Her Kilt-Clad Rogue (8 page)

Connor should have been pleased his guests were enjoying the ball, but he couldn’t have cared less. It didn’t matter that Mrs. MacDougal and the other servants had transformed the Great Hall into an elegant retreat with hundreds of candles and beautiful displays of flowers. A group of colorfully dressed musicians he had paid a pretty coin for played in one corner while nearby a long trundle table groaned under the weight of dozens of plates of food.

The guests mingled, ate and danced with appropriate merriment as Connor dutifully made his way among them, stopping to chat. He knew he appeared the impeccable host, gracious and generous. But inside he felt angry, despondent.

Now he knew what Genevieve truly thought of him.

Her accusations stung, even more so because many of them had been true. He was no saint and he had never claimed to be. But his feelings for her were different. They’d
always
had been different. Nonetheless, she hadn’t believed him, hadn’t believed his kisses were true. She didn’t trust him,
couldn’t
trust him because of his past. In many ways, he didn’t blame her.

Damn it all to hell.

Tonight he’d intended to reveal his feelings, to apologize for his mistakes over the past years. He wanted to tell her that he did not love Catherine, and that he was not intending to wed her. But he’d never been good with words and instead thought his kisses, his passion, would convey his true feelings. It had always worked for him in the past and, so he had hoped it might work with her.

Instead, it had only made things worse. Unfortunately his ill-famed reputation was interfering with the most important relationship he’d ever had. What in God’s name had she called him?

A kilt-clad rogue.

He cringed. Did she really believe that?

Unbidden, he sought her out and saw her moving among the guests. She stayed close to Ewan, but was careful not to smother the lad. She looked so lovely and pure in that simple gown of blue. Even more surprisingly, she truly resembled Christina Douglas with her impossible-to-tame brown hair flowing loose about her shoulders. He had no right to soil her, to stain her with his reputation, but God help him, he still wanted her.

Clenching his fists, he turned away. Catherine murmured something and he forced a smile. He’d have to hurt her too. Undoubtedly she would recover once he smoothed the way with a fair amount of coin. He had no illusions that she loved him, but his rejection would greatly damage her pride. Still, he’d do what had to be done.

He caught another glimpse of blue from the corner of his eye and turned in time to see Genevieve and Ewan whirling across the floor. Emotion tightened in his chest. He would have her no matter what she thought of him. There had to be a way to rebuild the fragile trust that had been forming between them. But first he had to show her he wasn’t a rogue and that his intentions toward her were honorable.

Determined, he waited until Catherine’s attention was elsewhere and made his way over to Genevieve and Ewan. He forced himself to keep his voice light with no trace of his earlier anger.

“Ah, Miss Fitzsimmons, there you are. Are ye, um, having fun?” He grimaced. Witty conversationalist he was not.

Surprised, she glanced up at him. When he saw her red-rimmed eyes and knew she’d been crying, his heart stumbled.

“Of course, it’s a lovely ball, Mr. Douglas.” She spoke so softly he had to lean down to hear her. “I’m grateful to be invited.”

Hell and damnation. This is not how he wanted her, meek and miserable. He wished to show her he was no longer angry—that he understood why she had misconceptions about him. But what in God’s name could he say to her with Ewan standing right there and a roomful of guests all poised to conveniently overhear whatever he might say?

“Ah, would ye like to dance?”

He saw the confusion in her eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Ewan and I were just about to retire for the evening.”

“Oh. I see…so…I…” Silence stretched between them. Connor groped for something else to say, but as usual, words failed him. Even worse Ewan had begun to stare at him with curiosity.

He cleared his throat. “Well then, I’ll bid ye a good night, Miss Fitzsimmons.” He nodded at Ewan. “Lad.”

When they turned away, he strode directly to the balcony to let loose a string of curses. Christ’s wounds, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to handle this mess he’d made with her.

Before he could berate himself further, Catherine sidled up, linking her arm with his. “Will ye dance wi’ me, Connor?”

He took another breath to steady himself. For one more night, he’d pretend to be the man she thought she wanted. But come tomorrow, he’d tell her the truth. His heart lay with another.

