The MacAulay Bride

PROLOGUE

June 1, 1888
Winterhaven Manor,
Edinburgh, Scotland

“My God, Raleigh,” Harrison MacAulay said, “ I feel as though I’ve just awakened from a bad dream, and none of what ye have told me is true. Ye are saying I must produce an heir or lose my home?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying. It’s right here, in your father’s will, which he drafted when he was healthy and of sound mind, in case you have doubts.” .

Raleigh McKenna smoothed the parchment on the desk and read the old laird’s words aloud. “My eldest son, Harrison James, shall produce an heir by his thirty-first birthday. Otherwise, the MacAulay estates, including the ancestral home, Winterhaven Manor, shall accede to my second son, Payton Edward.”

Harrison paced the green and gold Aubusson carpet, from one end of the walnut-paneled library to the other, a scowl firmly planted on his face. After awhile he paused and leveled his gaze on Raleigh. “Must I abide by this?"

Raleigh folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “If you expect to keep possession of your home and wealth.”

“What in the world was the old man thinking, other than the fact he held a deep obsession at the prospect of becoming a grandfather?” Harrison raged. “Did ye know Payton contacted Father from America and told him about his own two sons? Payton wrote and said he never received any acknowledgement.”

“Yes, I was aware of it. You do earn a decent living from your work as a physician. Would it be devastating to give up the home and lands to your brother?”

Harrison shrugged. “Not at all. I spend more time at my townhouse in Edinburgh than at Winterhaven, anyway, since my clinic is nearby. But, have ye any doubt that Payton would run the place into the ground?”

“I see your point.” Raleigh grimaced. “That younger brother of yours has been undeniably irresponsible at times.”

“And what about all my cousins who reside here?” Harrison asked. “ I took on the responsibility of raising them when their families couldn’t, not to mention my duty caring fer our tenant families. Payton wasn’t raised fer the job. Does he know about this?”

“You know the answer to that. Your father hasn’t spoken to Payton in over nine years—before he left for America. You recall the old laird was not happy about the circumstances surrounding your brother’s leaving.”

Harrison would never forget that fateful day ten years ago. Payton had fought a duel and won, killing the husband of his latest mistress. Since dueling had been illegal, Payton had been forced to flee Scotland.

“So, it appears I must marry, hum?”

A frown creased Raleigh’s forehead as he perused the document. “Don’t see marriage mentioned at all.”

That gave Harrison pause. “But would my heir be legal if I weren’t married?”

“Of course! This is Scotland, not England,” Raleigh replied. “Hell, man, you could run off in an instant to Gretna Green and handfast, instead. By the way, have you anyone particular in mind?”

“Perhaps.”

“Connie MacPhearson?”

Harrison heard the stiff tone in Raleigh’s voice and grinned as he sank into a chair across from his friend, folded his arms across his chest and stretched out his legs. “Not even remotely.”

Raleigh stiffened and asked, “Are ye saying she’s not good enough for ye?”

“Hell, no!” Harrison shouted, laughter in his voice. “Watch it, Englishman. Yer starting to sound like a Scot. She would not have me because she’s in love with ye.”

Sputtering, Raleigh jumped from his chair. “Now, see here—that is preposterous!”

“A moment ago ye were ready to blow my head off! Thank God ye hadn’t a gun in yer hand. When are ye going to admit yer in love with the woman, and she’s in love with ye? The two of ye are too stubborn fer yer own good, do ye know that?”

“Enough,” Raleigh snapped. “As your solicitor, I advise you to find a woman—quickly. In eighteen months you will be thirty-one. I’m leaving now. Do you require anything else?”

“No.” Harrison rose and followed Raleigh to the door. “My thanks,” he said, shaking his friend’s hand. “I’ll be making my decision soon.”

After Raleigh left, Harrison stared out a long, narrow window, his hands folded behind his back. He watched his solicitor, and long time friend, mount his horse and gallop away, all the while contemplating his choice of available womanhood. Other than one particular woman who was always on his mind, none were appropriate. Brianna MacAulay was the only woman he’d thought about, on a daily basis, for the past nine years.

It was truly unfortunate she was his brother’s wife.

