Heather and Velvet (39 page)

He threw open the door and stood there—a wet, enraged, barefoot Scot.

Prudence didn’t even look up.

She had dragged a barrel next to the sagging trestle table and perched on it as if it were a Chippendale chair. Her feet dangled inches off the floor, and he could see that the soles of her white stockings had been stained black by Dunkirk’s floors. Even with her hair sprinkled with cobwebs, she looked so cool and composed, she might have been a different woman from the frenzied harridan who had chased him outside. She dipped a feathered quill in an ink pot. Sebastian could think of nothing else to do, so he slammed the door with a satisfying crash.

She lifted one imperious eyebrow and surveyed him over the rim of her glasses. With the faintest shake of her
head, she bent back to her task, scratching delicate figures on the back of a tattered envelope.

He opened his mouth to roar a curse, but her soft, cultured tones filled the silence.

“I am working on a list of food and supplies for you to procure. To begin with, I’d like a churn, a turnspit, a mop, a hoe and spade, some lye, five buckets, two goats, and three chickens.” She rose and paced in front of the table. Sebastian stared, transfixed by the graceful sway of her skirts.

She squinted at her list. “I’ll also need a detailed accounting of how much land we own and what you intend to do with it. After today, I would prefer we establish a set routine. Breakfast will be served promptly at six, luncheon at two, and dinner at seven o’clock. If you won’t be present at any of these meals, send me word at least two hours in advance and I shall prepare a bucket for you. If that suits, of course?” She paused for breath, looking at him sideways to check his response.

Sebastian was at a loss to form one. He had never heard Prudence say so much at one time. He stood there with his mouth open, knowing he looked ridiculous, but unable to pull his gaze away from the enchanting smudge of dirt on the tip of her nose.

She cleared her throat. “Very well then. If you’ve nothing else to do, you may begin by repairing the bench and table and chopping some firewood. Tomorrow, if it’s not raining, we can start work on the kitchen roof and mend the fence behind the stable. Then Monday, I thought we would—”

Sebastian threw back his head with a yelp of laughter.

Prudence flushed and tilted her nose in the air. “Have I said something to amuse you?”

“I was picturing the look on Old Fish’s puckered puss if he could see his meek little missy right now.”

She bowed her head, but not before he saw her reluctant smile.

He curbed his urge to kiss the tip of her grimy nose, and took the list from her.

“I’ll ride down to the village and see what I can find.”

“Sebastian?” she crooned as he turned away.

He turned back, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“If you want to be perceived as a respectable laird by your new neighbors, may I offer a suggestion?”

“Oh, please do.”

She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “Pay for the items. Don’t steal them.”

He doffed an imaginary hat with a sweeping bow that would have done Sir Arlo proud. “Aye, Yer Grace. Whatever ye wish.”

Before he could reach the door, Prudence was down on hands and knees, scrubbing the blackened hearth with the hem of her skirt. He closed the door gently and leaned against it, weak with laughter.

He was wiping his streaming eyes as Jamie strutted from the stables toward the castle. Sebastian threw an arm across the door. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Not unless you’ve six months to listen and six more to work.”

Jamie scratched his head as Sebastian strode across the muddy courtyard, whistling “Once I Loved A Bonnie Lass.” He was well into the third chorus and halfway to the village before he realized he’d forgotten his boots and his horse.

T
he Highland rain yielded to a surprising abundance of early spring sunshine. The northern winds might still blow too briskly for the sluggish, but Prudence gave her new husband little opportunity to feel the chill as together they sought to remedy the neglect of decades.

Beneath Prudence’s loving hands, Dunkirk bloomed. She had never before known the pleasure of having her own home. Living in rented London lodgings and then Tricia’s overgrown dollhouse had not prepared her for the warm glow of pride Dunkirk stirred in her. Daily, Sebastian brought her new treasures: a tattered mop, an oaken bucket, a cake of precious lye. They were far more dear to her than any diamonds or pearls.

