“Of course not, but how do they know? Unless Curry has read them my dossier.”
“They trust Curry’s opinion.”
“Everyone does, it seems.”
“The family has served the Mackenzies forever. They’re clan Mackenzie themselves and have always worked on our land. Fought beside us and looked after us for generations.” “There is so much I must get used to.”
Ian said nothing, distracting her from chatter by sliding his hands under her br**sts and kissing her.
Later that afternoon, Ian took her to his collection room. Beth had the feeling of being ushered into a shrine. Shallow shelves with glass fronts had been built around the walls of the huge room, and more glass-shielded shelves ran through the middle. Ming bowls of all sizes and colors rested on small pedestals on the shelves, all labeled as to approximate year, maker, and other details. Some of the shelves were empty, waiting for the collection to grow.
“It’s like a museum.” Beth wandered the room in wonder.
“Where are the ones you bought in London?”
The shelves all looked the same to her, but Ian walked unerringly to one and extracted the red-painted bowl he’d bought from Mather.
She thought all the bowls pretty, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was about them that made Ian want to have a hundred. And he kept them so lovingly. Ian replaced the piece, walked to another seemingly random shelf, and removed another bowl. This one was flushed jade green and had three green-gray dragons around the outside. Beth clasped her hands. “How lovely.”
“It is yours.”
She stilled. “What?”
His gaze moved away, though his hands were rock steady.
“I give it to you. A wedding present.”
Beth stared at the bowl, a fragile piece of the past, such a delicate object in Ian’s large, blunt ringers. “Are you certain?” “Of course I’m certain.” His frown returned. “Do you not want it?”
“1 do want it,” Beth said hastily. She held her hands out for it. “I’m honored.”
The frown faded, to be replaced by a slight quirk of his lips. “Is it better than a new carriage and horses and a dozen frocks?”
“What are you talking about? It’s a hundred times better.”
“It’s only a bowl.”
“It’s special to you, and you gave it to me.” Beth took it carefully and smiled at the dragons chasing one another in eternal determination. “It’s the best gift in the world.” Ian took it gently back from her and replaced it in its slot.
That made sense; in here it would stay safe and unbroken.
But the kiss Ian gave her after that was anything but sensible. It was wicked and bruising, and she had no idea why he smiled so triumphantly.
“Cam is here.”
Ian saw his brother out of the window a few days later as he buttoned the shirt he’d just shrugged on. Behind him, Curry prepared the rest of Ian’s clothes, while Beth, looking pretty bundled in a red silk wrapper, drank her morning tea at the little table.
Three days he and Beth had been here, and they’d spent all three days in Ian’s apartments making love. They’d made forays through the house or garden so he could show them to Beth, but mostly they’d stayed in the bedroom. Ian knew they had to leave his wing eventually and return to Hart and the real world, but he’d never forget the joy of this cocoon. Whenever times got bad, and he had no doubt they would, he could remember this.
Cameron had brought a new filly, the horse about a year old; and Ian took Beth down to greet them both. Cam was watching the unloading of the horse from its special cart as they approached. He cursed the handlers soundly, and then waded in and did the job himself.
“I’ve never seen a horse in its own carriage before,” Beth said as the spirited filly emerged. “Being pulled instead of pulling.”
The horse’s conformation was dainty, the pink edges of her nostrils sharp. She was a bay, and her black mane and tail flowed in falls of sable. She turned an interested brown eye to Beth.
“She’s not a cart horse,” Cameron said, his gruff voice even more gravelly from the dust on the road. “She’s a fine beauty and will win dozens of races, won’t you, love? Then she’ll breed more racers.” Cameron fondly stroked her nose. “Why don’t you marry her, Father?” Daniel asked, leaning against the van. “He’s been crooning to the damn beastie all the way up. It’s disgusting.”
Cameron ignored his son and went to Beth. He leaned to kiss her cheek, then clapped Ian on the shoulder, the scents of horse and sweat clinging to him. “Welcome to the family, Beth. Cuff my son when he’s rude. He’s had no upbringing.” “That’s because you brought me up, Father.”
“Everything all right?” Cameron asked casually of Ian. He was wondering how Hart had taken the news. “He’ll come around,” Ian said.
“We haven’t seen much of Hart in the last few days,” Beth said.
“Oh, no? Hiding from him, are you?”
“No, we—“ Beth broke off and went bright red. Cam looked from her to Ian, who couldn’t help grinning, and then Cam burst out laughing. Cameron’s laugh could ring to the skies. The filly jerked her head back in irritation. “What are you laughing at?” Daniel asked, frowning. “Oh, you mean you were in bed. Good on you, Ian. I’ll have a little cousin soon, will I?”
“Unmitigated brat,” Cameron growled in good humor.
“You don’t say such things to a lady.”
“But laughing at them is all right?” Daniel countered. “You see what I mean?” Cameron said to Beth. “He has a foul, impertinent mouth, and it’s all my fault. Ignore him. Have you taken her riding, Ian? Got a good horse for her?”
Beth’s face lost its color. “Oh, I don’t ride.”
All three Mackenzies stared at her. “You don’t ride?”
Daniel asked in shock.
Beth slipped her hand into Ian’s. “Not much opportunity to prance down the Rotten Row as a poor vicar’s wife. And Mrs. Barrington was beyond her riding years. I did hire a pony cart in Paris.”
Both Cameron and Daniel gave her pitying looks. “You are in luck,” Cam said. “The compensation for marrying a Mackenzie is that your brother-in-law is the best horse master in the British Isles. I’ll pick you out a horse and begin your instruction tomorrow.”