The Wedding Dress Page 2

  “No. We’re not. Because I’m leaving.”

  The left corner of those wicked lips ticked up a notch. “You want to walk to the excavation site in those ridiculous shoes, it’s fine with me. I’ll see you sometime next month.”

  “Excavation site?” Horror flooded through Emma. “Oh, God.” So much for rumpled suits bought sometime during the 1930s. The man standing before her hadn’t even been born then. And as for life’s work…how long could that amount to with this guy? All of ten years? “Please,” she said, knowing the axe was about to fall, “don’t tell me you’re—”

  “Dr. Jared Butler at your service, milady.” He executed a bow dripping with sarcasm, ridiculous in the modern-day airport, and yet strangely suiting him better than a handshake ever would.

  Emma’s stomach flip-flopped as his eyes narrowed on her.

  “I own you for the next six weeks,” he growled, “or until you come to your senses and ‘cry hold, enough.’ Or did you skip MacBeth on the way to your spaceship?”

  Emma couldn’t help but wince. Kids in high school drama class knew calling “The Scottish Play” by its name was bad luck. But then, could her luck get any worse?

  “‘Lay on, MacDuff,’” Emma quoted the play, challenge in her eyes.

  “The bottom line is this,” Butler said, ignoring her, “Barry Robards hired me to teach his lead actress how to live, how to move, how to breathe medieval Scotland. How to be Lady Aislinn. That’s right—it’s pronounced Ash-leen. You can start by saying her name correctly. You Yanks have been massacring it for two years now.”

  “Well, this Yank looked it up in a Celtic baby-name book the first time she saw the script, so you can move on to more important things.”

  “Fine. How about this, then? When Barry Robards asked me to take on the role of historical consultant, I figured I’d have a fair chance of success with Angelica Robards to work with. But you?” He snorted in derision.

  Emma glared. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

  “I might as well.” He crossed his arms over that impressive chest. “I told anybody at the studio who’d talk to me that you’ll never be a believable Lady Aislinn.”

  This arrogant jerk who spent all his time digging up dead people had been complaining to the studio about her being cast? Who did Jared Butler think he was?

  “So now you’re an expert on acting?”

  His scruffy-looking chin tipped at an angle that made her want to smash it. “I know what it will take to portray Lady Aislinn. Courage, intelligence, tenacity,” he asserted, a sudden distance in his eyes, as if he saw a world beyond the Scottish mist. “She held Castle Craigmorrigan for eight months, besting Sir Brannoc with no weapon but her wits. There’s a subtlety about her, a…”

  “And you know this how? Did you have a chat with her sarcophagus? Or did some psychic channel her for you?”

  Butler’s eyes flashed and Emma realized she’d managed to strike a nerve, get back some of her own.

  But the good doctor was quick, almost as accomplished as Emma at shuttering vulnerability away.

  “Why don’t you save us both a lot of trouble and just head for some ritzy spa on the French Riviera,” he challenged. “Go back where you belong.”

  “According to Barry Robards, I belong right here. Playing Lady Aislinn. And if that means I have to deal with you for six weeks, I guess we’ll both just have to suffer. I have to admit one thing though, Dr. Butler. You are a brilliant teacher. I’ve known you all of five minutes and you’ve already helped me get into character. I can’t wait to get a sword up to your throat.”

  Butler rolled his eyes. “I told the bloody screenwriter that part of the legend is rubbish. There isn’t a woman alive who could beat a seasoned knight and get a blade to his throat.”

  If Butler had smacked her cheek with a gauntlet the challenge couldn’t have been any clearer. Adrenaline rushed through Emma. She was going to make the man eat his words if it was the last thing she did.

  “You’re quite sure it’s impossible?” she inquired with acid sweetness.

  “I’d stake my life on it.”

  “Hmm.” Emma laid one finger along her cheek, considering for a moment. Suddenly her gaze dropped to the bulge in his brown canvas cargo pants. “Maybe I’ll just aim a whole lot lower.”

  Ten minutes in Scotland and she’d already declared war.