They worked to the music of Jamie’s chatter while their own unspoken words hung heavy between them. Sebastian’s presence sustained Prudence, brought hope to each day. She basked in the sheer pleasure of watching him chop wood, his skin kissed by a golden sheen of sweat, his cheeks pinkened by the bite of the wind. She ached to press her lips to his throat, to tangle her fingers in his sweat-dampened
hair and draw him into her arms. But still he did not climb the stairs to her lonely bed. The thought that he must prefer the stables and Jamie’s company haunted her long into her sleepless nights.

The same physical nearness that strengthened Prudence was slowly driving Sebastian mad. As she took to wearing her hair loose or simply pulled back by two combs, baring the delicate curve of her throat, he found his blood boiling with more than exertion. He would stride outside and throw his throbbing body into yet another chore, praying he would tire himself enough to stumble to his blankets and fall into a dreamless sleep. But too often, his dreams were haunted by a throaty laugh and the feel of burgundy hair slipping between his fingers.

One night he sat watching Prudence sew before the fire, his eyes lazy and heavy-lidded. He enjoyed the soothing flow of her work, the graceful flick of the needle through the ragged linen of his shirt.

She glanced up at him. The needle stabbed her finger. As she tucked her finger between her rosy lips, the crumbs of his contentment scattered, leaving in their place a wild unrest, an insatiable desire to know more of her than just her fine-boned profile or the taunting fragrance of her hair.

But he could expect word from MacKay any day. Once Prudence discovered the bargain he had struck with the treacherous devil, he would have no choice but to send her back.

He rose abruptly, leaving Prudence to stare after him, the slam of the door echoing in her ears.

Prudence fidgeted with her hair, twisting a heavy strand into a reluctant curl only to watch it fall straight when she released it. She sighed, wishing desperately for a mirror. For all she could tell from her reflection in the warped window glass, her hair might be a mop of corkscrew curls like Jamie’s. She made a face at herself, then pulled the window open for a breath of cooling air. An overcast sky had brooded over the mountains all day, as grim and
implacable as Sebastian’s most recent mood. The wind was picking up now, and dark clouds banked in the east.

She lifted her skirts and let the teasing wind blow across her thighs. The heat from the kitchen fire lingered against her skin even in the damp tower.

Dropping her skirts, she smoothed the lavender silk with anxious fingers. This was the only fine gown that remained from her days in Edinburgh. She donned her spectacles, then pulled them off and slipped them in her pocket. She adjusted her lace fichu and leaned out the window for the twentieth time. At last she was rewarded by the sight of a lone figure walking through the courtyard, his steps slow, but edged with tension.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. The devil take practicality and efficiency! she thought. Tonight she was determined to use all the charms of home and hearth to find out if Sebastian still wanted her.

She gathered her skirts and was halfway down the stairs before remembering her matching lavender slippers. She raced back after them, and jerked them on as she ran. As she reached the bottom step, she tripped over her petticoat and nearly collided with Sebastian as he entered the hall.

He caught her by the elbows as she skidded past. “Ho there, lass. What’s the bloody rush?”

She bobbed an awkward curtsy. “Pardon me. I must tend to something in the kitchen.”

She darted past, squinting in misery. Was nothing to go right today? What was Jamie still doing there? The insolent moppet had his feet on her table. But she
had
promised him a slice of her treat. She couldn’t scold him, could she? He had been nice enough to procure the tender kidney for her, despite his interminable jokes about
who
he had gotten it from.

She returned to the hall with two brass goblets polished to a high sheen and filled with sparkling ale. Sebastian still stood by the door as if he were an unwanted guest.

He glanced at her, then surveyed the well-stoked fire and satin-draped table, his eyes unreadable. “I’m really not hungry. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Prudence gave all of her attention to placing the goblets
on the table, struggling to hide how deeply his honesty stung. “I waited up for you. You didn’t take dinner. I thought you’d be famished.” She managed a warm smile.

