The Reluctant Bride by Beverley Eikli Page A

the sofa. She did not want his compassion.
    â€˜My dear, you are overset—’
    â€˜Overset? I speak the truth. Wives do not talk of ungovernable passions. Not to husbands who know absolutely nothing of passion!’ She flicked away his hands which had settled on her shoulders. Awkwardly, she managed to rise without his help this time. ‘But I know my duty. You shall be well tended to. I know what I owe you.’ She shook her head as if to clear it, casting her gaze around the room. ‘Those plates,’ she said, adopting a tone of briskness. ‘Yes, they’re the last things to be taken to the scullery and then all will be in good order once more. After that I must see to some bread.’
    She took a couple of steps before doubling up with pain. But still she would not let him help her. Brushing past him, she left the room.
    Angus closed his eyes, gripping the sofa back as yet another wave of misery swept over him. With an effort he swallowed down the lump in his throat as he assimilated the magnitude of all she had just said. The sounds of his wife struggling to acquaint herself with the scullery were further recrimination.
    So she thought he’d sought a wife in place of servant and doxy, to tend to his practical needs and physical desires.
    Unconsciously he had been crumpling the missive Bellamy had delivered on behalf of his mother. Now he drew it from his pocket, broke the seal, and, because Emily did not want him, scanned the two blunt lines.
    Your father is dead. Please come.
    The churning in his stomach which had started during his encounter with Emily assumed volcanic proportions. He had to sit down, reread the words and decide what to do.
    His father was dead. Not the father whose name he shared with Bellamy and Jonathan and his other brothers, but the remote stranger he shared with one half-sister he had never met.
    And then he heard a splintering crash, as if the entire contents of the crockery cupboard had hit the floor, followed by the unmistakable dull thud of a body.

Chapter Five
    Angus crossed the threshold of the scullery, skidding in the growing pool of dark, sticky liquid to crouch beside Emily who was curled up on the floor by the kitchen fire, gasping. She jerked her head up at his touch, her eyes wild.
    Dear God, she reminded him of a terrified enemy soldier with a sabre at his throat.
    â€˜I’ll call for the doctor. He’ll be here soon,’ he reassured her, turning his head from her pain and fear to seize a piece of flannel Miranda had left over the back of a chair. Right now, stemming the flow of blood was his most urgent task.
    When Miranda clattered in through the rear door only seconds later Angus sent her to raid his linen chest for its meagre resources, then next door to dispatch Mrs Cooper’s boy to fetch help.
    Now Emily lay on the bed with her legs raised upon a cushion, a bloodied blanket between them, whimpering that she needed to cover her soiled dress for modesty’s sake.
    â€˜Mrs Cooper is fetching blankets,’ he hedged, knowing he had no more linen unless he tore down the curtain.
    â€˜Cover me,
please
.’ Emily clenched her fists and Angus recruited his heavy, none-too-clean greatcoat which he snatched from the hook on the back of the door.
    â€˜Hush. Be calm. The doctor will save the baby.’ Angus stroked her brow, calling on platitudes to comfort her, knowing how much more she’d hate him if his reassurances were empty.
    He stared out of the window, preoccupied with the best course of action, unaware he was unconsciously now stroking her swollen belly. Surprised at the warmth that penetrated her gown, he glanced down.
    He’d never touched her so intimately before and was suddenly overcome by the desire to feel the living, breathing unit that was his wife and the child. Without considering her reaction, he placed both hands on the taut mound. A weak, indistinct movement fluttered beneath his hands, and in