Patrick had once been the head groom, but apparently, he now ran the entire estate. By the look of things, he’d done a damn fine job of it.
Remembering his manners, Dylan drew Natalia forward. “Lady Natalia Blake, may I present Patrick Macpherson, a dear old friend. Patrick, this is my wife. We married less than a fortnight ago.”
Patrick gave Natalia a long assessing look then grinned. “You’ll do fine, my lady. Just fine.” Turning to Dylan, he gestured toward the house. “Mum wasn’t expectin’ you, but I’m sure she’ll have the rooms made up in no time at all.”
Room, Dylan thought fiercely. Tonight, they would share the same room, whether Natalia liked it or not.
“Very good,” he said, relieved. “I’m sorry we didn’t send word ahead.”
Patrick shoved his explanations away. “We’re just glad to have you back, lad. This place has been quiet and empty for far too long.”
* * *
Natalia followed her new husband and Mr. Macpherson toward the keep. As the two men spoke of the past, she noticed an eerie resemblance between them, with their dark coloring, startling blue-gray eyes, and animated gestures.
When they reached the massive oak entry, Dylan turned and swept her up in his arms, giving her no chance to protest. He grinned down at her, gray eyes full of mischief. “I told you I’d carry you over the threshold.”
“Yes, you did.” She clung to him, thrilled. His heat and strength surrounded her, a blatant reminder of the night to come.
All too soon, they were inside. He let her slide down his muscled length. But his rueful smile assured her he didn’t want to let her go.
Still flustered, she gazed around at her new home. She’d expected the inside of the keep to be dark and musty, but to her delight, it been renovated, probably when Dylan was a child.
They stood inside a huge great hall, which stretched the entire length of the building. Bright sunlight filtered through dozens of mullioned windows fitted with sparkling glass, and the dark wood shone with signs of a fresh polish.
On the walls hung a vast assortment of weapons—swords, daggers, and claymores—arranged in such intricate patterns they looked like works of art. Huge fireplaces stood on each side of the hall, both large enough to cook a full-sized boar. The ceiling soared twenty feet overhead and depicted scenes of the mighty Camerons in bloody battle.
A very male room, to be sure, but despite its immense size and bloodthirsty décor, the great hall made her smile. The room suited Dylan, somehow. And the small, rather cozy groupings of upholstered chairs near both fireplaces kept it from being too overwhelming.
Dylan’s face was lit up like a little boy’s. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do,” she replied honestly. “I like it very much.” Aldabaran seemed like a home, far more so than any of her father’s grandiose estates. Perhaps this was the place she’d been looking for.
Before she could say anything else, a small elderly woman emerged from a door on the far side of the room.
“Patrick?” Her voice was old and faded. As she came closer, Natalia decided she looked like a grandmother out of a storybook. Plump, with white hair and red cheeks, her blue eyes sparkled despite her age. She approached slowly, a puzzled frown on her lovely old face. “Do we have guests, son?”
A wide grin split Patrick’s handsome weathered face. “It’s our boy, Dylan. He’s come home, Mum. Home to stay. And he’s brought his new bride.”
“Dylan?” The old woman shuffled a few steps closer and stared at Dylan’s face as though he were the savior. Her eyes filled with tears. Reaching up, she touched his cheek tenderly, as though afraid he’d vanish into thin air. “Oh, my sweet boy.”
“How are you, ma’am?” Dylan smiled gently, but he shifted uncomfortably, as though uncertain how to handle such unconditional acceptance. Natalia wondered if he even remembered the old woman. He’d said he hadn’t been back here since he was seven.
Apparently, he’d been a wonderful little boy, or these people wouldn’t be so glad to see him.
Now it was her turn to shift uncomfortably, because she’d always known this side of him existed. But if she’d married a truly kind and generous man, where did that leave her and her anger?
“We kept everything nice for you.” The little woman blinked away her tears. “Patrick thought you’d never come back. But I always told him that you would. This is your home, isn’t it, dearie?”
Dylan nodded and brought the old woman’s hand to his lips, kissing it with a tender smile. “It certainly is, Mrs. Macpherson. I always wanted to come back, but I didn’t find out my grandfather left Aldabaran to me until recently.”
“Didn’t the earl tell you, then?” A thundercloud settled over Patrick’s face, and he muttered something wicked-sounding in Gaelic. “I never should have—” He broke off, once again managing to control his emotions. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. We’re just glad he finally told you.”
Natalia laughed at Patrick’s audacity. Until now, she hadn’t known the earl had kept Dylan’s inheritance away from him.
Dylan glanced down at her, a small smile curving his well-formed lips. “You have a lovely laugh. I hope to hear it more often.”
Her own smile faded. She realized this was the first time she’d laughed in a very long time.
