The Laird's Runaway Wife
Автор
Sarah Mallory
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Prologue
Ardvarrick. He was home, at last. Grant brought his horse to a stop at the edge of the slight rise and gazed across at the house in the distance. The creamy harled walls stood out against the vibrant greens of the trees covering the hill behind and his heart rose at the sight of it. In fact, he realised with a little spurt of surprise that he felt much more cheerful than he had for months.
He had been away on the Black Isle for more than two weeks, concluding a deal that would strengthen the bloodline of his cattle. The success of the excursion had heartened him and, seeing the house with its windows a fiery gold in the low evening sunlight, he was suddenly eager to get home. Back to his wife. Madeleine had been a little quiet when he left, but he had not questioned her about it, being too busy with preparations for his journey. Now he discovered he was impatient to see her again and he urged his horse forward.
‘Come along,’ he said to Robert, his man. ‘We should be in good time for dinner.’
The horses settled into a canter, covering the ground with strong, easy strides, and Grant relaxed in the saddle. He allowed his mind to return to Madeleine and felt a smile growing inside him. He could not wait to tell her about his trip, the bloodstock he had seen and new farming methods he was eager to put into practice. She was always interested to hear his news, however trivial, although there had been so little time for talking in recent months. He felt a small pang of guilt and quickly squashed it, reminding himself how much there was to be done at Ardvarrick. It was his duty, as Laird, to look after the house, the land and his tenants.
But those things could wait until tomorrow. Tonight he wanted to sit down with Madeleine after dinner and enjoy a glass of wine with her, as they had been wont to do before...
‘Are you not going that way first, Sir Grant?’
Riding alongside him, Robert jerked his head in the direction of the small stone chapel and burial ground, situated on the edge of the sea loch.
‘Not this time. I want to get home’
He saw his man’s look of surprise and understood it immediately. In the past year it had become customary for Grant to visit the chapel on his return from every journey. He had made a point of it ever since he had interred the remains of his father, the old Laird, in the family vault. The vault where, only months before his father’s demise, he had buried his stillborn son.
He would pay his respects there in the morning, Grant decided, urging his horse on. Today, he needed to give his attention to the living.
When they reached the house the two men left their horses with the waiting groom and ran up the steps into the hall. Robert took their saddle packs on to the bedchambers and Grant turned to greet his mother, who was hurrying across the hall towards him. She was dressed in her widow’s weeds, even though it was more than twelve months since the old Laird had died suddenly of a fever.
‘Oh, my dear boy.’ She stretched out her hands to him. ‘You are come back safely!’
‘Did you ever doubt I should?’
He caught her fingers and, seeing the anxious look in her violet eyes, he gave her a reassuring smile. She pulled him close to kiss his cheek.
He went on, ‘It has been a most fruitful trip. I have the agreements, signed and sealed, and we have purchased a young bull. I left Andrew in the Black Isle to follow on with the creature in easy stages—but let us go into the drawing room and I will tell you and Maddie all about it.’ He looked past her. ‘Where is Maddie?’
Ailsa’s hands trembled beneath his and Grant felt a sudden constriction in his chest. He had a strong premonition that something was wrong. Very wrong. Stepping around his mother, he strode across to the drawing room. It was empty.
‘Grant, my son!’
He barely heard Ailsa’s anguished call as he dashed up the stairs, two at a time. Robert met him on the landing, a sealed letter in his hands.
‘I found this on the table in your room, sir, and was just bringing it to you.’
Grant snatched the paper from him and tore it open, scanning the page rapidly. The words danced before his eyes, but there was no mistaking the message.
Madeleine had gone.