  Chapter Two

  “NOTHING LIKE HATE at first sight to make a lady feel welcome,” Emma muttered under her breath as Butler all but rolled his battered Mini Cooper on yet another hairpin corner. The right shoulder of the narrow road plunged down in a boulder-strewn cliff, while a dozen yards to the left, a mountain soared skyward. If it weren’t for the biting chill that had whipped her raincoat in the airport parking lot and the lowering thunderheads gathering on the horizon, she might have been tempted to get out and walk to Castle Craigmorrigan.

  Her legs ached from bracing herself against the floorboards, her fingers clamped in the upholstery to keep her arm from touching his. For God’s sake, could the man take up any more room? It was like being wedged in a clown car with MacTavish the Pissed-Off Scot Giant. Not to mention the fact that Butler’s testosterone overload was sucking up all the oxygen in the cab of this ridiculously small vehicle.

  “Getting us both killed isn’t going to do you any good,” Emma said.

  “You’re right.” The corner of Butler’s sexy mouth twisted. “I’m already in hell.”

  Before Emma could think of a comeback, a fuzzy brownish-red hill loomed in their path. Emma choked back a scream as Butler swerved with annoying expertise, the car bouncing over the road’s shoulder so hard the top of Emma’s head hit the roof in spite of her seat belt.

  She whispered a Hail Mary, sandwiched for a heartbeat between mountain wall and the weirdest cow she’d ever seen. She glimpsed long horns and terrified bovine eyes all but buried under a shaggy red topknot as the car sped past. Butler wrestled the toy car back onto the road, spraying gravel in his wake.

  No doubt about it, Emma thought. She was going to die. But damn if she was going to give Jared Butler the satisfaction of knowing he was rattling her nerves before they’d even reached the castle.

  “So, in between trying to give the local rescue team practice with the Jaws of Life rescue tools, why don’t you tell me exactly what books I’m going to be reading?”

  “Reading?”

  “Or do I get to sit around with you feeling the bumps on the old chicken bones you dig up? Archaeology 101: Observe, Ms. McDaniel, this piece of broken pottery we found when Farmer MacSomething was digging a loo.”

  “I’m not going to have you contaminating my excavation site, do you hear me?” Butler slashed her the look his highland raider ancestors must’ve fired off when they were about to burn and pillage. “You’re not to go near the sections of the castle that are being excavated unless I’m with you. I’ll pack you back off to America faster than you can say Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “And here all the tour books said people in the British Isles were supposed to be charming.”

  “You want charming, head across the channel to Ireland. I have work to do.”

  Fat raindrops plopped onto the windshield. Butler flicked on the wipers and, with a low growl of irritation, slowed the car as the drops transformed into a cold, driving rain.

  “Part of your job is teaching me,” Emma said, easing her death grip on the seat. “So why did you volunteer if you’re so all-fired busy?”

  “Angelica Robards arrived in April to start training for the riding and swordplay. She was supposed to be gone by the time the summer’s work on the dig began.”

  “But she fell off a horse and landed in traction. Rotten break for you, Butler.”

  “Right, but it was your lucky day, wasn’t it?” he challenged. “Don’t you feel guilty at all? Knowing that you’ve only got the part because the director’s first pick is lying in a hospital somewhere? I’d have too much self-respect to�
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  “I’m not the one who was supposed to train her to ride,” Emma snapped, stung. “You’re the genius who claimed you could turn an actress into the medieval version of an action hero and then put her over a jump she couldn’t handle. The press said she fell halfway down a cliff.”

  Butler’s Adam’s apple bobbed in the corded strength of his throat. He stood his ground, but Emma could see rawness in his piercing gaze, a dogged sense of self-blame. Fine, Emma thought. Butler had been chipping away at her self-confidence from the moment they’d come face-to-face at the airport. He’d made it clear he’d use whatever weapons he could find against her. She’d just have to hone a few sharp points of her own.

  “Considering what a stellar job you did with the actress you thought would do justice to the role of Lady Aislinn, you can surely understand my curiosity about how you intend to handle me. Now that you ‘own me for the next six weeks,’” she mimicked in a flawless Scots burr, “exactly what are you going to do with me?”

