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"Oh, we're coming to the top of the hill! Is Westmore on the other side?"
"No. There's one more hill yet."
"It's so beautiful here." Her head reappeared, curls tousled against the vista of crag and hill, boulder and tree. "Will you take me exploring right away?"
"I expect I will have a lot of work awaiting me."
Those great blue eyes blinked. Her black brows frowned a little, then smoothed out to perfect arches again. "Of course. I did not mean to be flip. You've been away from home too long."
"Yes."
Collin met her eyes evenly, though it cost him a small piece of his heart to watch the worry etch itself over her face. A wariness entered her eyes before she looked away.
He'd let himself forget their differences over the past few days. He'd set aside his concerns about this marriage for the sheer joy of his bride's body and spirit. But they could not spend all the hours of their days together in bed. There would be no escaping that he had brought her low with this marriage. Best for her to realize it now. And if she wanted to leave, at least he would know immediately.
"Will they accept me, do you think?"
"Hmm?" He frowned at the familiar landscape rolling past the window.
"Do you think people will be upset that I'm English?"
"Which people?"
"I don't know."
Pulling himself from his dark thoughts, he saw that she had sobered to a great degree and fought the urge to fold her into his arms. "I'm sure everyone is surprised by the news. But Fergus—my manager—he will not care one whit about your English blood. And the Kirk-lands are my closest neighbors. You remember Jeannie, she already likes you. Did she write?"
A faint tinge of pink crept up her cheeks. "Yes."
Collin saw her intention to say more and held up a hand. "Pray, don't tell me what she said. I'd prefer to remain ignorant."
A bright smile returned.
"Other than those two—I cannot really speak for the servants and workers, but I can't imagine they'd care one way or the other."
"You'd be surprised."
A low shout filtered to his ears over the rumbling drone of the coach wheels, and he glanced out to see the ridge that faced Westmore. One of the horses snorted loudly, obviously catching the scent of so many brethren gathered in the stables below.
He could've sworn that Alex's ears pricked, and she vaulted across the small space to hang out the window. At least the Westmore folk would not think her stiff and haughty.
Her body stilled, and Collin could just make out the curve of her jaw and her half-open mouth as she gaped ahead.
Picturing his home, he tried to see it through her eyes, to think what she would notice. First, the old stone stables at the base of Westmore's hill, the thatched roofs golden and prickly. Then the newer, larger stables stretching out at an angle to the original stalls, wooden walls painted wh
ite so they glowed in the lowering light.
From there, a well-worn road wound up to the outbuildings: a smithy, a hayrick, several square sheds. All were built from the old stone of the original bailey wall.
The moat had been filled in, thank God, so the road rose unimpeded the rest of the way up the hill, to the ancient square monstrosity that crouched atop it.
Her body slipped slowly back into the carriage. "It's a castle," she whispered, eyes wide again.
"A keep," he insisted.
"I didn't expect. . ." She shook herself, curls trembling around her shoulders. "How exciting!"
Collin bit back a laugh. Her words were genuine, but she had not yet seen the interior. Whatever romantic notions she had about ancient castles would crumble when she stepped through the door. The damned place was dark as Hades—