CHAPTER ONE

November 1888
Stillwater, Minnesota

Brianna MacAulay stood inside the train depot for the third afternoon in a row, watching passengers disembark the last train of the day. She peered closely at the people swarming through the doorway, worried that some mishap might have befallen her husband’s brother since he was late, but she found no sign of the man.

There was nothing she could do now but go home and hope he would arrive tomorrow. She presumed it would then be a simple matter for him to settle her late husband’s will. She frowned as she thought about the money in Payton’s bank account she hadn’t been allowed to withdraw. It was hers! She needed that money—every single penny in order to furnish two more bedrooms in her home by spring. More lumberjacks would be arriving to work for the town’s sawmills by then, and they would be in need of a place to stay.

Squaring her shoulders and hitching up her black taffeta skirt and petticoats, she moved swiftly to the depot entrance and swung open the door. Huge drops of cold autumn rain slashed across her face, and she squinted against the onslaught. With the umbrella tucked under her arm, since opening it would afford her little protection, she sighed, wishing it were snow instead of rain. Snow wouldn’t ruin the hat she wore. It was her favorite, with a bird’s nest perched on top, its cloth occupant having long since flown away.

She dodged puddles on the deserted boardwalk before gingerly stepping into the muddy street, noticing Miss Marguerite Gillson, Stillwater’s shy, spinsterish librarian, headed straight for her. Because the woman looked down, she was completely unaware of Brianna’s approach.

“Good evening, Miss Gillson,” Brianna said loudly. Not only was the woman oblivious to her surroundings she was also hard of hearing.

Miss Gillson glanced up. “Evening to you, Misses MacAulay,” she replied and continued on her way.

Brianna smiled as she thought fondly of the librarian’s kindness to her sons. How the woman had fostered the joy of reading in both of them. She reached her horse and wagon, tossed the umbrella into the back, and had just placed a foot upon the running board when she heard someone shouting.

“Madam! A moment, please.”

She turned and saw a big man wearing a top hat approaching. She lowered her foot just as he arrived at her side. He swept his cloak off his shoulders, held an edge of it high above her head and gallantly shielded her from the rain.

“I must speak with ye,” he said in a deep, accented voice.

She peered up at him, thinking him familiar, but she could not place him. Then he took her elbow and nodded at Francis Marshall’s Dry Goods. “Let us find protection.”

She accompanied him across the street where they ducked beneath Marshall’s dark green and white striped awning. Lord knows, she should never have gone willingly with this stranger, yet she could not help but wonder why he had approached her. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes but discovered them concealed behind a pair of rain-spattered, wire-rimmed spectacles.

Then he removed his hat and smiled, and she knew he was her brother-in-law. The pleasant curve of his lips was very similar to her husband’s, but with his smile the similarity ended. Where Payton had been fair-haired, blue-eyed and finely built, Harrison MacAulay was tall and broad-shouldered, his complexion darker.

Brianna’s cheeks grew warm under his intent look. “You are Harrison MacAulay?”

“I am, dear sister-in-law,” he said, inclining his head, “and at yer beck and call fer as long as ye need me.”

From the moment he spoke she should have guessed his identity because of his Scottish dialect. He lifted her hand and brushed it with a gentle kiss. She shivered and her heart raced at his warm touch she felt through the thin fabric of her glove. She wondered why his touch caused a funny feeling inside of her, and she pulled her hand away not at all happy about the way his kiss affected her.

Of course, many women would have difficulty ignoring a handsome man of such extraordinary height, masculine body, black, wavy hair and deep brown eyes.

“I—I worried that something had happened to you.”

He frowned. “Did ye not receive a wire notifying ye of my delay?”

She was startled by a sudden bolt of lightning splitting the sky and said, “I suggest we leave for home before the roads become impassable.”

“And where are yer sons?”

“My neighbor, Mrs. Crane, graciously offered to stay with them, on the condition I return shortly.”

“I apologize fer my lateness. Two days ago I boarded a train in Chicago,” he said, moving closer. “That was shortly after I sent the wire notifying ye of my arrival. Unfortunately, the train derailed and I was forced to wait fer another that did not leave until this morning. I sent ye a second wire.”

“I never received it.”