He grunted, obviously unwilling to take his rudeness into more verbal territory.

As she fled back to the kitchen, Jamie stopped picking his teeth with one of the knives, jumped up, and pulled out Sebastian’s chair with a flourish. “A throne for the laird of the manor.”

Sebastian sank heavily into the chair. “Playing Cupid again, Jamie?”

Jamie smiled cryptically. “ ’Tis wiser than playin’ the fool.”

A wail of dismay rang out from the kitchen. Sebastian rose, but Jamie placed a hand on his arm,
giving
him the same warning Sebastian had once given him. “I wouldn’t if I were ye.”

Prudence did not reappear for several minutes. When she did, she bore a chipped earthenware plate and a look of grim determination. She slid the plate in front of Sebastian.

He stared down at the black shriveled lump, then cleared his throat before softly asking, “What is it?”

“Suet pudding,” she replied.

Jamie peered at it. “Looks to be more soot than pudding.”

Sebastian gave him a dark look. He poked the miserable morsel with his knife, hoping to cut into it to reveal a steaming core. It shot away, bouncing off his plate and across the table.

Prudence clenched her jaw in an agony of embarrassment. “Would you care for some black buns?”

Over her head, Sebastian caught Jamie’s violent wave of warning.

“No, thank you.” But she looked so crestfallen, he added, “Well, perhaps just one.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and drew his finger across his throat. “I’d best be goin’,” he said, clapping on his beaten hat. “I promised this sweet lass in the village I’d stop by and give her a good-night kiss or perhaps somethin’ more if she’ll allow—”

“Good night, Jamie,” Sebastian interrupted.

Jamie glanced at Prudence as if he would have liked to say something kind. The hectic color in her cheeks warned him to silence.

“I’ll fetch the bread,” Prudence said as Jamie ducked into the night. Her lips trembled. She did not dare meet Sebastian’s eyes.

Sebastian rescued his pudding and sawed at it with his knife. He
was
famished, but not as Prudence thought. He was starving for a taste of her lips, a sip of the tender ecstasy they had shared in the cavern. That one sweet morsel had only whetted his appetite for more.

The scent of cedar wafted to his nose. Prudence had hung fragrant boughs over each doorway. He looked around, really seeing the castle for the first time since his return.

The hall was unrecognizable from the cobweb-festooned horror it had been only a week ago. The floor was clean-swept. A braided rug lay in front of the hearth. Two chairs sat cozily on it, as if whispering secrets. Prudence’s tender polishing had revealed the ancient beauty of the heavy oak and cherry furniture. She had found the grace beneath the ugly gouges from his father’s boots, the careless scars of his own boyhood. The touch of her loving hands was everywhere.

Except on him.

He dug his knife into the pudding, piercing the charred crust to find the inside burnt to crisp, black flakes.

If she were still there when spring came, he mused, she would fill his hall with flowers—jasmine and honeysuckle and bluebells—until the thought of living without their fragrance would be unbearable. As if in answer to his dark thoughts, the sky lowered its threatening boom with a rumble of thunder.

Prudence returned carrying a platter heaped with salted venison and charred bread. He waved away the venison and swallowed a bite of the pudding.

“Sebastian, I don’t expect you to eat that.”

He chewed grimly. “I like it.”

When she started to protest again, his eyes narrowed in
such an evil look that she retreated with the platter to her own end of the table. She tried not to stare as he choked down every last bite of the pudding, then followed it with a healthy splash of ale.

Prudence toyed with the cameo that held her fichu together. Sebastian fought to keep his hungry gaze off her, but lost the battle. Candlelight shimmered over her hair, giving it the rich gloss of sherry wine. The lavender silk gown deepened the pale delicacy of her skin. In his muddy breeches and sweat-stained shirt, he felt like the coarse peasant he was.