Amanda Scott (21 page)

Managing at last to stand and hold steady in the rushing water, albeit with effort, Kit straightened his hat and watched the
lass run up the hill to the house.

His first furious impulse was to run after her, to catch her, and to give her what she deserved for the trick she had served
him, but three excellent arguments raged in his mind against such a course. First, the pair of them would be in sight of anyone
who looked out a window from the house, and even if the watcher made no objection to his putting the lass across his knee,
in his sodden state he would look ridiculous. Second, he knew that if he attempted to leap for the bridge or the bank with
too much haste and too little care, he would slip again. The third and most persuasive argument, however, was that he had
richly deserved his damp fate.

What was it about Anne Ellyson, he wondered, that stirred him to take such liberties with her? Even as the question occurred,
however, he knew the answer. She fascinated him far more than her lovely cousin did. It was her damnable calm, of course.
Some demon inside him—doubtless having dwelt there since his childhood-—tempted him to poke at her, to see if he could get
a reaction. The realization did not make him think better of himself, however, for he knew that if a son of his ever teased
a lass the way he had teased Anne, it would be the son, not the lass, who went over his knee. A wetting was less than he had
deserved.

Because he was soaked to the skin and had seen no sign of Willie since the lad had vanished into the wedding crowd, Kit decided
his best course would be to call for his horse and leave, much as it went against his nature to do so.

“Nay, nay,” Fergus protested, “he canna leave! We must stop him.”

“Aye,” Catriona agreed, looking warily at Maggie. “Everyone concerned will want him to stay until the business of the betrothal
is settled. Moreover, it will be easier for us to watch them if they all stay in one place.”

“I’ll see tae that,” Maggie said, “but we need tae talk, the three o’ us, just as soon as ye can both manage tae do it without
abandoning your charges. Go on now and follow your lass, Fergus. Ye’ve nae need tae linger here wi’ Catriona.”

“Aye, I’m going,” he said. “She’s only just got to the door, after all.”

By the time Kit climbed back onto the bridge, the lass had disappeared into the house. He noted with relief that no guests
were near the entrance now to witness his predicament.

As he stood there, a warm breeze stirred the leaves on nearby shrubbery and trees, making the air feel more like summer than
autumn. At least he would not freeze while he decided what to do next.

Remembering that the path on the chapel side of the bridge would take him to the stables, he set off that way, ignoring a
lingering temptation to follow Anne. She’d had good reason to run, he decided, knowing she had recognized his fury. Before
that moment, he had seen only dismay in her expression, and he wondered if she might have been about to apologize. A second’s
consideration made him decide she would have done no such thing, and the thought made him smile.

The lady was one of a kind.

His walk through the gardens was surprisingly pleasant. Birds chirped, and a tawny cat emerged from undergrowth in a copse
he passed through and followed at his heels. When it meowed at him and rubbed against an ankle, he paused, bending to stroke
its soft fur. Instantly, it rolled onto its back, inviting him to rub its tummy.

“What do you make of all this fuss and to-do, Madam Puss?” he asked. “Doubtless, things in your world are more easily dealt
with. A mouse here, a rat there, and one’s needs are met. Oh, and a handsome torn or two, as well, I’m sure,” he added as
the cat began to purr loudly.

Straightening, he realized to his amazement that his clothing was nearly dry.

He took off his hat and turned it in his hands. It was dry. Of course, it had been only splashed, he reminded himself, not
soaked like the rest of him.

Pushing a hand through his hair, he looked at his boots. That morning, he had thought them far from fine enough for such an
occasion but had donned them because he had no others with him. Now they looked like fine, well-polished leather, as if the
water of the brook had been exactly the tonic they had needed. He bent down and felt them. They, too, were dry, and by the
time he straightened, he could find nothing about his person that was even damp.

He stood for a long moment, gazing around. To be sure, the breeze was warm and brisk, stirring dry leaves to dance along the
path, but no breeze could dry a velvet doublet so quickly. Deciding his reverie must have lasted longer than it seemed, he
continued along the path until he came to the plank bridge near the stable yard. Ongoing bustle there told him that at least
some guests were leaving.

