dinner and rekindle our friendship.”

“You just want me to find a wife for you,” she argued, but her words lacked their earlier heat.

“Aye, I do. I want what you have, Thea. I want children.”

She nodded her understanding and gave her sons a pensive touch on the shoulders as they clambered into the coach.

In no time they were on their way to the Clarendon, one boy hanging out of one window and another boy hanging out the other so they could see all the sights along the way. They exclaimed over the stocky workhorses pulling drays, laughed at a juggler entertaining on a crowded street corner, and carried on about how “their” coach was far finer than any of the others on the road.

It was the most enjoyable trip Neal had ever made. The boys fascinated him. They had their own personalities and came up with their own thoughts. He’d equated children to being much like dogs who followed one around and did as bid. These lads were more imaginative, more engaged, more alive with life than he could ever have anticipated.

Thea was far from comfortable with him still. Even though they sat close enough that their legs brushed each other, she turned away from him, studying the passing scene outside her window, one hand on Christopher’s coat in case he tumbled out in his excitement.

At this angle, she gave him a view of her very fine profile. She was a stubborn woman, a determined one, the sort he needed.

“I’ve had all sorts of matchmaking offers,” he said.

She turned, looked at him. Her eyes had a grayish tint, like a stormy summer sky. “I am certain you have. Why were they not successful?”

“I was not interested.”

She nodded as if he’d confirmed something she’d already known. However, the coach slowed to a stop. Bonner opened the door for them.

“Come, Master Martins,” Neal said. “And your mother.”

Christopher was reluctant to leave Blen and Cully, but a word from his mother and he was obedient. They entered the Clarendon. The doorman recognized Neal and greeted him with great fanfare.

“It is good to see you again, my lord.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” Neal often ate at the Clarendon. He preferred the food over that of his clubs.

The lobby was busy with much coming and going. Neal offered Thea his arm. She hesitated, as if debating whether to refuse or not, then shook her head. Neal didn’t mind her standoffishness. She kept careful boundaries around herself. He understood, realizing he did the same.

Jonny and Christopher walked beside their mother, their heads turning as they were taking in all they could see. They all paused at the cloakroom to remove their headgear and the boys’ coats. It was at that moment that a group of stylish women walked out of the dining area. They were all giggling and crowded around Neal’s brother.

Harry was wearing one of his Horse Guard uniforms, and the boys honed in on it.

“Lyon,” Harry hailed Neal with lazy good humor. He steered his harem toward them. “You must try Jacques’s
poulet en croute
. He has outdone himself . . .”

Harry’s voice trailed off as he realized Neal wasn’t alone. His gaze sharpened on Thea as if he sensed he should know who she was and couldn’t quite place her.

The women around Harry were all smiling. The ones Neal recognized were married. Harry preferred married women. He said there were fewer complications.

Of course, Harry liked
all
women. He wasn’t choosy. It was the difference between the two men. Neal fought the curse by being circumspect. Harry fought it by enjoying every pair of legs in skirts who crossed his path. In that way, he claimed, he would not and could not form a lasting attachment to any one of them.

“Who is this?” Harry asked, his tone taking on interest as he walked right up to Thea. Both Jonny and Christopher drew in their breath at the realization that one of their heroes was right there in front of them.

A bit annoyed, Neal said, “Mrs. Martin, this is my brother, Colonel Harry Chattan.”

“Colonel,” she said.

“Mrs. Martin?” one of Harry’s companions said. “You seem so familiar. Have we met before? I am Lady Amberton.” She was in her early forties but still had her looks. They said her husband turned a blind eye to her dalliances, and it was obvious that Harry had been plying her and her three companions with good wine. Their cheeks were rosy from it, and their manners more easy and forward.

Harry seemed fine. Of course, Harry could drink a cask of wine and still look unaffected. Many times Neal wished Harry did not have his prodigious predilection for ales, wines and spirits. Or a taste for other, more debilitating vices as well.

Of course there were other things Neal would change about his brother. Harry could be elegantly surly and brutally selfish when he had a mind to be. He was quick-witted, arrogant, and Neal thought him far more intelligent than himself. There were times they rubbed along well, and times they rubbed each other raw.

“I don’t believe so,” Thea answered. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

“We
have
met,” Lady Amberton persisted. “Your name is so familiar.”

Thea smiled and kept moving toward the dining room while reaching down to bring her sons with her. Neal was happy to go with her. He murmured polite good-byes and lengthened his stride to catch up to Thea.

He could feel Harry staring after him.

“Are Lady Amberton and all those ladies with your brother?” Thea asked as the majordomo escorted them to Neal’s customary table. “She is known to be a tigress.”

