There were times when she felt as if she’d stepped back through the centuries to the era when Duncan’s castle was the center of that particular Scottish universe. He wasn’t royalty. If he had a title, he’d never told her about it. But there was still something of nobility about him, and it was clear everyone else sensed it, too. She wondered what it was going to be like, raising a child in the middle of a history she didn’t understand. She gathered up as many books of local history as she could find from Duncan’s library and stacked them on the nightstand next to the bed.
One thing she knew was that there would be plenty of time to read.
Every night after dinner she walked to Duncan’s studio, where she spent hours posing for him. He’d finished his first piece and was at work on a second, a frankly sensual study of her belly and hips. At first she’d resisted the pose, but her respect for his genius quickly overcame her natural reluctance and modesty, and she let her nightgown slither into a pool at her feet.
There was no disguising the roundness of her belly anymore. She couldn’t suck in her breath and make it flatten out. She was round and growing riper every day. Her breasts were large and swollen. She could easily trace the map of blue veins beneath the surface of her pale skin. Her waistline was quickly becoming a memory. The slender, lanky body she’d known for thirty-two years was gone and in its place was the curvy shape of a fertility goddess.
Which was exactly the earthy frankness Duncan seemed intent upon portraying.
They still hadn’t decided exactly what he would do to fulfill his Wilde & Daughters Ltd. contract, but she wasn’t too worried about it. There was plenty of time to decide on a piece and begin implementing the necessary work to begin mass production. At least that’s what she told herself the rare times she even thought about that. She was so overwhelmed with the novelty of watching him at work, of being in some small measure his muse, that it was easy to let everything else slip away.
But the one thing she couldn’t forget was the fact that he didn’t share her bed. Not really. After a few hours of posing, he would walk her across the misty lawn to the castle. He would see her upstairs to their room. And then he would say good-night.
She’d stay awake for hours afterward, reading the history books or working on her myriad party lists, but what she was really doing was waiting for him. She knew he slept there. When she’d open her eyes in the morning, the imprint of his head on the pillow next to her was clearly visible. Did he lie there for a few minutes simply to allay any suspicions Old Mag might have? Did he sleep beside her, disappearing into his dreams? She had no idea. She hadn’t been able to stay awake long enough to find out.
They said the first three months of pregnancy were about sleep and nausea, and she wouldn’t dispute that statement. However, she was almost into her fourth month now and the deep lassitude of the first trimester still lingered. No matter how hard she tried, she never saw him climb into bed with her.
If Old Mag suspected anything, she never let on. Sam and the housekeeper worked a little every day on party preparations, and in doing so, began to forge a friendship of sorts. Oh, Old Mag was still watching out for Duncan’s welfare with an eagle eye, but she made it clear that Sam was a pleasant surprise.
Even if she wasn’t a Scotswoman.
Sam had decided she would do most of the cooking for the party. Old Mag would make some of her Scottish specialties, while Sam would turn her culinary skills toward recreating her favorite Texas recipes. She made two enormous pots of chili and tucked them into the freezer. She searched the Internet for the perfect recipe for barbecued beef and Southern fried chicken, sending her printer into overtime as it dashed out the recipes. Mag grumbled when Sam told her about the twenty pounds of potatoes they’d need for the potato salad, but Sam was insistent. “You’ll love it,” she told the housekeeper. “I promise you.”
Of course, when it came to Old Mag, you couldn’t be sure of anything. The housekeeper was filled with secrets. Sometimes Sam had the feeling that if she pushed the old woman just the slightest bit, those secrets would tumble out. She was tempted—what woman wouldn’t want to know about her husband’s life before she came along—but Sam had the strangest sense that she wouldn’t like what she heard. Her mother’s words kept coming back to her. There’s nothing worse than loving a man who doesn’t love you…especially if you’re expecting his baby.
But she didn’t love him, did she? They hadn’t said one blessed thing about love when they hammered out their agreement at her lawyer’s office. In fact, she thanked God every night that she didn’t love Duncan Stewart, because if she did, she’d never be able to live the way they were living.
She didn’t understand how she could feel the absence of something she’d never had, but there it was. There was an emptiness inside her that hadn’t been there before. She’d always felt complete within herself, content to live her life alone with her work to keep her company. But it was all so different now. She longed for something she couldn’t
