Lessons in Loving a Laird (7 page)

“No more,” she breathed.

He pulled away a little, the spell that had intoxicated him hanging in the air.

“I canna carry on,” she explained to his closed eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He groaned. He was caught in a war between his body’s insistence to satisfy its carnal desire and his conscience’s demand to do the right thing. Shona was his charge, his
responsibility,
and despoiling her would make him a reprehensible cad. But his body was still raging for her, and it would be a painful battle to make it give up.

“No,” he rasped. “It is I who should apologize. Please forgive me. I forgot myself.”

A callused hand stroked his cheek. “I think I like it when ye forget yerself. Ye become someone I’m very keen on.”

He swallowed hard, wondering how many times he had wanted to do that very thing. “It’s getting dark. Let’s start back before it becomes too dark to navigate our way home. We could find ourselves marooned out here and have to spend the night.”

To his surprise, her green eyes flashed a shared wish. Then she turned around before she divulged any more. But that alone was enough to put him in soaring spirits for the rest of the evening.

*   *   *

As midnight rain spattered on the nursery room window, Willow and Shona squeezed onto a single bed. While Eric slept quietly in his crib, the sisters whispered to each other in the dark.

“He kissed ye? Just like that?” Willow’s blue eyes became saucers.

“Aye!” Shona giggled. “One moment he was preparing to fling me into the burn, and the next, he pressed his lips again’ mine and…” Shona closed her eyes to indulge again in the memory. “We kissed.”

Willow bit her lower lip. “What was it like?”

Shona sighed deeply. “I canna describe it to ye. He’s a very handsome man, to be sure, and he has a strong, braw shape to him. But there was something tender aboot him, too. He wanted me. He made me feel … beautiful.”

“But ye
are
beautiful!”

“Och! Ye know what I mean. Not in the way Iona says … ‘beautiful on the inside.’ Beautiful in the way
ye
are. Desirable.”

Willow cast her glance away, as if looking as she did were a curse instead of a blessing. “Ye had that lad in love with ye.”

“Which one? Ye mean Dùghall?”

“Aye, that’s the one. He was fair smitten by ye.”

Shona tsked. “Dùghall was little more than a boy! And as thin as a stick. If he tried to make love to a woman, she’d barely need to spread her legs to let him through.”

Willow let out a snort. “Shona! For shame! At least Dùghall was sweet on ye.” She poked her sister in the shoulder. “And so, it seems, is the master.”

A dreamy look descended upon her face. Conall MacEwan was sweet on
her
.

“What’s he like?” asked Willow, yawning.

Shona stared over Willow’s shoulder, as if Conall were standing in the room with them. “He’s educated. And proper. And handsome.” Shona looked deeper into the shadow of him. “Considerate. A man of principle. He’s the perfect balance of gentleness and manliness. He touched me, Willow. In a way that’s hard for me to name. But it felt so wonderful to be needed, to be wanted. Do ye ken?”

Shona glanced at Willow. Willow’s eyes had closed, she moaned something unintelligible, and her breathing had steadied to a slow and even rhythm.

Smiling, Shona got up from the narrow bed, and adjusted the blanket over Willow’s shoulder. Once in her own bed, Shona rested her head on the pillow and relived the events by the brook.

The memory of his kiss lingered, as fresh as if it had happened just a moment ago. The feel of his manly lips pressed against hers, his fingers threaded in her hair, his palms squeezing her shoulder and cupping her bottom. But her hands tasted of him as well … wide shoulders that stretched the fabric of his fine wool coat, a chest that was hard as Highland granite, and a face that softened at her slightest touch. She chuckled as she remembered trying to threaten him if he got her all wet. Faith, but that kiss really
did
get her all wet.

He had told her that he’d forgotten himself. So had she, and indeed, that had been the best part of it all. She’d forgotten she was naught but a parish apprentice, forgotten she lacked beauty and grace, forgotten she was a
slaighteur
. He saw beyond all these things, and held her in high esteem anyway.

She hadn’t wanted to stop. She hadn’t wanted it to
ever
stop. But to give of herself so freely would lessen her value in his eyes. And that she was
not
willing to let happen.

And as slumber overtook her, she marveled at the foolishness of trying to seduce a man who was clearly trying to seduce her.