For some reason, she trusted his word, though she had long ago given up believing a single word from her husband. Payton had been a gambler and tippler, until he drowned a month ago in the St. Croix River. During the last two years of their marriage she had learned to depend only upon herself for her livelihood. The money she’d saved from her boarders was dwindling, though, and the next season’s ‘jacks wouldn’t be arriving for four long months.

“I suppose it could not be helped. Now, we must get out of this rain, although it surely doesn’t matter since we are both thoroughly drenched.”

He replaced his hat, took her arm and escorted her to her buckboard. “I must fetch my bags,” he said, assisting her into the driver’s seat. Within moments, he returned with two leather bags and tossed them into the back of the wagon. “Have ye any suggestions regarding accommodations in town?”

“I wouldn’t hear of you staying at a hotel. I’ve a room at home ready for you.”

He raised his brow. “Fer propriety’s sake that may not be a good idea.”

“My friends and neighbors wouldn’t think poorly of me for offering a family member a place to stay.”

“Verra well. Then I shall see ye later,” he said and whacked Winney’s hindquarters.

Brianna held onto the reins as the horse started moving forward and she shouted over her shoulder, “Aren’t you coming?”

“I have business to tend to first.”

“But you have no idea where I live!”

In the dimming light, she caught a flash of white and bristled when she realized he was smiling. “I’m certain I will have no trouble finding ye.”

As she headed for home she couldn’t help but wonder what business a stranger from Scotland could possibly have in town with the approach of evening. From past experience where her husband was concerned, there were only a few reasons why a man went to town after dark. She shook her head and heaved a sigh, chagrined at her wayward thoughts.

“All right, Brianna MacAulay. That will be enough of that sort of thinking.”

---

Brianna stood in her parlor, satisfied that the cherry wood tables still glowed from her most recent polishing. The white lace curtains covering the windows were fresh and clean, the red, green and gold floral carpeting held nary a speck of lint. Her boys had jammed their noses against a parlor window as they anxiously awaited the arrival of their uncle.

“You will smear the glass, and after I just cleaned it,” she scolded. “Now, come back to the kitchen and finish your supper.”

"Not hungry, Ma,” said seven-year old Jamie. “Me neither,” announced Harry, her eldest. The nine-year old stared at her over his shoulder. “When did Uncle Harrison say he’d be here?”

She sighed and tried to count how many times they’d asked that same question since she arrived home more than an hour ago. “He didn’t say. There will be no dessert if you don’t eat the rest of your stew.”

The boys turned to her, disappointment stamped on their faces. She crossed her arms and waited patiently, fighting the urge to give into them. Admittedly, she indulged her boys—even understood her reasons for doing so. With the loss of their father, they seemed so sad much of the time, Harry, in particular.

Harry asked, “What’s for dessert?”

“Do you not recognize the scent?”

Jamie inhaled and grinned. “Apple pie!”

She nodded, swiveled on her heel and headed down the hallway, pausing at the sound of someone knocking on her door. She retraced her steps, but by the time she arrived at the door her sons had already opened it. They surveyed their uncle, small faces filled with suspicion, awe and curiosity.

Brianna appreciated Harrison’s impeccable dress now that he’d removed his cloak which hung over one arm. The black jacket fit his wide shoulders to perfection. A matching waistcoat, white shirt with crisp starched collar and gray tie completed his attire. He looked handsome, authoritative and wealthy.

Her youngest son stuck out his hand. “I’m Jamie.” Brianna noted the pleased but melancholic expression crossing Harrison’s face.

“Jamie,” he said softly, taking his nephew’s hand in his own. “Ye look remarkably like yer father.”

Brianna saw tears glistening in his eyes and thought how dreadful he must be feeling at the loss of his only brother, whom he hadn’t seen in ten years. She smiled when he reached down and swept Jamie into his arms, held him close. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. To Brianna, he appeared to be inhaling the essence of her son’s innocence, as one would inhale the sweet scent of a newly opened rose. Jamie allowed the affectionate embrace until Harrison lowered him to the floor.

She frowned when Jamie clung to his leg. “Your uncle cannot walk with you attached to him.”

“He is fine where he is.” He settled his big hand on Jamie’s blonde thatch of hair then turned to Harry, who stood by silently.

“Greet your uncle, Harry,” Brianna gently ordered.