“Then Harry shall enjoy her.”

He didn’t have to explain more because Thea’s attention shifted to settling her sons and ensuring they understood having polite manners. “Jonathan, you take this seat on my right. Christopher, sit here on my left. Napkins in laps.”

Neal took the liberty of ordering for all of them. “Tonight’s
poulet,
” he told the majordomo, who would handle the matter for him. He always did.

But Thea had not forgotten the thread of the conversation. “And what of yourself, my lord? Do you prefer tigresses?”

His gaze met hers. There was challenge in her voice, a hardness, as if she was waiting for him to disappoint her, as if she expected him to. Was this cynicism a result of her marriage? “I am more circumspect,” he said. “Harry accuses me of being too rigid, but I believe I’m the wiser—”

Before he could finish, a new member joined their party.

“I know
who
she is,” Harry declared as if Neal had been hiding Thea’s identity. He nabbed a chair from another table, mumbling a lame apology to the table’s occupants and pulling it up to sit at Neal’s. He crossed both his arms, stretching his long legs out as was his custom.

“She’s a
matchmaker
.” Harry said the last word as if it left a bad taste. “Don’t do this, Neal. Let it end with us. Let us finish it.”

Neal understood exactly what his brother was suggesting. And then he glanced at Jonathan, whose wide eyes relayed how overjoyed he was at his bounty of having the dashing Horse Guard right there at the table. Neal could remember being that young and involved in every moment of his life. Every day had been an adventure . . . but it wasn’t any longer. Life had become rote, tasteless, unbearable.

Even with meals prepared by a French chef. And horses and houses and, and,
and
 . . .

He hated all the “and’s.”

Neal wanted something
more
than possessions and money. He couldn’t help himself. Life
had
to have more meaning.

He looked over to his brother. “I can’t,” he told Harry. “I won’t.”

Chapter Four

T
hea looked at the two men seated on opposite sides of the table from each other. Colonel Chattan had placed himself right between her and Jonathan. Her poor son was ready to expire of hero worship, and her other son wished he could climb right across her lap, something she prevented by placing a warning hand on his leg.

The Chattans were both big-boned, handsome men. The family resemblance was obvious in the dark hair and the intelligent eyes—but there was a great difference between them. Even angry, the colonel appeared more carefree than his brother. There were laugh lines around his mouth and eyes.

Then again, appearances could be deceiving. She noticed the colonel sat with his right leg outstretched. He obviously favored it, even going so far as to reach down and massage a muscle on the outside of his thigh.

And there was no humor in the accusatory stare he slid in Thea’s direction.

She attempted to avoid his glare by focusing on her sons.

The waiter broke the moment by appearing with plates of food. He asked Colonel Chattan if he wished to join them for dinner. The response was a curt hand motion waving him away.

Lord Lyon made a great pretense of ignoring his brother’s foul mood. He tasted his chicken and pronounced it delightful. He then looked over at Jonathan’s plate. “You must taste your chicken, Master Jonathan. And you, Master Christopher. Delicious.”

The boys were too taken with having the colonel at the table to be interested in food.

Christopher leaned toward Neal. “Is his horse Ajax outside?” he asked in a whisper that could be heard by the whole table.

“
Of course
he’s outside,” Jonathan informed Christopher, as if annoyed by the naivete. “He can’t bring him in here, can he?”

“What does his horse eat?” Christopher wanted to know, ignoring his brother and addressing himself once again to Neal.

“I don’t know,” Neal whispered back. “Let’s ask him.” He raised his voice. “Harry, what are you feeding old Ajax nowadays?”

Christopher was delighted to have a conspirator. “Yes, what do you feed him, sir?” he echoed, and even Jonathan turned to listen, as if the answer was very important.

Colonel Chattan found himself caught between two young hero worshippers and his argument with Lyon. The colonel was angry, but he wasn’t a churlish man, and Lyon must have known that. Slowly, the colonel unbent a bit of his temper to answer Christopher’s question. “The best hay money can buy.”

Jonathan quickly jumped in with questions of his own about the life of a Horse Guard: Where do they sleep? Had the colonel been to war? Did Ajax go? Did he have as many horses as Lord Lyon?

Thea’s mind raced with questions as well. Colonel Chattan was obviously displeased that his brother was contemplating marriage, and that didn’t make sense. A man of Lord Lyon’s rank and position should marry. It was an obligation . . . unless Colonel Chattan wished to be his heir?

She studied the officer from beneath her lashes.
“Don’t do this, Neal. Let it end with us. Let us finish it.”
Those were his words. His demands had been more of a plea. An urgent one.

