Highland Love Song (DeWinter's Song 2) (12 page)

There was misery in the depths of her blue eyes. "Do you think I'll be here that long?"

He lowered his gaze. "It's not for me to say."

She knew he was blameless in her situation. "Mr. Mactavish, was it you who brought me to the castle that night the carriage overturned?"

"Aye, m'lady. You rode upon my horse."

Deep in thought, she leaned her elbows against the containing wall and glanced at the courtyard below. "Why do you suppose the Highlanders and the Lowlanders don't get along—or for that matter the Scottish and the English?"

"There are many reasons. Speaking of the Highlanders and Lowlanders, anytime you put two Scots together they'll argue on the amount of salt to put in their porridge. As for the English, we Scots object to their lacing their porridge with sugar, or for that matter, breathing air."

She turned to him and couldn't help smiling. "There's more to it than that, Mr. Mactavish, and you know it."

"My name's just Mactavish, m'lady. And aye, it's more than that. I always liken our alliance with England as living next door to a giant—when the giant takes a step, the rumble can be felt from Highland to Lowland."

"I've learned some of the reasons the Maclvors and the Drummonds fight. If only they could come to an agreement. They are all Scots."

"The trouble goes back many years, and it isn't up to me to tell you all the reasons. You may want to ask him," Mactavish said, referring to Warrick.

"I have always been proud of that part of me that was Scottish. My mother instilled that pride in me. Now I don't know how I feel."

A gust of icy wind struck, and Arrian shivered.

"We should go in, m'lady. The weather grows bitter with the setting sun."

She nodded and entered the castle while he held the door for her. "His lordship was wondering if you would like to take dinner with him tonight."

"So he sent you to ask me?"

Mactavish smiled. "I believe he is a little afraid of you, m'lady."

She returned his smile. "What? He, a big man, and I, a wee lass. Whatever can he be thinking?"

"I canna guess."

"You may tell his lordship I shall take dinner with him tonight. But it is not to become a habit."

Mactavish grinned at her. "I'll be glad to relay both messages."

She laid her hand on his. "Thank you for being so kind to me, Mactavish."

"Haddy and Barra have not been unkind to you, have they?"

"I understand their resentment, but I also think it should be aimed at Lord Warrick and not at me. I didn't ask to stay here."

"I'll speak to them."

"No. Please don't. It will only make matters worse." Her eyes danced. "I have found at least one friend in the enemy camp."

"I hope you will always feel that I am your friend, m'lady."

11

It took Arrian a long time to dress because she was accustomed to her maid performing that task. She wore a sapphire blue velvet gown with long puffed sleeves. Her shoulders were bare, and she wore no jewelry, no adornment. Because the castle was drafty, she pulled her white cashmere shawl over her shoulders. Her hair, she braided and wrapped around her head, securing it with a golden comb.

When she entered the dining room, Warrick came to his feet, his eyes filled with admiration. With a smile, he held a chair for her.

"I was not certain you would come."

"I never break my word. If I'm here long enough, you'll learn that about me, my lord."

His gaze moved over her creamy neck and the swell of her breasts that were just visible from the cut of the gown. "You are lovely." He had not intended to compliment her, but the words were spoken before he realized what he'd said.

"It would be the gown, my lord. My mother has impeccable taste in clothing." Her voice became icy. "The gown is part of my trousseau. It was intended for Ian's eyes, not yours."

He made no reply but merely sat down at the head of the table and unfolded his napkin, placing it across his lap. "You will feast tonight. Cook has prepared her best."

Arrian looked around the large formal dinning room. Mrs. Haddington certainly set a splendid table. The silver gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier. The lace tablecloth must have been very old and precious, and Arrian was certain it was only brought out on special occasions. The china was gold rimmed and engraved with a golden G for Glencarin. Since the table was so long, Arrian had been placed at Warrick's right.

Arrian had never seen Warrick in formal dress. His powder blue coat fit snugly across his broad shoulders. The white ruffle of his shirtsleeve fell across his tanned hands. She raised her eyes to his face and thought how proud and aristocratic he looked. He would be a sensation in London. The young ladies of nobility would compete for his attention.

"I admire your china, my lord, it is rather beautiful."

"Although I cannot be certain, I believe I once heard it was a gift to my great-grandmother from her family when she married my grandfather."

