Her Kilt-Clad Rogue (6 page)

He let out a breath. “Foley.”

“Foley to let the dogs sniff us through the fence. Eventually, maybe you will even be willing to pet them. Perhaps once your father sees you with the hounds, he might be willing to reconsider his decision about the foxhunt.”

Ewan clenched his jaw. “It willna work.”

“Well, what do you have to lose? We can consider it a part of our lessons. It will certainly be more entertaining than a math primer. If it doesn’t work, no one else need know besides Mr. Foley and us. What do you say?”

Ewan stopped, his eyes narrowing with mistrust and suspicion. Yet deep in those blue depths, she saw a faint glimmer of indecision and something more…hope.

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s fair. Now I suggest we go down to the peat bog.”

He lifted his eyebrow in a way that reminded her of Connor. “The peat bog? What about our lessons? Aren’t ye going to insist we go back to the schoolroom?”

“Do you want to go back?”

“Nay.”

“Then let’s have our lesson at the bog.”

A sly grin blossomed across his face. “But there are frogs and snakes down at the bog.”

“I certainly hope so. All the better to examine them in their natural habitat. And by the way, I’ll be watching you closely to make certain you don’t slip any unsuspecting creatures under your shirt for later use.”

To her astonishment, he laughed and headed toward the bog. “All right, English. We’ll do it your way. Mayhap this won’t be such a bad day after all.”

“Mayhap, indeed,” she murmured with a smile.

A week passed and Genevieve fell into a comfortable routine. She and Ewan had declared a tentative truce of sorts. After just one more time being late to supper and receiving no food, he began to arrive promptly, washed and well-mannered.

He also appeared on time for lessons, and in turn, she kept them lively and entertaining. To the boy’s great delight, the lessons were not confined solely to the schoolroom.

She also continued to have daily tea with Mrs. MacDougal in her room, gossiped with the young serving girl Lucinda and began to feel an integral part of castle life. In the late afternoon, she and Malcom Douglas played chess together, an activity she had greatly enjoyed with her grandfather.

Each evening after supper Connor walked with her back to her room, chatting in a warm, friendly manner, a complete gentleman. There was no further mention of their time together ten years earlier. No suggestion in his voice or gaze, only amiable respect and warmth. How could such a handsome, charming man not affect her? Nonetheless, she took every opportunity she could to remind herself that he was being kind because he needed her to stay for Ewan’s sake.

Without Connor’s knowledge, she and Ewan visited the dog pen every day. While Ewan hadn’t worked up enough courage yet to step into the fenced area, he had permitted the dogs to sniff him and once she even caught him giving one of the hounds a pat on the head. The boy was still frightened by them, but the fact that he was willing even to try overcoming such a deep-seated fear was testament to how much he yearned for his father’s approval.

Nonetheless, the more she watched Connor and Ewan together, the more baffled she became by Connor’s cool indifference to his son. He had no warm words for Ewan, no fatherly hugs or pats, just customary polite exchanges that left Genevieve’s heart aching for both of them. No wonder the boy felt compelled to disobey. It was the only way he seemed able to get his father’s attention.

This morning after lessons, she strolled through the garden when she heard steps behind her. She turned around to see Connor clad in a pair of tan breeches, a crisp white linen shirt and black boots. His hair had been tied at the nape of his neck and he was freshly shaved. Her pulse skipped a beat.

“I heard ye’ve been spending time here. Do ye like our gardens?”

“They are lovely. I hope you don’t mind that I help tend to the flowers. I do so miss my own garden.”

“I dinna mind at all. In fact, I’m pleased ye are able to find some solace here.” He pointed to a small stone bench. “Do ye have a moment to speak wi’ me?”

“Of course.” She lifted her skirts and sat gingerly. He joined her, his thighs brushing against her skirts. Her heart stumbled. Just sitting next to him with the sun warm on their heads and shoulders caused a flood of memories to rush back.

“How is Ewan doing wi’ his lessons?”

“Quite well, actually. It’s my pleasure to inform you that he is not dim-witted at all. Actually Ewan is a highly intelligent boy. I feel confident he will progress rapidly.”

“I’m glad to hear that, although I must say I’m a wee bit surprised. Ye are the first governess to speak so kindly o’ Ewan.”

“I’m not speaking kindly, I’m speaking truthfully. He has many talents I haven’t yet explored to my satisfaction. Did you know he is quite an accomplished sketcher?”

“Ewan?”

“Yes. He provided me with a beautifully detailed sketch of an oak leaf. And he drew a lovely representation of the castle.”

“’Tis a talent he received from his mum, no doubt. Janet was quite an accomplished painter.”

It was the first time she’d ever heard him bring up her name voluntarily. “You’ll have to come by and see his efforts for yourself.”