  A muscle in Butler’s jaw jumped. “Unfortunately, nobody dared to lock Lady Aislinn in a scold’s bridle.”

  “A what?”

  “A metal harness that locked around a woman’s head so she couldn’t talk.”

  “And we think we have all the modern conveniences.” Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “I suppose there’s some chance Lady Aislinn was locked into a chastity belt when her husband ran off to fight. We could give that a try.”

  “Aw, Butler. I didn’t know you cared. But drastic measures are hardly necessary. I’m about as likely to be tempted by you as I would be to fly without an airplane.”

  Why did an image suddenly pop into her head? Her role in the senior production at drama school—Peter, in Peter Pan. It must be the cliffs that were reminding her of that first, terrifying step she’d made into thin air.

  Butler swore as he slowed around a corner. Lightning flashed, rain soaking the landscape, making everything slick and shiny. “Maybe you’re used to men falling all over you, Ms. McDaniel, but I won’t be joining your fan club.”

  Emma didn’t hear a word. She gasped as a castle ruin reared up through the storm like a warhorse frozen by a sorcerer’s spell. A single intact tower thrust skyward from the broken curtain wall that had once enclosed all the buildings, livestock and people who owed loyalty to the castle lord: an entire world whose fate had hinged on the courage and wisdom of Lady Aislinn and her husband, Lord Magnus.

  White canvas tents smudged the landscape here and there, reminding Emma of costume dramas, tournaments where visiting knights would fight for a lady’s honor. But no bold pennants whipped in the wind and the only thing under attack was the mound of earth that had been reclaiming the tumbled castle walls for centuries.

  Precise trenches scored the turf like wounds. Even in the rain, the place bustled with activity. People in knee-high rubber boots and rain gear clustered under the shelters, busy with tasks Emma couldn’t see. A raised metal viewing platform with a railing around the top had been constructed near the widest cut in the ground. Contemporary machinery and a yellow trailer were situated under a copse of hazel trees.

  It seemed strange that anything so modern could besiege this castle’s walls. And yet, Emma doubted Castle Craigmorrigan had ever felt at peace. For beyond the intact tower, the ground fell away at the castle’s feet, a wildly crashing ocean flinging itself against the stony outcropping below with the singleminded fury of an invading army.

  Emma pictured the forces the villainous Sir Brannoc had brought with him—walling off this thin finger of land. What had it been like the day they set up camp, isolating the castle from the rest of the world?

  No escape…the sea seemed to whisper, cutting off all hope of flight. Emma shuddered, imagining what it would be like to peer out the tower window, to see her enemy building trebuchets, the great siege machines that would soon start battering at the walls the way the past two years had battered at Emma’s heart.

  She could feel Lady Aislinn, like a pulse, just under the heather-tangled ground, could see the castle as it must have been before time and tragedy left its curtain wall broken and all but one of its towers tumbled down.

  For the first time since Barry Robards himself had called to offer her the part, she knew it wasn’t a make-believe world she’d inhabit. It was real. The awesome responsibility of telling this story pressed down on Emma like the fallen stones.

  What if Butler is right? self-doubt whispered. What if you dig down into your soul and your best isn’t good enough? My God, look at this place. Think of this woman. No one on earth knows more about her than Jared Butler. If he’s sure you’ll fail…

  Emma’s throat tightened, her hand suddenly unsteady. Don’t even think it, she told herself sharply. You’re not going to fail. You’re going to take whatever he can dish out and not give an inch. Think of this as your test. If you can make him believe your portrayal of Lady Aislinn, you can make the whole world believe it. And if they see you can play this role, they’ll know you can play all the others… The powerful dramatic roles she’d longed for. Feared were forever beyond her reach even before Barry Robards had made it clear that he’d given her this role chiefly because of her stunt prowess and physical training. But she’d hung up the phone, elated, determined to prove to the world that there was far more to Emma McDaniel than that.

  And what if you find out there isn’t? Doubt trickled a chill down her spine.