“You young lads haven’t been eating,” Lyon observed. His good humor had never flagged. “I was hoping Harry would give us a tour of the Horse Guard stables, but we can’t go until you’ve finished your suppers, right, Harry?”

A tour of the stables had obviously not been among the colonel’s plans for the evening. He narrowed his gaze at his brother, but when he saw the eagerness on the boys’ faces, some of his surliness evaporated. “Yes, I’d be happy to escort you on a tour.”

That was all he had to say for them to start shoveling food in their mouths with incredible haste.

Neal’s amused gaze went to Thea. He was enjoying her boys. In fact, the more time he spent with him, the lighter, and more likable, he became.

She was surprised. As she remembered, his parents hadn’t particularly doted on their children. For that reason, Neal had told her he was very close to his brother and sister—or had been. That summer they had met, Harry had been shipped off to pursue the regimental life, and his sister, Margaret, had often escaped the quiet house to stay with a friend on the other side of the parish.

That had left Neal alone with a mother who’d rarely spoken to him and a father who had escaped the house for London as quickly as possible and rarely returned. Neal had told her back then that his father thought more of his ledgers and investments than he did his children. She wondered if that had ever changed.

Neal reached across the table and topped off her glass of wine. “That rule applies to mothers as well,” he chided. “You need to do less worrying, Mrs. Martin, and more eating.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “How do you know I was worrying?”

His answer was an enigmatic smile. It said louder than words that he thought he knew her.

He was wrong. She’d changed. She wasn’t that girl he remembered.

“Please, Mother,” Jonathan said. “Eat your peas.”

“Those are usually my words to you,” she answered.

“Yes, well, it is good advice,” Jonathan replied with perfect seriousness, and Colonel Chattan laughed. He’d been won over.

“I have to like horse-mad lads,” he said. He stood, again favoring the right leg. “I’ll go ahead and meet you there.”

“Are you going to ride Ajax, sir?” Jonathan wanted to know.

“Of course I am.” There was a beat of silence, and then the colonel said, “Would you two like to ride over with me? We’ll meet your mother at the stables.”

Nothing could have pleased the boys more. Christopher’s eyes were so wide with his sudden good fortune that he couldn’t speak. Jonathan did it for him. “
Please
, Mother, may we go?”

This would be a special treat that her sons would talk about forever. Thea couldn’t say no. “Listen to what the colonel says. Behave yourselves.”

“We’ll follow any orders he gives us,” Jonathan promised. Christopher had already climbed off his chair. He reached up and took the colonel’s hand.

The sternness in Colonel Chattan’s face softened. “You’ll be good soldiers,” he said and held out his other hand for Jonathan as he asked Lyon, “You will be coming directly?”

“Of course,” his lordship answered.

“Don’t tarry” was the colonel’s last word before he led the boys out of the dining room, Christopher already barraging him with questions—and Jonathan walking so proudly that it almost hurt Thea’s heart to see him.

Her oldest was growing up. He wouldn’t be her little boy much longer. She didn’t know if she could ever part with either of them. Whenever the world grew too dark and too lonely, they gave her the courage to keep going.

“It is very kind of the colonel to do this,” she said.

Neal laughed. “How could he not? They’ve been staring at him as if he were Hercules and St. George combined. Their excitement is contagious.”

Thea turned to Neal. “What happened to your brother’s leg?”

“You noticed. Most people don’t, and he works very hard to keep it that way.” He pushed his fork pensively and then said, “Cannon fire. At Salamanca. He should have come home. The treatment here would have been better, but Harry’s a military man through and through. He attempted to stay on and fight with his men, but he can’t ride like he used to, and eventually Wellington moved him to his staff. Finally, Harry had no choice but to return home. He had always defined himself as a horseman. He could do anything on a horse, including riding upside down if he’d a mind to. Now he rides, but after a period of time, his leg gives him great pain.”

There was something more he wasn’t telling her. She sensed it. Their childhood friendship had been such that she could read him easily.

“Your brother is not pleased that you wish to marry,” she observed, setting aside her napkin.

Neal shrugged. “It is not his life.”

“Why is he so set against you marrying?”

Green eyes assessed her. “The curse,” he answered, as if daring her to walk off again.

Thea looked around the room. There were other diners. Some were well-heeled travelers who enjoyed the meal with their families; some were bachelors here for their evening meals; others were out to enjoy the chef’s excellent
poulet
.

She faced Neal. “I don’t believe in curses. I don’t believe in bad luck or fate or anything other than what we control ourselves.”

“Not even such a thing as the hand of God?” he challenged.

“I’ve noticed the reasoning behind ‘the hand of God’ is often people making their own bad choices. It’s all just life. We want to take credit for our successes but quickly point the finger at superstition or fate when something goes wrong.”