“You don’t look much like Pa,” Harry blurted out, tilting his head to the side. “Except for your smile.”

“Verra astute, my boy. I favor our father, while yer father took after yer grandmother.”

“I must also look like grandfather since I look like you.”

Brianna saw there was more than a slight resemblance between her son and Harrison. That surprised her because she had always thought Harry resembled her.

Harrison opened his arms to welcome him, but Harry reached out and shook his hand, instead. Disappointment crossed Harrison’s face but he quickly veiled it. “Ye know that yer father named ye after me, don’t ye?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope. I didn’t.” He grinned. “We were just going to the kitchen for dessert. Want some?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Oh, well, does it matter?” Harry asked, looking his uncle over carefully. “You look like you eat everything.”

“Harry!” Brianna exclaimed, shocked.

Harrison threw back his head and laughed.

Harry’s wide-eyed gaze never left his uncle. “But, Ma, he’s big as old Farmer Jorgenson’s ox!”

Brianna sighed, gave Harrison an apologetic smile. “Have you eaten supper yet?”

“Haven’t had a bite since noon.”

“How does beef stew, apple pie and coffee sound?”

He gave her a heartfelt grin. “Wonderful.”

After the boys ate their pie, and Harrison had finished his meal, the conversation was lively, interspersed with bouts of boisterous shouts and laughter. Brianna hated ending the evening. It had been awhile since she’d seen her boys so happy. But at ten o’clock, she announced, “It’s past bedtime, boys.”

“Oh, but Ma, we don’t have school tomorrow, and we want to talk more with Uncle!” Jamie protested.

“It is late,” Harrison inserted. “I’ll still be here come morning.”

After Brianna settled them down for the night she quietly made her way to her bedroom. With a critical look she examined herself in the oval mirror positioned over the cherry wood bureau, tucked a stray lock of black hair into the bun atop her head. While her sapphire-colored eyes were pretty, her slightly long, straight nose was rather ordinary, but she thought her high, wide cheekbones attractive. Enough, Brianna MacAulay! Whom are you trying to impress, anyway? Still, she pinched her cheeks before joining Harrison in the parlor.

He sat in a gold velvet gentleman’s chair, which happened to be large enough to accommodate his bulk, one leg crossed negligently over his knee, arms draped over the chair’s arms. He rose immediately upon her entrance and she took a seat on the threadbare crimson divan. She noted the fire he had stoked and welcomed the heat. Just the thought of kicking off her shoes and tucking her toes beneath her warm woolen blanket prompted her to close her weary eyes.

“Tell me about my brother. What caused his death?”

“If I could have kept him here with me he likely would not have died,” she said, opening her eyes. “You received my letter, didn’t you?”

“Aye, but ye offered no explanation as to how Payton drowned, which I couldn’t understand at all since he’d been an excellent swimmer.”

“Drunk on spirits was the mortician’s findings.” She met his eyes and added, “He had difficulty controlling himself in that way.”

“Ye mentioned if ye could have kept him here with ye, he wouldn’t be dead. What did ye mean by that remark?”

“He lived—” She hung her head, too embarrassed to continue.

“Go on,” he gently coerced.

She lifted her chin, met his kind eyes behind the spectacles. “Your brother kept a mistress for the past two years. He spent little time at home.”

“Ah, now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

She raised her brow. “Are you telling me he had a history of womanizing?”

”Aye. But it is not all that uncommon in Scotland fer a man to keep a mistress—discreetly, of course. This doesn’t mean a husband doesn’t love his wife. It’s just that a wife is a lady, and a lady cannot always provide her husband with what he needs.”

The man was dreadfully serious. “Is that a fact? May I assume a wife has the same privilege?”

He stared at her a long moment before asking, “What privilege would that be?”

“Why, to have affairs.”

“Hardly,” he snapped.

Tears filled her eyes and her voice quivered. “I gave your brother my unequivocal devotion. I kept his home tidy and served him fine meals—that is when he chose to bless us with his presence. But even that wasn’t enough for him.”

“How long have ye been shouldering the burden fer yer family, Brianna?

“For quite some time.” She sighed. “Your brother had grand dreams of forging a fortune, and was well on his way to fulfilling them when he purchased stock in Mayor’s Lumber Company. He grew fascinated with the every-day workings of that enterprise. In fact, he spent entire winters up north in the logging camps, working as a lumberjack. He loved being outdoors.”

