Bride Read Free Page B

on the final uphill pull. Justine sat rigidly before Struan, and he reached past her to lay a gentling hand on the animal's neck.
    “Not much farther,” he shouted.
    She only nodded.
    Cloud slipped across the moon, turning out the light over Kirkcaldy. The faintest touch of silver struggled to keep its hold beneath a lowering sky—then faded completely. Soon there would be rain in the wind. Struan could feel it.
    He was glad Justine was here—puzzled, yet very, very glad. But he should not have allowed her to travel through such a night to the lodge. The act was selfish and unsuitable. Mature she might be, but some might find fault with a beautiful and unmarried woman riding alone with a man to whom she was unrelated.
    There was no one in the area to know; none in a position to express disapproval.
    And he needed Justine. He needed an honest friend, if only to be reunited for a short while with the sane world that he fled with the arrival of the first, damnable letter.
    Struan tightened his arms around Justine and closed his eyes. The horse knew the way and this rider was unutterably tired. Justine smelled faintly of roses and her slight body felt strangely comforting pressed to his own.
    The letters.
    His wretched past contained a lapse in good judgment that had cost him what he had so dearly prized—his integrity and his belief in his own strength of character.
    The letters.
    Another rested in his waistcoat pocket. Even through the wind he would swear he could catch the scent of incense from its pages. Once that mysterious aroma had led him deep into himself, to a place where he was at one with God and with his own soul. Or had that merely been an illusion, the dramatic imagining of a fervent young man bent on finding the way to his own essential goodness?
    Essential goodness? He almost laughed but made certain he held back the evil, hollow, hopeless sound such laughter would be in his gentle friend's ears.
    Again the envelope bore the seal of the fingertip dipped in blood. Blood from where; from whom? And how did the unknown demon manage to deliver his foul messages without being seen? Struan shuddered. He must stop recalling the images of his past. How else could he heal himself and make a life again?
    Justine slid a little sideways and instantly clutched at his hands on the reins. Struan surrounded her waist with one arm and held her tightly.
    “You're all right,” he called. “I won't let you fall.” Fool that he was, for all he knew, she'd never mounted a horse since a childhood accident had left her leg so badly damaged.
    After a moment, Justine settled one of her hands atop his at her waist.
    She was a slender creature. Elegantly slender and tall and very, very feminine in her quiet, self-contained manner. When he'd first met her, barely a year earlier in Cornwall, he'd been instantly enchanted. Despite knowing that Justine was a year his senior he'd nevertheless entertained thoughts of courting her. Thank God he'd waited. The letters had proved how right he'd been in his reticence.
    They quickly covered the needle-strewn path through the trees on the knoll. Before them rose the concoction of towers with castellated crowns, of spires, columns and statuary and, fantastically, a single pagoda joined to the main structure by an ornate covered bridge. The whole had been the result of Grandfather's travels to faraway places.
    Now the place was Struan's haven, and his prison.
    Urging the horse on, they clattered beneath the bridge into the stable yard. For the first time since he'd come here with Ella and Max, Struan regretted the absence of staff. He was forced to take Justine with him while he stabled his animal. She stood patiently by and he noticed how she seemed to want to wait close to the horse, and how she smiled and murmured and stroked its head until Struan had accomplished the essentials.
    He considered lifting and carrying her again, but their eyes met and he knew she'd read his thoughts. Very firmly,