"I wonder if you have heard of Ravenworth China. It is world famous," she said. "After the war with France, our villagers were having a difficult time, so my mother helped them market their china. Today, even the Czar of Russia has on occasion dined on Ravenworth China."

"Your mother must be a most remarkable woman."

Arrian warmed to his praise of her mother. "I would challenge you to find anyone more beautiful. There are many who have benefited from her kindness."

"It would seem beauty runs in the DeWinter family."

Arrian didn't want Warrick to think she was seeking compliments, so she turned her attention to the meal. Dipping her spoon into the cock-a-leekie soup, Arrian took a bite of tender capon.

Warrick shrewdly questioned her so that he could learn more about her. "Your life has been happy, hasn't it?"

"I've never known sorrow except the day Uncle George died. He was Aunt Mary's husband, and I adored him. He was a man of great power in the House of Commons."

"Have you any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a younger brother, Michael. He's my best friend, and I miss him desperately."

"And your father—what about him?"

Her face brightened and her eyes glowed. "Father is the most exceptional of all. Aunt Mary told me that until my mother married him, my father was considered the best catch in England."

"So you have the perfect family."

She glanced at him quickly to see if he was being sarcastic, but there was only genuine interest in his eyes. "I believe my family has faults as any family does, but they are honorable and trustworthy. If my father tells you something, it will be the truth."

She fell silent, but already his curiosity was piqued. "I would hear more about your family."

"Everyone loves my mother. As for Michael, I very much admire him."

"I suppose you live most of the year in London, attending parties and galas?"

She wrinkled her nose. "None of my family is fond of London. We prefer to live a simple life in the country. Aunt Mary is the exception. She thrives on London society."

"So you live simply, in a hundred-room castle."

She searched his eyes. "Do you mock me?"

"Not at all. I'm merely trying to draw a picture of your life." A sudden thought occurred to him. "I suppose Ian Maclvors was offered a handsome dowry as your future husband."

Arrian's eyes clouded, and she pushed her soup aside. "I suppose. I don't know the details. I hope you don't think the dowry will be coming to you."

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. "No. I would not touch your father's money. I was only wondering if Ian had yet received the dowry."

"My father did not tell me about the arrangement between them." She leaned closer to him. "When will you allow me to leave, my lord? I don't belong here."

He stared into her blue eyes, made bluer by the color of her gown. "I wonder, had we met under different circumstances, if we might have been friends?"

"We will never know. In truth, my lord, I might have liked you, but I believe you would always have despised the Maclvors blood in me."

"I can assure you that I don't despise you, my lady. Quite the contrary. Do you think me so base that my only feelings revolve around hate and revenge?"

"I have only seen the side of you that hates. I would not know if you are capable of love—nor do I wish to find out."

Mrs. Haddington came in to remove the soup bowls, and Arrian and Warrick fell silent while she served the main course and then withdrew.

"Arrian, suppose you and I declare a truce. I see no reason why we should quarrel."

"I have many reasons to take exception to you, and as for a truce between us, it would depend upon what it was based."

"Suppose we become nothing more than friends. We will spend time together, get to know each other. I'll show you Glencarin as you have never seen it. Would you agree to that?"

"What would I gain from this friendship?"

"Eventually, your freedom."

"When would I have my freedom?"

He took her hand and was surprised when she did not pull away. "I have not yet decided, but until I do, it would be more pleasant if we were cordial."

Arrian thought of the long hours of loneliness that stretched before her. He could be pleasant when he wanted to. "You would expect nothing more than friendship?"

"You have my word. I have no wish to fight with you, Arrian. I don't want your memories of Glencarin to be unhappy."

"How could they be otherwise? I cannot forget that you disrupted my life and made me marry you. I only want to be with Ian, and I probably never can be. . . ."

"We both know that marriages can be annulled, Arrian. If you stay with me willingly until I decide to let you go, I will give you your freedom."

"Out of spite you might decide to keep me until I am old."

He laughed. "I can assure you that I shall release you before high August."

"Then I would be free to marry Ian?"

"You would be free to do as you will."

"You are a puzzlement to me, my lord. On the one hand you can be kind, and then suddenly change and become demanding and threatening. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were two different men."

"Perhaps when you come to know me better, the puzzle will be solved."

"If I do as you say, I'll soon be free to go to my great-grandfather?"

"You will." He glanced down at her hand and noticed her finger was bare. "I see you don't wear my ring."

"I don't feel as if it belongs to me. I only wait for the time when I shall have Ian's ring back on my finger."