Genevieve awoke to a fierce pounding on her door. She jumped out of bed, snatched a robe and wrapped it around her. A quick glance at the window showed that it was still dark. She swung open the door. Connor stood there still fully dressed in his kilt and plaid.

“What time is it?”

“Late.” He removed his plaid and draped it over her shoulders. “Ye must come at once. Ewan’s been hurt and the lad is asking for ye. Fetch something for your feet.”

“Hurt?” She stumbled toward the hearth and slid her feet into a pair of shoes. The wool plaid was scratchy and smelled of Connor. “What happened?”

“I dinna know exactly. Mrs. MacDougal just summoned me and I’m stopping to get ye on my way out. Make haste, please.”

Panic streaked through her. “Where is he?”

Connor’s expression turned grim. “The hound pen.”

“No. Oh, my God, no.”

She had to run to keep up with Connor’s hurried strides. His plaid shielded her from the cool wind, but inside she was chilled by fear.

They saw the bobbing torches and heard the murmur of voices near the dog pen long before they saw Ewan. Connor pushed his way through the small crowd and easily jumped the fence. Worried, he knelt at his son’s side. Ewan lay on his back, clutching his left shoulder, tears streaming down his face. He was still dressed in his pirate’s costume. Genevieve felt a rush of guilt and shame. He must have slipped out after they had bid each other good night. She hadn’t thought to check on him before going to sleep.

What kind of governess was she?

“Da.” Relief crossed his face when he saw Connor.

Connor took the boy’s hand. “What happened, lad?”

“I…I was trying to climb the fence when I fell.”

“What in the devil were ye doing down here at this hour?”

Ewan glanced at Genevieve shamefaced. “I was too excited to sleep. I thought to see the hounds just one last time so I could show ye how well I can handle them now. But ’twas dark and I slipped.”

“Are ye hurt badly?”

He tried to hold back the tears. “Just my shoulder, I fear.”

Genevieve felt wetness dampen her own cheeks. “It’s going to be all right, Ewan.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything. I’ll never be able to go on the foxhunt now.”

“There will be other times,” Genevieve reassured him.

“Says who?” Connor snapped out the words. “I’ll no’ have Ewan harmed again.”

Ewan shook his head. “Dinna be mad at her, Da. Miss Fitzsimmons helped me see that the hounds are no’ so frightening.”

It was the first time she had ever heard him call her by her proper name and emotion thickened in her throat at his defense.

“I’ve sent for the doctor.” Connor lifted Ewan from the ground. “Ye’ll rest in your room until he arrives.” He handed the boy over the fence and into the arms of a man on the other side. After jumping over, he took Ewan back in his arms.

Without another word, he strode toward the castle. Genevieve followed silently, her heart heavy. She was certain she’d soon have to face the moment she’d been dreading since her arrival.

She was about to be dismissed.

After Connor had settled Ewan into bed, he motioned for her to go into the schoolroom. He followed, leaving Ewan’s door slightly ajar.

Instead of immediately admonishing her, he all but ignored her, pacing the schoolroom with his hands clasped behind his back. He still wore his kilt and as he moved, she caught fascinating glimpses of his bare, muscular thighs.

She finally spoke. “Connor, I’m sorry. I should have consulted with you before allowing Ewan to work with the hounds. It’s just that he wanted so badly to surprise you, to make you proud.”

He stopped pacing and crooked his finger. “Come here.” She took several steps forward until she stood nearly toe-to-toe with him.

“Was this your idea or Ewan’s?” A dark gleam shone in his eyes.

“Mine.”

He laughed, but without humor. “Are ye certain Ewan didna manipulate ye into doing this? To plan this to look like an accident so he could rid ye from the castle?”

The thought both startled and unnerved her. “No.” Then she reconsidered. When she remembered the look of sheer joy on Ewan’s face when he petted the hounds for the first time, she shook her head firmly. “No, I’m certain. This was no devious plan of Ewan’s.”

Connor sighed. “Then ’tis ye I must blame for this mishap.”

“Yes, I accept full blame.” She paused and then plunged on. “And yet, I feel it is my duty to point out that part of the blame is yours, as well.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Mine?”