“I must, indeed.”

The conversation lulled and Genevieve felt increasingly awkward sitting so closely. Just being near him heightened her senses to an extraordinary level. The color of the flowers seemed more vivid, the sun warmer, and the scents of the garden were far more fragrant when he was near.

He shielded his eyes from the sun. “There is another matter o’ which I wished to inform ye. The foxhunt will commence next week. I’ve invited several important guests and the celebration will take place o’er a few days. I’d like ye to keep the lad out o’ the way.”

“I’ll do my best, of course. But if I may be so bold as to inquire as to why you won’t permit Ewan to accompany you on the foxhunt?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought ye didna approve of the foxhunt.”

“I don’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that your son wants desperately to attend.”

“He’s too young.”

“Children as young as six years of age foxhunt in England.”

“This isna England.”

She studied him intently. “Why don’t you really want him to go?”

Connor sighed, perhaps realizing she intended to persist. “Ewan is afraid o’ the hounds. He may think he could manage, but ’twould be a terrifying experience for him. I’ve no wish to upset the lad.”

She shifted slightly on the bench. “What if he weren’t so frightened anymore? Would that change your mind?”

He studied her for a long moment. “Just what are ye plotting, Genevieve?”

“You’ll see. I ask only that you reserve judgment on your final decision about the foxhunt.”

He considered it for a minute and then nodded his head. “Agreed.”

She smiled. “I thank you, then.”

He smiled back, a bit of the devil in his eyes, and for a moment she saw the young man he’d once been, unburdened by the responsibilities of life. A bittersweet longing filled her and she had to look away for fear he’d see it in her eyes.

“Oh, and my da has talked me into hosting a ball to entertain our guests before the foxhunt. I’m no’ certain it is a good idea, but ’tis something he truly wanted to do, so I decided to indulge him.”

Her heart fluttered with dread. Balls reminded her of her failed London season.

“I suppose you’d like Ewan to attend.”

“Aye, can ye see that he is suitably prepared?”

“In what way did you have in mind?”

He seemed at a loss. “I dinna know. I would think the proper behavior for a lad at such things. I suppose he should be taught how to dance.”

“In a week?”

“Is that no’ possible?” He looked so panicked that she almost felt sorry for him. Men were so utterly daft when it came to such things.

“I suppose I can teach him a step or two.”

Connor sighed in relief. “Good.”

“What kind of ball is it to be?”

“A costume ball.”

Genevieve threw up her hands in exasperation. “A costume ball? For heaven’s sake, Connor, it’s not as if I can produce a suitable costume for him out of thin air.”

“Mrs. MacDougal will take care o’ it for ye. She’ll make one for ye too.”

“For me? You wish for me to attend?”

“O’ course, I wish for ye to attend.”

She searched around for a reason to refuse, but could think of none. He had clearly tied her presence to the ball as part of her duties in monitoring Ewan. How could she say no?

She rose, her mind racing. “Well, if that is what you desire.”

“It is.”

“Then there is much to be done. May I have your permission to leave?”

He seemed pleased that she had asked. “As ye wish, Genevieve.”

She started to walk away and then stopped and peeked over her shoulder at him. He still sat on the bench watching her, smiling. The sunlight danced across his dark hair, his face illuminated with a passionate kind of beauty. A bittersweet sense of longing filled her. Even now her memories of him remained strong and clear, as did her attraction.

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is there something else, lass?”

She shook her head. “No. There is nothing at all.”

Genevieve petted the sweet brown-haired hound over the wooden fence. “I think Mari will be the one to find the fox.”

“No’ possible. She’s a lassie.” Ewan bravely reached over the fence to scratch her behind the ears. “’Twill be a male who leads the pack. Charlie, I think.” He glanced over at the large black dog.

Genevieve marveled at how hard Ewan had worked to overcome his fear of the dogs. While he was not yet comfortable in their presence, no longer was he terrified. In fact, he had made progress with a great many things. He showed up for his lessons and the work had gone as well as could be expected. Ewan was still wary and not entirely cooperative, but at least he was coming along. She thanked God for the small things.

Genevieve resumed scratching Mari’s hindquarters when the sound of hoof beats caught her attention. Turning, she saw a group of six people ride into the courtyard. Curious, she craned her neck to see the visitors. As the riders dismounted, Genevieve saw Connor stride out of the castle and go directly to a cloaked woman who remained seated on her mount. Connor offered her a hand and she took it, sliding down to the ground, safely ensconced in his arms. For a moment, Genevieve felt an unexpected surge of jealousy.

The hood slipped back from the woman’s head and thick black hair spilled down her back in a cascading wave. She said something to Connor and he laughed, leaning his head down toward her.

