“A duke!” Mrs. Macpherson chuckled. “Imagine that! Our little Dylan, marrying a duke’s daughter.”
“He married me for my dowry.” Natalia related the news bitterly, wanting to deflate Dylan’s saintly image in some way. “All he cares about is the money.”
“A duke’s daughter, and a large dowry, too?” Mrs. Macpherson couldn’t have been more delighted. “I must tell my Patrick. He’ll be so pleased.”
Still muttering happily under her breath, the little old woman wandered down the hall, leaving Natalia alone.
Mrs. Macpherson didn’t seem to care that Dylan had married her for her money. Embarrassed, Natalia realized she’d wanted the other woman’s sympathy. Why didn’t anyone else find the circumstances of her marriage as horrible and demeaning as she did?
She flopped down on the bed, then sat bolt upright, coughing and choking at the cloud of dust she’d released. Resolutely, she stood and stripped off the covers until only the mattress remained. With a deep sigh, she gathered the blankets and carried them outside. Perhaps she’d be able to work out her frustrations by beating them into submission.
Chapter Twenty-one
Patrick led Dylan on a very satisfying tour of Aldabaran’s grounds. The spotless stables contained magnificent blooded horses, and the outbuildings were in excellent repair. The dairy and chicken coop looked prosperous, and the gardens and flowerbeds bloomed profusely.
After completing the tour, Patrick took Dylan to the village to meet some of the tenants. Dylan spent a few wonderful hours getting to know the people who called Aldabaran home.
The afternoon flew by, and he noticed the sun sinking over the stormy sea in surprise. As he and Patrick returned to the keep, Dylan reflected that nothing else on earth could have diverted him from spending the evening in Natalia’s arms.
For all intents and purposes, this was his wedding night, and with that thought in mind, he hurried his steps and earned a wide grin from his companion. “Eager to get back your pretty young wife, are you, lad?”
Dylan nodded. “Aye, I am. I hope she isn’t too upset that I’ve left her on her own for so long.” In truth, he imagined she’d been glad for the respite. But he couldn’t admit such a thing to Patrick.
“I imagine Mum has kept her occupied. The lass will want to explore her new home.”
They crested the hill and Aldabaran stood before them, its stone walls glowing blood red in the last rays of the setting sun. Dylan paused for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of his new home.
Patrick turned to see why he’d stopped. Then he stilled, too, and stared at Dylan’s face with an arrested expression. “You look so much like your mother. She’d always get the same look on her face whenever she returned home from London.”
Dylan tore his gaze away from the keep, stunned by the yearning in the older man’s eyes. And in that one naked unguarded moment, Dylan understood why Patrick had stayed here all these years.
“You loved my mother, didn’t you?” The words escaped before Dylan could think better of them.
Patrick flinched and turned away. “Of course, I did,” he muttered, as he strode up the path that meandered along the edge of the cliff. “Everyone who knew Fiona loved her.”
Dylan stared after him for a moment then hurried to catch up. “That’s not true,” he told the other man with a bitter laugh. “My father didn’t.”
Patrick cast him a quick pained look. “Can we not talk of Warren, lad? The very thought of the man incites me to a murderous rage.”
Dylan chuckled at Patrick’s audacity. He felt the same way about his father, most days.
About a hundred yards from the keep, Patrick turned toward him once more. “I wanted to tell you, lad, how proud I was to hear of your accomplishments in the army. I followed your career as close as I could, Aldabaran being so remote.”
Dylan blinked, caught off guard once more. A curious sense of warmth stole over him. Patrick had just gifted him with the very words he’d waited in vain to hear from his own father.
He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Patrick squeezed his shoulder and then smiled. “Let’s get up to the house. Mum should have dinner ready by now.”
“Sounds good. I’m starving.” Though welcome, Patrick’s praise had embarrassed Dylan, and he was glad to bring the conversation back to the mundane.
Within minutes, they’d reached the keep. When Dylan opened the wide front doors, an assortment of wonderful smells greeted him. Crystal and china covered one end of the massive table, and his lovely wife waited for him in one of the armchairs before a roaring fire.
Her dark hair shone like satin in the firelight. She’d obviously bathed and changed since this morning. Now she wore a lovely, yet simple, green gown, which complemented the extraordinary color of her eyes. She couldn’t hide a momentary flicker of pleasure at the sight of him, and he grinned, thoroughly pleased.
Life couldn’t get any better than this.
Mrs. Macpherson bustled up to meet them, urging Dylan to take his place at the head of the huge table. “I’ve made some haggis,” she exclaimed, beaming at him. “I remember how much you liked it.”
