Amber's Wedding. SARA WOOD
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during their acquaintance in the past when she’d been chatting animatedly to him about her family back home he’d made an abrupt excuse and left, as if her joy had hurt him somehow. She’d learnt to throttle back on the happy-family stories, sensing that he had problems that he did not wish to share. No one had ever got close to Jake or broken the seal over his heart. And it was clear that he was a fascinating challenge to women.
They’d known one another for years, off and on—he in his capacity working for Reuters, the most highly respected news agency in the world, she as a fieldworker for Unite, the organisation that brought lost refugee children back to their parents. They’d met in Bucharest, bumped into one another in Sarajevo and Rwanda and recently on another African posting.
And every time he’d eased his lithe body out of a Jeep on his habitual rounds of the refugee camps he’d turned the women workers’ heads with his devastating charm, his sword-blade cheekbones and wickedly dancing eyes. The adjective most commonly used about Jake was stunning. Women found him easy to get on with—a beguiling man with a core of steel.
A twinge of anxiety troubled her chocolate-brown eyes. That sexy manner had been the only thing about him that had made her hesitate when they’d arranged the marriage. Only the warmth she felt for him and his assurance that he understood how she felt had persuaded her to agree. Jake knew how she felt about sex—and why.
Firmly she told herself that she was worrying unnecessarily about Jake. He’d been good to her. Her face softened with admiration for the sophisticated man who could lift the camp-fire conversation with his wit and humour one night and disappear into hostile territory the next, armed with only a notebook and a change of underwear. A real toughie beneath that deceptive, sensitive-poet appearance.
‘He’s rather...deliciousty dissolute-looking, Amber!’ one of her old university friends had gleefully said during the wedding reception—and there had been regret in her friend’s tone that Jake hadn’t come her way first.
But Amber knew that for the last ten years Jake had been busy roaming around the world, actively seeking out news stories, and he didn’t have time for meaningful relationships or emotional commitment.
And she’d married him. Did that make her wise or foolish?
‘You are...happy?’ Leo queried gently. ‘Once or twice today you’ve seemed rather brittle.’
She threw back her head and laughed. To her ears there was a slight tinge of hysteria about it so she toned it down. ‘This is my wedding day!’ she chided gently. ‘And only two weeks ago Jake and I were in Africa. It was tough in the camp. I’m adjusting to being home—and being a married woman!’
‘It’s been a bit of a rush job.’ Leo chuckled. ‘If people didn’t know you better, they’d have been checking your waistline!’
‘Good grief!’ she squawked, fiercely quelling her overwhelming desire to press her hand to her stomach. Her child lay there. And it wasn’t Jake’s. A faint sensation of nausea rose to her throat. ‘My reputation as a vestal virgin would be shot to pieces, wouldn’t it?’ she managed to joke.
Trembling, she rested her shaking hands on the back of a heavily carved chair, longing to sink into it. And with the truth making her stomach knot she hastily changed the subject before her conscience made her confess.
‘Now, Leo! About this Caribbean plantation—’
‘Yes—not only am I going to live there with Ginny, but we’re getting married again!’ he said happily.
Amber grasped his hand in delight. He’d been like a bear with a sore head after his divorce from Ginny. ‘Wonderful! I’m glad for you. But...’
Her face fell as she thought of Leo’s father. Stuart, Viscount Brandon was also her own dearly loved godfather and, since her parents were dead, he had given her the wedding as his present to her.
‘How can you leave?’ she continued reproachfully. ‘You run the estate. You know every contour, every blade of grass, every outcrop of granite. The land, the village, the castle...they’re life and breath to you, just as they are to me. You stand to inherit Castlestowe. I love it with all my heart—and I’m only a gillie’s daughter,’ she said, proud that her family had been servants to the Brandons for generations. ‘I swear I’d never leave it—’
‘But I love Ginny more,’ he told her softly.
The plain statement brought her up with a jolt. It was so sweetly said, so deeply meant. Why she should feel envious she didn’t know. After her recent disastrous affair with Enzo, she’d decided that entrusting her heart to a man was too great a risk. A loveless marriage was far more sensible. It suited her and it suited Jake...
Jake! Every time she blinked she seemed to be thinking about him! They were supposed to operate independently, not go around tied up together in thought, word and deed!
Amber carefully avoided looking at the black-clad figure in the centre of the room and gazed ardently around the great baronial hall of the fairy-tale castle. The room blazed richly with the warm golden light of hundreds of giant candles carefully set in the massive chandeliers. Ancient, age-tattered banners flew from the medieval niches, proudly representing long-forgotten battles fought by the Brandon family, and the hall was filled with lively music and the swirl of kilts as guests flung themselves wholeheartedly into a vigorous reel.
Gillies, tenants, farmers, tradespeople, journalists, Members of Parliament, the cream of Scottish society... All thronged the huge, beamed hall, filling it with chatter, laughter and movement.
It made her heart ache to be here. She loved Castlestowe. Loved the way it sat, solid and confident, on the windswept crag, its turrets and drawbridge quite magical, amidst acres of feudal moorland, sky that went on for ever and white virgin beaches. Nothing in this world could touch it!
She smiled at the extent of her own fervour. ‘Ginny’s always hated it here. She really is picky!’
Leo laughed at her impassioned face and surprised her with a warm hug. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said, ‘to Ginny this place is cold, wet and unwelcoming..I love Ginny. I want her to be happy, as Jake wants you to be happy. He’s agreed to make his base here because he loves you, hasn’t he? Same difference.’
Jake hadn’t agreed—that was the trouble. He’d said he’d see how he felt about living in Scotland and she’d silently vowed to make him love it.
‘Nothing could tear me away from Castlestowe,’ she said determinedly. ‘Nothing!’
Still enclosed in Leo’s arms, Amber felt the hairs on her neck rise. Jerking her head around to look at the hall below, she saw Jake’s face lifted to them and met the full force of his eyes. She felt herself freeze. He looked...angry.
Her entire body tensed with an irrational fear. Her chest tightened so disturbingly that she had to draw in a series of quick little breaths to ease her straining lungs as she remained within the circle of Leo’s arms and Jake slowly turned his dark eyes to Leo.
‘Hell! That’s a look and a half!’ muttered Leo in awe.
‘Oh, he’s a pussy-cat really!’ she declared unconvincingly, flapping her hand in a cheerful wave to Jake, to cover up her unnerving sense of foreboding.
‘I think his claws are out.’ Leo pushed her back a little. ‘Your husband’s jealous. I think you’d better make it clear what our relationship is!’
‘Jealous?’ Amber went very still, her eyes slanting again to where Jake stood. And then she understood. It was a necessary part of the act, she supposed, to be annoyed at seeing your bride in another man’s arms. ‘But of course he is!’ she said lightly, playing along with the pretence. ‘So he should be.’
No one could know how safe Jake’s real lack of interest had made her feel. Free from any complicated emotions towards him, she’d been able to relax with him. Thankfully, she and Jake wanted the same thing: to remain good friends and stay mercifully immune from the dangers of love.
Love