Since she felt she would be dismissed by the end of the conversation anyway, she decided to be completely candid with him. “Yes, yours. If only you had shown Ewan some attention, he wouldn’t have been so starved for it, and I wouldn’t have been so willing to help him gain it. But apparently you couldn’t bring yourself to spare that kind of affection. Instead, you have had nothing but the coolest reserve for your own son while you spent your time arranging foxhunts and balls, dallying with widowed women and kissing the governess.”

There. It came out a bit bolder and harsher than she intended, but she’d said it. And by God’s mercy, it was the truth.

For a moment he simply gaped at her in surprised incredulity. Then his eyes narrowed and she saw fire flash within their depths.

“Ye dare to tell me how to act with my son?”

“Someone has to. You barely show him any fatherly interest.”

He straightened. “That isna true. I provide for him, dinna I? He has a home, a name. I’ve hired him a governess to teach him the ways o’ the world. What more does he expect? What more do
ye
expect.”

“I expect a lot from you. But Ewan doesn’t expect anything. He simply wants your love, your affection. You may not realize it, but you behave quite differently when you’re around him. It’s like you become another person—more formal, cool and aloof. Most of the time, you don’t even look directly at him. It’s as if you’ve purposely erected some kind of barrier between you and Ewan.”

“That is quite enough.”

She ignored his command. “Connor, I don’t know what happened between you and your wife, but Ewan is innocent. Would it hurt so terribly much to lower that barrier a bit and get to know him? He’s obviously hurting and so are you. Perhaps together you can resolve the issues that are keeping you apart.”

Before he could reply, they both heard a noise in the corridor. Connor strode out and Genevieve heard him greet the physician. She waited in the schoolroom, listening to the low murmur of their voices while the doctor examined Ewan. After a short time, Connor returned to the schoolroom.

“It seems we are fortunate Ewan hurt naught more than his shoulder. The doctor will bind it.”

“Thank God.”

His mouth tightened at the corners. “Despite what ye think, Genevieve, I know what’s best for my son.”

She sighed. “I know you mean well, Connor, but do you really? Have you asked Ewan how he feels about the possible union between you and Catherine? It’s hard enough for him to get your attention without a wife, and he’s likely terrified of what will happen once has more competition. Perhaps if you’d reassure him that everything will be fine once you’re wed, he’d feel more secure about the marriage.”

She paused, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. “Now, having said my piece, I shall go pack my bags. If you would be so kind as to order me a carriage back to Alnwick on the morn, I would greatly appreciate it.”

He stared at her with an open mouth and then snapped it shut. To her amazement, there was no longer anger in his eyes, only sadness and a deep-seated resignation.

“I’m no’ dismissing ye. I dinna want ye to quit as Ewan’s governess.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “You don’t?”

“Nay. There is much I need to discuss wi’ ye, but now is no’ the time. I’ve a son in bed with a hurt shoulder and a castle full o’ guests all expecting a grand foxhunt tomorrow. Just promise me that ye willna pack up and leave before I’ve had
my
say.”

“Your say? What do you mean?”

“Ye shall see. I promise ye, soon all will be clear.”

Genevieve sat in a chair next to Ewan’s bed, reading him a story. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, but she refused to leave the boy alone. He’d slept only a few hours and then awoke in pain as the morning sun peeked through the drapery. She’d given him a tonic and now he sat propped up, his injured shoulder bound snug in a sling made with white linen strips. A soft breeze wafted through the room while outside the open window, a light summer drizzle fell. Genevieve wondered if the rain would interfere with the foxhunt, which, as far as she knew, was still planned for tomorrow morning.

Ewan shifted against the pillows. “I got ye in trouble wi’ Da.”

She shook her head. “No, I got myself in trouble.”

“Will ye have to leave?”

“Do you want me to?”

He shook his head vigorously. “Nay, I’d rather ye stayed.”

“Well that certainly is a change of heart from when I first arrived.”

He plucked nervously at his sheets. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Fitzsimmons, there is something else I want to ask ye. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

“You may ask me anything.”

He nodded, his face paling a bit. “Do ye think my da is a murderer?”