The sun had well begun its downward journey to the western horizon, and since he was dry, he decided to return to the hall.
Nothing would go forward until Parson Allardice and the others had talked things over and decided what they wanted to do,
and it certainly behooved him to be present when they did, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on Eustace.

When he entered the hall, he found that many had gone. None of the few Chisholms he had seen at the wedding remained, nor
had any approached him earlier, so they were clearly taking their cue from Eustace. He saw no one he recognized except Lady
Carmichael, who sat with three other ladies at the high table near the fire at the far end of the hall. In the lower hall,
a few guests still ate and drank, and the musicians still played, but the crowd and general noise had diminished considerably.
It was easy to see that Anne was not there.

Wending his way among trestle tables and benches to the dais, he stepped onto it and approached Lady Carmichael.

“Forgive me for interrupting your ladyship, but I wonder if you have decided yet when it will be convenient for us to meet
with Eustace and Parson Allardice.”

Putting the back of one hand to her brow, she said, “Pray, Sir Christopher, can this not wait? I have been trying to get away
this past hour to lie down and rest, and I promise you, I have such a headache that I could not discuss anything sensibly.
As to my uncle, although he is the one who invited everyone to this feast, he has disappeared, and I believe he must have
taken Parson Allardice with him.”

“I have no wish to distress you, madam, so I will go, but perhaps you would like me to send for Lady Anne first to assist
you to your chamber.”

“I cannot think where she has gone,” she said pettishly. “I saw her come in, but she went straight to the stairs, and she
has not come back.”

“Little coward,” he murmured.

“What’s that, sir?”

“Nothing, madam. Shall I send someone to fetch her?”

“No, no, that is not necessary. Nor should you leave Mute Hill House,” she added, sitting up straighter.

“I dislike trespassing further on your hospitality.”

“Nonsense, Sir Christopher, you have barely met Fiona, and if your betrothal to her stands, you will soon marry her. I should
think you might at least spend the night as I had planned and try to get to know her a little. All these people should depart
before supper, for they cannot require more food or drink after this, and I have invited no one to stay.” Raising her voice,
she said, “Malcolm, I want you.”

“Yes, madam?”

“Pray, show Sir Christopher to a bedchamber,” she said. “Malcolm will see that you have everything you need, sir.”

“Thank you, madam,” Kit said, thinking that this would repay Anne Ellyson. He could hardly wait to see her again, if only
to see the expression on her face when she learned he would remain an overnight guest despite his ducking.

Lady Carmichael said abruptly, “Where has my uncle gone, Malcolm?”

“I believe that he, Sir Eustace, Parson Allardice, and others left some time ago, madam. He suggested that Sir Eustace must
be bored with the wedding feast since he would win none of the fruits of… that is to say since there had been no wedding,”
he amended swiftly. “I believe they went out riding.”

“Nonsense, you know that Toby never rides a horse if he can help it.”

“Just so, my lady,” Malcolm said, darting a quick glance at Kit.

Lady Carmichael said, “My uncle travels in a specially made pony cart, Sir Christopher, and since the ponies refuse to carry
him any great distance, I warrant they will have gone no farther than his favorite alehouse in the village.” Fluttering her
eyelashes at him as she had once before, she added in a tone more suitable to a demure innocent, “I shall certainly scold
him for neglecting you.”

“Unnecessary, I assure you, madam,” Kit said. “If we are not to discuss this odd situation in which we find ourselves, I shall
welcome a good night’s rest.”

“Put him in the blue room near Sir Eustace, Malcolm.”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

Although Kit was by no means sure that he wanted to sleep so near his uncle if that gentleman was presently indulging himself
at the local alehouse, he followed the steward obediently and soon discovered that Mute Hill House resembled a rabbit’s warren.
They passed several stairways before coming to one that apparently met with Malcolm’s approval. At the first landing, Kit
followed him down a gallery, assuming that his room would be somewhere along it. Instead, Malcolm led him to the far end and
up a second stairway.