He sat back in his chair, observing her quietly. When he spoke, it was on a different subject. "Do you like to hawk?"

"Indeed I do. But I will not fox hunt. To me, hawking is sporting, but when several dozen men with twice as many hounds ride after one little fox, I see no sport in that." She cut into a piece of veal and savored the delicate taste. "It occurs to me, my lord—"

"If we are to be friends, you should call me Warrick."

"Very well. But it seems to me, Warrick, that you know a great deal about me, while I know little of your life. It's only fair that I ask you questions and that you answer them as honestly as I have answered you."

His face was transformed by a smile. "I yield to your curiosity. Ask what you will."

Mrs. Haddington served the tea and a lemon tart while Arrian and Warrick talked. "You never mention your mother, Warrick."

"She died when I was seven."

"Someone taught you manners."

He stared at her for a moment. "You assume that all Highlanders are savages."

"I had heard that," she replied with candor. "But you prove that assumption false."

He chose not to become embroiled in an argument about the Highlands and the Lowlands. "I have happy memories of my mother. As I recall, my sister looked very much like her. There is a portrait of her in the east wing. I'll show it to you one day."

"I know your sister died. Were there no other sisters or brothers?"

"No, there were only the two of us."

Arrian took a sip of tea and laid her napkin on the table. "Were you close to your father?"

Warrick rose and pulled back her chair. "Shall we retire to the salon where we can continue our conversation, Arrian?"

She placed her hand on his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her forward, but she watched him out of the corner of her eye, not quite ready to trust him.

A fire burned brightly in the hearth, and soft candlelight disguised the shabbiness of the salon. There were beautiful and valuable masterpieces on the walls, but the castle had been allowed to fall into disrepair.

Arrian sat beside Warrick on the settee, with her hands folded in her lap.

"Where were we?" he asked, crossing his long legs and resting a hand on his polished boot.

"I had asked about your father."

"My father was a hard man, Arrian, not at all the way you describe your father. He forced my sister to marry Gavin Maclvors against her wishes. Being a proud man, he insisted that she not be shamed by going to the Maclvors without a large dowry. To obtain the funds he sold herds of cattle and flocks of sheep. He took all the money we had and presented it to Gavin Maclvors."

Warrick looked up at a portrait hanging on the wall. "We were fortunate that the estate was entailed, or my father might have stripped Ironworth of its treasures."

She suddenly felt sad for him. "How terrible for you."

"Not for me. For my sister, Gwendolyn. She was young, like you, at the time of her marriage and very frightened of Gavin Maclvors."

"Gavin was Ian's father."

"Yes, and at that time he was your grandfather's heir."

"As Ian is now?"

"That's right. Had my sister and Gavin Maclvors been well suited, and had she found love with him, how different my life might have been." His eyes touched upon her golden head. "Think about it, Arrian, perhaps we would have met one summer at your grandfather's castle and become . . . friends."

"Are you certain your sister died on her wedding night?"

"Yes, quite sure. I attended the wedding and I also witnessed the cruelty inflicted on her by your cousin, Gavin."

"You must have been young then."

"Not so young that I didn't know what was happening. My sister pleaded with me to help her. Mactavish told me later that it was Ian Maclvors who struck me from behind when I went to her aid."

"I can't believe Ian would do that unless he thought his father was in danger."

"His father was in danger—yes, I suppose he was. I would have killed him that night if I could have got my hands on him. If I had, Gwendolyn would be alive."

Arrian didn't want to believe him, but somehow she sensed that he was telling the truth. "What happened then?"

"I knew nothing until the next morning. When I went to see my sister, I was informed that she was dead. It was said she threw herself down the stairs to save herself from Gavin Maclvors. I don't know if we will ever know the real truth of what happened. But even now it haunts me."

"It isn't inconceivable that a young woman could be so distraught from an unwanted marriage that she would throw herself down the stairs. Not if she loved another, as I love Ian. I can only imagine your sister's despair."

Warrick fell silent. It was clear that he didn't like the comparison she had just pointed out to him. His voice was cold when he spoke. "Perhaps you are weary and wish to retire now."

She rose, convinced she had driven her plight home to him by using the love he had for sister. "I will wish you a good night, my lord."

He watched her sweep from the room, knowing he had lost a battle. She was young but clever. She was a wife to be proud of, but she didn't really belong to him. At every opportunity, she reminded him that she belonged to Ian Maclvors.