A soft gasp escaped her. “What did you say?”

“Do ye think my da killed my mum?” He repeated the words in a rush as if she’d forbid him to say it again.

Stunned, she groped for words. “Ewan, why would you think such a thing?”

His eyes filled with tears. “I saw him. That night. The night mum died.”

Dread crawled up her spine. “You saw what?”

“They were arguing. He followed her to the tower. I crept up the stairs to listen. They were fighting…about me.”

The pain and guilt in the boy’s eyes tore at her heart. “Ewan, sometimes people argue about many things, even their own children, but it doesn’t mean they don’t love them. It’s actually quite a normal occurrence.”

Ewan pressed his lips together. “M-Mum was crying and Da was yelling at her. I heard him say he didn’t love her and he wished he’d never wed her. Then suddenly ’twas quiet. I thought Da was leaving so I ran downstairs and hid. A minute later, I saw him come down the stairs. I’ve never seen him angrier. After he passed, I climbed back up to the tower room to see Mum. I thought mayhap I could make her feel better. I opened the door, but she wasna there. ’Twas when I noticed the window was open.”

Genevieve felt as if a hand were squeezing her heart. Had he told no one of this? “Oh, Ewan.”

His lower lip trembled. “I knew Mum hadna gone past me. So I walked slowly to the window and peeked down. Th-there she was just lying on the ground so verra still.”

Genevieve couldn’t speak. Instead, she reached out and pulled him into her arms and he shook with heartbreaking sobs.

“Ewan, have you ever told anyone else about this?”

“Nay,” he said in a muffled voice. “I was afraid.”

“Of whom?”

“Da. Did I do something to make them argue so? Did I do something to make him so frightfully angry?”

“No.” Her eyes filled with tears. “None of this is your fault.”

“Then whose fault is it?” His eyes shimmered with wetness.

Genevieve stroked his hair. “I don’t know, Ewan. I truly don’t know.”

The morning turned into afternoon and neither Genevieve nor Ewan spoke of what the boy had seen in the castle tower the night his mother died. Instead, she brought him his midday meal and they had a picnic in bed. She had just begun to read a new book when Connor suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a tan colored riding suit and dark boots, clearly having been on a practice run for the foxhunt with his guests. To Genevieve’s astonishment, instead of his usual brief and formal greeting from the doorway, he sat on the corner of Ewan’s bed and patted the boy on the leg.

“So, your secret is out, lad. Ye’ve been working wi’ the hounds.”

Ewan nodded. “I’m sorry for what happened, Da. I just wanted to show ye that I’m no longer afraid o’ them. At least no’ most o’ the time. Right, Miss Fitzsimmons?”

She smiled and Connor’s turned his gaze on her. Something stirred in his eyes, but he said nothing.

“Ye really wished that much to go on the foxhunt, Ewan?”

“I’m no’ a child any longer.”

“Ye’re right. Ye worked hard to conquer your fear. That is indeed the action o’ a man.”

The boy beamed with pride, and Genevieve felt tears prick her eyelids. Connor glanced at her over his shoulder, perhaps seeking her approval. She smiled and when he resumed speaking with Ewan, she slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

She was dabbing her eyes with the corner of her sleeve when she saw Malcom shuffling down the corridor, leaning heavily on his cane.

“How’s my grandson?”

“Better. Connor is in speaking with him now.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. I never knew Ewan was so interested in foxhunts.”

“He’s isn’t really. He’s more interested in gaining his father’s approval.” It slipped out before she could stop it. “I’m sorry. I seem to be quite adept lately at saying things I shouldn’t.”

“It has been a difficult time. Janet’s death was hard on both o’ them.”

“I know. But thankfully it seems that Connor might at last be trying to rectify the past.”

“Because o’ ye.”

“No, because I think he finally realizes how important he is to Ewan.”

Malcom cleared his throat. “Dinna be so hard on Connor. There’s a lot ye dinna know. A lot that could change your mind about him.”

“There isn’t anything that could matter more than loving his son.”

Malcom ran a gnarled hand over his brow. “That’s the problem, lass. Ewan isna his son.”