  “Why so quiet?” Butler broke in as he pulled up to the intact tower and put the car in Park. “Not quite up to your five-star hotel standards? You’re more likely to get a rat on your pillow tonight than a mint.”

  She should have given him a verbal slap to put him in his place. But she sat, so overwhelmed for a long moment she couldn’t speak.

  This was the last thing Lady Aislinn had seen—siege engines hammering the walls, inexorably pounding away at the stone. Her home, lost to her forever.

  Emma remembered the home she and Drew had shared in Brentwood, their lives disappearing out of it one cardboard box at a time, just like their promise to love each other forever. But Emma had a life of her own. A career, her gift. What had Lady Aislinn had to cling to when this castle had fallen?

  Rain drove against the stone walls like tears from time gone by. Butler opened his door and maneuvered his big body out of the car.

  Emma climbed out, rain soaking her hair and sliding down the back of her neck as she made a run toward the door. Too late she realized Butler was ahead of her, intent on getting out of the rain, while her five-hundred-ton suitcase was still in the back of the car.

  Bastard. He’d left it there on purpose, for her to manage herself. Fine. Emma slid into the car again and popped the hatch back. Gritting her teeth, she climbed back out into the rain, then slogged to the rear of the Mini Cooper. Heels sinking in mud, she grabbed the handle of the suitcase and pulled. Her knuckles banged against a bolt inside the car.

  Emma’s eyes stung as she tugged on the case, wriggling it back and forth, working it toward the edge until it slid free. She squawked, unable to stop the momentum, the heavy case falling toward the mud puddle she was standing in. She swore, fought, but the corner of the case crashed to the ground with a miserable splat. Cold mud splashed up under her raincoat, her shoes soaked through.

  Sodden hair clung to her chilled, wet face as she heaved the suitcase up out of the mud, staggering under its weight as she made her way toward the dark mouth of the door.

  When she finally trudged into the dank chamber beyond, she waited for warmth to envelop her, for lights to blaze on, driving back the dank gray curtain of storm.

  It was June, for God’s sake, but the place was still freezing. She started to shiver.

  Butler grinned at her in the beam of a gigantic flashlight, the jerk. A real barn burner of a smile. “Dragging that out was a waste of time,” he said, gesturing toward her dripping suitcase. “Everything in it is off-limits for the next six weeks.”

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nbsp; “Excuse me?” Emma knuckled water out of her left ear, sure she couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “Call it method-acting boot camp. You don’t get to keep anything from the modern world.”

  He was enjoying this far too much.

  Pure devilment pricked at Emma. “I don’t even get to keep my stash of tampons?” she asked, itching to get a reaction. After years of marriage, Drew had still blushed when she asked him to pick up a box at the drugstore.

  Butler only frowned.

  “Come on, Butler. Don’t get all shy on me,” Emma sniped. “I’ll be here for six weeks. The issue is bound to come up.”

  “I guess you’ll have to deal with it when the time comes.”

  “No. My maid would have to deal with…well, whatever. Even you can’t be idiot enough to expect a modern woman to—”

  “I expect anyone on this site to do what I tell them.”

  “Fine. When my time of the month comes, I’ll announce it to the whole camp.”

  Butler’s eyes narrowed. “You’d be just bullheaded enough to do it, wouldn’t you?”

  “You betcha, mister.” Emma tried with all her might to keep from shivering. “After all, who died and made you Mussolini?”

  “Your director, as a matter of fact.” Butler rubbed his chin. “All right, Ms. McDaniel. Keep your tampons if you must. In the end, one small concession on my part won’t make any difference. You’re not tough enough to survive without all your luxuries. I’ll wager there are plenty of other things in that suitcase you’ll be missing before your time here is finished.”

  The glow of triumph she’d felt at unsettling him vanished as the reality of his ultimatum struck her. “There’s no way I’m giving up what’s…There’s something else in my suitcase I…I have to…”

  “What? Designer drugs? Your silk knickers?”

  “It’s none of your business.” Emma faced him down, hands on her hips. “It’s something I need. Got it, Butler? Isn’t there anything you need? Besides a personality transplant, I mean?”