Harrison frowned. “Payton didn’t establish a solicitor’s practice when he arrived in America?”

She raised her brow. “Payton was a lawyer?”

“Yes, a very successful one in Scotland, until he was forced to—until he decided to move to America. I had thought he’d start up his business here.”

Brianna was stunned to learn Payton had been finely educated because he’d never mentioned a word to her. She thought about his pay as a logger compared with what an attorney earned and she seethed inside.

“Continue, please,” Harrison said.

“He would come home in the spring, as all the ‘jacks did, and stay until October when he’d leave again.”

Harrison shoved back the edges of his jacket, jammed his hands on his hips. “Are ye telling me that my brother left ye alone fer more than half a year at a time?” At her nod, he added, “However did ye manage?”

“With difficulty.”

Shortly after Payton’s death she had approached his solicitor, Reginald Nielsen. The kindly, old man told her everything had been taken care of, and that she need not worry her pretty little head about a thing. He’d also explained that until Harrison MacAulay arrived he couldn’t release so much as a single cent to her.

“We shall call upon my solicitor first thing Monday morning,” she announced, thinking of the money she required to purchase bed frames and mattresses from Sears Roebuck. Renting five bedrooms, at a monthly charge of seven dollars per month, including board, was a reasonable fee for a lumberjack. The money enabled her to maintain her home, and feed and clothe her children.

“That will not be necessary since Mr. Nielsen and I met—this verra evening, in fact. We’ve straightened out Payton’s financial affairs, and everything is in order.”

Brianna looked at him in astonishment. “But Mr. Nielsen never conducts business past five o’clock, and never on Saturday or Sunday.”

Harrison inclined his head. “He was willing to oblige me.”

She clapped her hands in delight. “Well, that’s wonderful news! Now you may return to your home in Scotland, and I may get on with my life.”

He sat down beside her and gave her a gentle smile. “Ye seem to be an intelligent woman, and I believe ye will understand me when I say yer financial situation is far from good.” He reached inside his pocket and withdrew a packet of money. “This is all that is left of Payton’s estate, once Nielson paid off his considerable debts.” He pressed the bills into her hand. “I’m sorry, but it will be necessary to sell yer home. I’ve requested Mr. Nielsen to immediately begin seeking a buyer.”

Staring in wide-eyed dismay at the paltry sum, Brianna rose from the divan. Clenching the money in her fist, a fury unlike any she’d ever felt before threatened to ignite. “How could Payton do this to us?”

She had tolerated her husband’s drinking and gambling for the sake of their children, and because she loved him. In hindsight, she realized she had known little of love when she married Payton at sixteen. Recognizing her own shortcomings, she knew she was not as easy on the eyes as many other women. But, she had long ago come to terms with the fact that she would never be petite and pretty. Still, Payton’s taking a mistress had dreadfully hurt her. But then she also knew that she had been much more in love with Payton than he’d been with her. To this day she still wondered why he’d requested her hand in marriage!

Sadly, the next time she saw him was after he’d drowned, a week after leaving home. She’d had him laid out in his blue serge suit, in a simple pine box. With tears rolling down her cheeks and her grieving sons on either side of her, she silently cursed him for having caused them all so much pain while he lived.

“I apologize fer my brother’s lack of responsibility fer ye and yer sons. Payton never did possess one iota of common sense.” He stared thoughtfully into the fire a moment before turning to her again. “A few years ago Payton sent me a letter regarding yer welfare, if something were to happen to him. His desire was fer ye to return with me to Scotland.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and my sons. For two years I’ve taken in boarders and have done just fine, thank you.” She swept past him, took her seat on the divan and folded her hands in her lap.

“Ye mean to tell me ye open yer home to strangers?”

“I was forced to do so,” she said, lifting her chin, meeting the fiery look in his eyes head-on. “This is my home and I’m not leaving it.”

“Hell and damnation!” he growled. “Do ye think I want to do this to ye?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I hate uprooting ye and yer sons, but we have no choice in the matter. Ye have been left penniless, left with nothing but yer children, and I’m afraid even they aren’t legally yers.”

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