Page 33 of Wild Hearts

"My God Almighty. My wife is a morphia addict. I bring her the filthy stuff myself every time I go into Edinburgh." He was livid. He got up from the bed to pace the room. "I'll kill the bitch!" he swore. The room was so small, it caged him, imprisoning them both. His anger was so great, she could feel it, taste it almost. She knew fully his male recklessness, his strength, his cruelty, and she feared he would do murder. She could tell that what he held within him festered. If she could get him to talk, it would cleanse him, perhaps calm him to a degree. She dare not tell him of the grisly portrait Anne had done of her, or he would know Anne had deliberately tried to harm her, so she soothed, "It was an accident. Anne could not know the stuff would make me deathly sick."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You know nothing of her corruptness."

"No," she whispered, "tell me."

He moved to the small window and gazed with unseeing eyes into the black night. "A month after we were wed, she told me she was with child. At first I was elated. Then Anne took to her bed, said she was having a bad time; but I discovered she was ill because she had been taking an apothecary shop full of medicines to rid herself of the burden. I think that's when my loathing began. I hated her for what she had tried to do to my child. I got Margaret's Mother, Mrs. Sinclair, to nurse her and watch that she take no more filthy concoctions. I must have been extremely gullible where women were concerned. I had no idea she was carrying another man's child until she gave birth only six months after the wedding." He stopped talking: He was reliving the pain of it all.

"She must have been in a great panic, knowing the child was not yours," said Tabrizia softly.

"Why do you make excuses for her?" he demanded, turning dark, accusing eyes upon her.

"To keep you from doing murder," she confessed.

"Aye, murder. I suspect that's what she did to the wee bairn."

"Many babies die, Lord Cockburn."

"This one did, after a week of Anne's tender loving care."

Tabrizia had to know, so she asked quietly, "Did you beat her for killing the child or for being unfaithful to you?"

"Beat her?" he repeated with incredulous fury.. "Believe what you will, everyone else does. She cannot walk because she was injured during delivery, or so she swears. She began to take morphia and became addicted. How it first began, I'll never know, but I think it has affected her brain. The woman is mad. I even suspect her in the death of my father."

"But Anne cannot walk."

"Can't she?" He brooded darkly, then he saw the fatigue in her face and came to the bed. "Will you be all right?" he asked softly.

She nodded, and he left the room quietly.

Before sleep claimed her, she puzzled once again at the complexity of the man. Tonight she had glimpsed a side of him that he kept hidden from others. Her feelings for him had undergone so many changes since the night he had kidnapped her, she was confused as to what her true feelings were. He could be mocking and arrogant, hot-tempered and cruel, then cold-blooded and icy. But when he chose, he could be tender and gentle, wooing a woman with a compelling magnetism that made her senses betray her own body. She fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming one wild dream after another, where Rogue Cockburn changed from hunter to jailor to lover.

At three in the morning, the man Paris had watching Abraham's house rode into the castle and Ian went upstairs to appraise him of it. Paris dressed quickly and went down to greet the messenger. As he poured him a large measure of whisky to combat the cold night ride, he asked, "Are things beginning to move at last?"

"Aye, milord. Near on midnight a shipment of gold was transferred from the bank to Abrahams's house."

"I'll go and see McCabe at once. If I leave now, I'll be in Edinburgh at first light."

"Do you want me to ride back with you, milord?" asked his man, downing the whisky.

"No, you've done well and earned your rest." He turned to Ian. "Walk with me to the stables. I should-be back by midday. We'll be taking the Sea Witch out tomorrow. I want you and Troy to make sure her sails are sound and her rigging intact."

Troy rode into the stables, and Ian said, "Speak of the devil."

Paris raised an eyebrow. "Are you just getting home? Where the hell have you been?"

Troy grinned. "Tantallon, if you must know."

"Tantallon? Again?" asked Paris impatiently.

Troy asked, "Where are you off to?"

"Edinburgh. Events are moving forward. Take charge while I'm gone. Stick close to the castle and keep an eye on Tabrizia for me." Suddenly, a chilling suspicion crossed Paris's mind. "Good God, you're not bedding Margaret, are you?"

The grin left Troy's face. "What the hell business is that of yours?" he demanded aggressively.

"I'll tell you what business it is of mine, you stupid young fool. She's trying to get with child to produce an heir to the earldom. Magnus would marry her in a minute, and I could wave good-bye to the title and Tantallon Castle. I wouldn't oblige her in bed, so she's trying another Cockburn."

As Paris exposed the little intrigue to the light of day, Troy saw clearly how he had been duped. He paled at the thought that it might already be too late. He'd lain with her half a dozen times in the past week. "I never thought," choked Troy lamely

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