Genevieve pointed to the woman. “Ewan, who’s that?”

Ewan turned around. “Lady Catherine Montclair.”

“Montclair?” Genevieve echoed and then an unpleasant thought leapt to mind. “She wouldn’t happen to have been the former Catherine Graham, would she?”

“How did ye know she was o’ the Graham clan?”

“A fortunate supposition.” Her stomach started to churn uncomfortably. So
this
was the woman Connor had wished to marry before he’d been forced to wed Janet MacIntyre.

“I hate her,” Ewan declared.

Genevieve glanced at him in surprise. “Why, that’s a truly awful thing to say.”

“It’s true.”

Catherine laughed, the tinkling sound floating toward them on the breeze and drawing Genevieve’s gaze back to the handsome couple. Suddenly Connor lifted his dark head as if sensing she was watching. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and thoughtful. Embarrassed she had been caught staring, Genevieve flushed and turned away, But not before she saw Catherine link her arm possessively with his.

Genevieve marched over to the fence and began petting Mari again, her thoughts awhirl.

Ewan followed. “I hope she doesna stay long this time.”

“This time?”
God’s mercy, just how often does Catherine visit?
“Isn’t she…well, already wed?” Not that it would matter to a rogue like Connor, but for Ewan’s sake, she hoped it did.

“She was married. But old Archibald died just a month before mum.”

Stunned, Genevieve fell silent. What an extraordinary coincidence that Connor’s and Catherine’s respective spouses had died within a month of each other.

He stood on the bottom log of the fence and reaching over toward Mari. “She’s come here a lot since mum died.”

“Oh.” Genevieve digested that unpleasant bit of information. “Isn’t it a bit odd that she is here already? The foxhunt won’t take place until next week.”

Ewan shrugged. “I dinna think Da minds spending time wi’ her. At least it means he willna have to be wi’ me.” Bitterness tinged his voice and Genevieve winced.

“Your father is simply being a gentleman and duty requires that he spend time with his guests.”

Ewan looked at her curiously. “Why do ye defend him?”

Why, indeed?

She kept her expression neutral. “I’m not defending him. I’m only stating facts.”

“She doesna love Da.” He scuffed his foot. “She just wants the treasure.”

“Treasure? What treasure?”

Ewan rolled his eyes, clearly put upon to explain things to her as if she were a child. “The treasure of ole Black Gavin Douglas. ’Tis said he hid some jewels in the castle. People have been searching for centuries for the jewels without luck. But I’ll find them someday. I will.”

“That’s a marvelous tale, Ewan, but most likely not true. Surely any hidden treasure would have been found by now.”

“Well, it hasna.”

Genevieve brushed off her skirts. “I think that’s enough talk of hidden treasure. Let’s return to the schoolroom for the rest of our lesson.”

To her surprise, he didn’t complain as she led him back to the room. At least that thought warmed her even as the more disturbing thoughts of Connor and Catherine served to worry her considerably.

Connor sat beside Catherine in the castle arboretum, trying to seem interested in her endless chatter about her latest journey to Edinburgh. He couldn’t care less about the newest fashions, the renovation of the inn where she had stayed and the gossip about so-called important people she had visited.

Why in God’s name had the woman come so early?

He cursed because he already knew the answer to that. She came for him, for what she believed would happen between them. And until he’d seen Genevieve, even he thought it was a possible future.

However his plans had altered once he realized his feelings for Genevieve remained true. Now he had to determine the best way to win Genevieve back without excessively hurting Catherine’s feelings or pride. And from what he knew of Catherine, that would not be an easy task.

Hell and damnation, women would be the death of him.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The plants and flowers in the arboretum were in full bloom and he should have been enjoying their beauty and fragrance. Instead he felt his mood sour.

Catherine said something and patted him on the knee. That intimate gesture from a woman of her beauty and stature would have had most men fervently counting their blessings. How easily he had fallen for her as a lad. She had a full, curvy body and her thick black hair hung in graceful curves over her shoulders. Yet for all that, she could also be cruel and cold, and he hadn’t always liked what he’d seen. Besides, there was no compelling pull, no common interests and no real passion beyond that of the physical between the two of them. Had it not been for Genevieve, he might have been content with that much. But now he knew better.

He wanted more.

It had been a lesson well learned that beauty was skin deep, and did not a blissful marriage make. Just thinking about the years he’d spent with Janet caused his chest to constrict uncomfortably. But Catherine knew too much about him, about his past. If she even suspected his affection for Genevieve, she could make trouble that he would be hard-pressed to handle.

Christ’s wounds, he had to do something to extricate himself from this intolerable situation before he lost any of the gains he had made so far with Genevieve.

But how in hell’s name was he going to do that with Catherine watching his every move?