TEN

Duncan McCullough was a most insidious man. Though outwardly cordial and open, he fashioned his words carefully to elicit a desired response, and there was a motive behind every handshake and minute gesture of hospitality. Perhaps, Hartopp reasoned, it was how he was able to amass such a large fortune without much opposition—at least not from anyone who dared to be vocal about it.

“Ye’re no doubt tired of being squeezed into that cramped carriage. My son Brandubh and I were just about to do some hunting. Walk with us.”

Only two things would have relieved the ache in Hartopp’s stiff joints—a good rest or a good walk. He nodded, and followed the McCullough men out of the house and into the forest. Trailing behind them were two servants who carried ammunition and bottles of whisky.

“The MacAslan gels,” he said, staring straight out ahead of him. “I’ve been looking for that ragamuffin pair since they ran away from my man Seldomridge more than a decade ago. Where did they turn up?”

Hartopp knew better than to reveal his hand. The information he possessed had a monetary value. Once the information was out, there was no need to pay him for it.

“Down south, just north of England. I know precisely where they are, and where ye can find them.”

“That’s good news indeed,” McCullough said. “I’ll want to know. But how did ye find them?”

“Accidentally. I found them working on a remote farm.”

“And how came ye to know that I was looking for them?”

Many had heard about the justice meted out to the MacAslan family. It served as a cautionary tale for anyone even considering not showing for battle. But Hartopp had learned of the slaughter directly from the chief of the McBray clan. One of the daughters of the chief was to be married to Hamish, the eldest MacAslan son. The McBray lass was so distraught at learning of her fiancé’s murder that she took her own life.

Hartopp cast him a deferential glance. “Word spreads, McCullough. In the Highlands, everyone knows yer business.”

He displayed a smile. “Glad to hear it.”

They had quietly footed through the forest, careful not to step upon any twigs or brittle leaves lest they scare away any game. Finally, they spotted a pair of beautiful young does munching in a clearing. Stealthily, Brandubh braced the rifle against his shoulder and took aim. As the men silently watched, Brandubh pulled the trigger. The sound of the rifle exploded in Hartopp’s ears, and a puff of smoke burst from the flintlock. Brandubh’s shot found its mark, crippling one of the does. They bolted, one of them hobbling away.

“Did ye see? I clipped her in the flank,” Brandubh crowed. “Let’s go after her.”

“Och! She’ll get far before she’ll tire. And my legs won’t sustain me. Go on. Follow the trail of blood. Ye’ll find her soon enough.”

The younger McCullough took off running through the forest to finish off his quarry.

“I trained him well, did I not?” asked Duncan. “Do you have any children of yer own, Hartopp?”

“No doubt, but none that I’ll claim,” he quipped, to Duncan’s rich laughter.

“Brandubh’s an ambitious cur, more than his da was before him. He’s just as keen to grow the McCullough holdings, but that boy has a head for politics. I canna wait to see what will happen to the Council when I turn Brandubh loose upon them.”

It was not pride in his son that Hartopp saw in Duncan McCullough’s eyes. It was bloodlust.

“Now,” he burst, changing the subject. “I sense ye’ve come with a proposition for me. Let’s have it.”

“I’m a loyal man, my lord. The moment I laid eyes upon the girls, and realized who they were, I knew that they must be returned to ye. I remembered yer reputation for rewarding such loyalty.”

“And how can ye be sure these are the right MacAslan girls?”

“If ye’re after Shona and Willow MacAslan, daughters of John MacAslan of Ravens Craig, then these are the right ones.” Hartopp relished seeing Duncan practically drooling for the prize that Hartopp held. “And they bear the mark of the
slaighteur
.”

Duncan licked his lips. “And where might I find them?”

Hartopp could almost feel his balls grow. “I’ll be happy to take ye to them, my lord. For a fee of ten thousand pounds.”

Duncan nodded his head, which had only started to thread with white. He kicked at a loose stone on the ground, overturning it to reveal a swarm of slithering worms.

Hartopp watched him do it. And by the time their eyes met again, the end of Duncan’s rifle was pointed at Hartopp’s belly.