They went up only one more flight. This time, the gallery where they found themselves faced a bank of windows overlooking
the gardens.

“A splendid view,” Kit said.

“Aye, sir, we like it,” Malcolm replied, as if the house were his own. “Sir Eustace is in that chamber at the end,” he added,
opening a nearby door.

Kit stepped into a pleasant bedchamber and strode across it to open the shutters in the lower section of a window overlooking
a central courtyard he had not seen before. As he peered down, he heard the steward moving briskly about the room behind him.
Turning, he saw the man peer into the ewer on the washstand and touch the towel on the rod, as if to be sure that all was
in order.

“Thank you,” Kit said. “I see that this house is even larger than it appears.”

“It is a good size, which suits us, for Sir Stephen was accustomed frequently to entertain large parties, and her ladyship
enjoys company, too,” Malcolm said. “I’ll send up a lad with hot water, sir, and despite what her ladyship said, I assure
you supper will be served in the hall as usual, although not until eight o’clock.”

Glancing out at the sky, Kit was surprised to see how late it was, for the sun was low and the light had begun to fade.

“Faith, but it must be nigh onto five already,” he said.

“Aye, sir. Shall I shut that window now?” he asked as Kit stepped away.

“No, leave it,” he said. “I’ve spent much of my life in the open air, and I dislike being shut in unless it’s raining hard
or snowing. As for that hot water, I’d prefer you to send it up when I retire for the night.”

Malcolm nodded and left.

Under ordinary circumstances, Kit would have had clothes to change and a personal servant with whom to chat. Since he had
neither but did have three hours to spend before folks would gather in the hall for supper, he decided to go outside again
and see if he could learn where Willie had gone.

Returning to the hall proved easy, but although he usually had a keen sense of direction, he was not sure he would as easily
remember the way back to his bedchamber. However, he decided to worry about it only if he got lost.

A
nne was hungry. She had eaten nothing since breakfast other than the orange she had taken into the garden, and the thought
of that orange reminded her that its bits of rind were now floating in the brook, doubtless well on their way to Ewes Water.
Instantly, her imagination produced the picture of Sir Christopher, sitting in the swiftly flowing water with his hat tilted
over his eyes.

He undoubtedly wanted to murder her. As she changed from the green velvet gown into a more informal one, she wondered unhappily
when she would see him again. So certain was she that he had gone rather than face anyone in his sodden state that it came
as a shock to find him at the high table when she went down to supper. It was even more surprising to find Olivia smiling
and chatting with him, but Olivia’s smiles were soon explained by her flirtatious manner.

Turning to Anne, she said lightly, “Where is Fiona? I was sure she would come down with you.”

Guiltily, Anne admitted that she had assumed the opposite and thus had not even gone to Fiona’s room.

“Well, you must go and tell her I want her here. She has hidden away too often of late, and with Sir Christopher spending
the night, she has a duty as one of this household to make him feel welcome.”

“Yes, Aunt Olivia,” Anne said, intensely aware of Sir Christopher but avoiding his eye by the simple tactic of keeping her
gaze riveted to Olivia.

Glad to escape before she had to see the anger he undoubtedly still felt toward her, she hurried to her cousin’s room, wondering
if there were any way to send Fiona downstairs without accompanying her. The thought had barely passed through her mind, however,
before she rejected it. Not only would Fiona refuse to go without her but she would despise her own cowardice if she avoided
him. She owed him an apology, and she would simply have to get it over with.

As she had expected, Fiona did not want to leave her bedchamber, insisting that she would send Molly to fetch food for her
when she grew hungry.

“Which I’m not now, Anne, I promise you. I don’t want to see anyone!”

“Don’t be a goose. You must go downstairs, or your mother will be up here in the twinkling of a bedpost. Kit Chisholm is spending
the night, and she wants you to get to know him.”

“Mercy, do you call him Kit?”

“No, of course not,” Anne said, annoyed with herself. “I don’t know why I did just then. But that is not important. You must
come downstairs, Fiona.”