He now looked around the room and appeared to notice how crowded the dining room had become. “Let us discuss this in the coach.” He rose from the table and she came up with him. He took her arm and guided her out of the room. They didn’t say anything while gathering their coats and hats and waiting for Bonner to bring the horses around, but once inside the coach, Neal didn’t waste time.

“I appreciate Harry taking the boys, because it gives us a moment for plain-speaking,” he said.

“Are you afraid they will be frightened of the curse?” She let her doubt show.

“Thea,
you
don’t have to believe, just accept what
I
know is true. There is more to this world than what we can touch and see.”

Thea settled back into her corner of the coach. “I believe in more than what I can touch and see. But I don’t believe in fairies and kelpies either. We set our own course, my lord. Mayhap your family believes there is a curse because of a lot of bad luck—”

“Yes, hundreds of years’ worth,” he answered, his tone stiff.

“Or perhaps it is just the vagaries of life.” She leaned forward. “I don’t mean to scoff, Neal, but what sort of curse is this that would expect you to marry someone you don’t like? It is not logical.”

He waved away her objection with a curt motion. “It’s not that I want to marry a woman I truly don’t like,” he said. “But she must be someone I will
never
love.”

“Because?” Thea pressed.

“Because once I fall in love, I will die.”

It took a moment for Thea to digest exactly what he’d said. And she still didn’t understand. “Immediately, Neal? Or will you be allowed a few years of wedded bliss?”

“I thought you claimed not to scoff, Thea.”

“I was being rude,” she admitted. “Sorry,” she tossed out, without any conviction.

“It does sound fantastic, and the truth is more so. My family has been cursed for generations by a Scottish witch. Apparently, my ancestor had handfasted with her daughter. Then he betrayed her by running away and marrying an Englishwoman from a wealthy family. The daughter was distraught and took her own life. So the witch cursed us.”

The shadows of the evening were growing long. Thea sat in the swaying coach wondering if he actually believed this nonsense. “Well, one should be wary of a witch’s spawn.” His brows came together and she reminded him, “I explained I am a skeptic. So what makes you believe it is true?”

“The first Chattan,” Neal said, “the one who jilted the daughter died within months after his marriage. They said he was very pleased with his new wife. He’d fallen in love with her—and the curse took him.”

“When was this?” Thea asked. “What year?”

“It was in 1632. The witch’s name was Fenella. The daughter was called Rose.”

“Fenella? That is a witchy-sounding name, but, Neal, people died of all sorts of things back then, and at relatively young ages.”

“His wife was carrying a child, a son,” Neal continued. “He grew into manhood, married, and died once he married, also for love. Death claimed him after a year of marriage.”

“And was his wife carrying a son?”

“Yes.”

“And that son grew into manhood and married and died?”

“Yes.”

“And so on and so forth?” she asked.

“
Yes,
” he reiterated, his tone growing testy.

“So your family has a history of dying at a young age,” Thea concluded. “That does not mean there is a curse. However,” she quickly added, “I have read stories about nonsense like curses that claim the strength of the curse is in how deeply one believes. Perhaps you should stop giving this curse any power over your own life.”

He made an exasperated sound. “Do you not think that one in a long line of my ancestors has not considered the same? Of course we have. We’ve tried all manner of tricks to defeat this curse. My great-grandfather consulted witches and shamans and all sorts of mystics and religious men of every caste and creed to break the curse.”

“What happened?”

“He fell in love with one of the witches and was dead in three months.” Neal leaned toward her. “The only way we’ve found to hold the curse at bay is to marry out of obligation, something not unheard of for our class. But whatever we do, we can’t allow ourselves any warm feelings toward our spouse.”

“Which explains why your mother was such a cold woman,” she said with interest.

“And explains even more why my father stayed away and did absolutely nothing to lighten the situation. He did not want to like her, and it worked. He is the first man in generations who has sired more than one child.”

“Do your brother and sister carry this curse?”

“We don’t know. I assume Margaret is free of it, but she has her doubts.”

“And the colonel’s obvious dislike of me—?”

“Is because he hates my idea of marrying,” Neal finished. “Harry, Margaret, and I are very close. They believe the three of us should not marry at all. They want the curse to end here, with us.”

“That’s what he meant,” Thea said, half to herself. She frowned. “You obviously don’t feel that way.”

“I think the curse can be broken. After all, father lived many years and had three children.” He dropped his gaze to his gloved hand resting on his leg. “And I want children, Thea. I want what you have. I hunger for it. I don’t know if my overwhelming desire for a child is part of the curse or what, and it has created a rift between Harry and me.”