The blood began to pound thickly in Hartopp’s head. His manic gaze flew from the muzzle of the rifle to Duncan’s face to the servants who pretended to be absorbed in the study of their shoes.

“Do ye know what happens to men who try to get the better of me, Hartopp? Their satisfaction never lasts long.”

Hartopp had two daggers on him, but he could reach neither one of them swiftly enough to defend himself against a man with a rifle. His only sure weapon was Duncan’s own greed. “Shoot me and ye’ll never get the information ye need.”

Duncan’s forehead dimpled with incredulity. “Shoot ye? I’m not going to shoot ye, man. Ye’re the one that’s going to take me to the MacAslan gels. For a fee of two thousand. Isn’t that the bargain betwixt us?”

Hartopp let out a ragged breath. “Aye. That’s the bargain.”

“Good. Let’s drink on it.”

A servant immediately poured two goblets full of whisky and served them up. The two men eyed each other over the rim of their glasses.

At that moment, breathless from running, Brandubh returned. “The fucking doe got beyond me.”

Duncan clapped Brandubh on the shoulder. “No matter, son. She’ll not be able to run forever. Leave her to the wild dogs. She’ll sate them for a while, and that’ll spare the sheep. We’ve got ourselves a new hunting expedition.”

TWELVE

Shona jumped onto the seat of the cart and flicked the reins. Conall would be pleased today.

Market day had been long, but very profitable. The farmers on the eastern side of the estate had done well, even though her newest reforms would not show fruit until the spring harvest. The tenants handed over their quarterly sums—plus ten percent for those who’d received a subsidy from Conall—all of which was safely ensconced in a wooden box under her seat. Kieran and his cousin Fergus, a stout man who easily weighed three of Kieran, rode with her to safeguard the cache.

Conall had been so inexplicably distracted these past few days, and she knew he’d been laboring under financial concerns. She desperately wanted to put a smile on his face, and she was certain that the rent monies would do the trick. But she was especially thrilled to bring news of a discovery she’d made on the way to market. There, in Conall’s own park lands, were some large burls growing upon a smattering of larch and beech trees. These large growths upon the trees create a beautiful swirled grain to the lumber, used for artistic wood veneer. In London, this wood would undoubtedly fetch high prices from furniture makers and wood sculptors. Shona was excited to tell Conall that he had a cache of green gold growing right on his land.

Ever since that vulture Hartopp had been discharged, the farmers had become acquainted with a different picture of Conall. Conall had been trying so hard to be the honorable sort of landlord, the kind that tries to collaborate with the tenants as a partner, rather than as an overlord. She had been with him a few days ago when they stopped in to the pub for refreshments after overseeing the delivery of shovels, picks, and bone dust to drain Firley’s field. The pubkeeper himself bought a round of drinks for Conall and Shona, and within minutes, their table was littered with glasses from the rounds that men at the neighboring tables bought them in gratitude for either giving them employment or helping their neighbors. He laughed as he saw the collection of ales and whiskies upon their table.

“Let this serve as a warning to ye,” she’d told him. “This is what happens when ye become well liked in the village.” Conall was beginning to remind her of her father, who had been a much-admired man among his people.

The carriage rumbled up the southern approach to Ballencrieff House, its once derelict landscape now beginning to green with newly potted plants. The moistened ground gave off an earthy smell, offering the delightful promise of the coming harvest.

As the carriage came to a halt, Shona jumped off the perch, her loose hair floating down her back. She reached under the seat and took the box clanking with the sound of coin. “Farewell, Kieran. Farewell, Fergus. Send my love to your mother, now.”

“Good-bye, Shona,” answered Fergus, his deep baritone booming across the stable yard. “Will ye be needing me tomorrow then?”

“Aye. We’ll be doing the Stonekirk market in the morn. Come and collect me at six o’clock sharp.”

As she ran through the stable, she noticed several unfamiliar horses munching on hay. Two unhitched carriages crowded inside the coach house.

It appeared that Ballencrieff House was entertaining visitors.

H
ER
G
RACE THE
D
UCHESS OF
B
ASINGHALL

Conall rubbed his thumb across the lettering on the calling card that Bannerman had just handed him. Like her letter, the duchess’s card was terse and snappish, and communicated in just six words a centuries-old arrogance that demanded to be knelt before.