Marshal and the Heiress (11 page)

Much to her shock, Barbara wandered in, looking splendid in a violet day dress, her dark hair caught in a chignon in back. The severe style, which would have looked terrible on Lisbeth, flattered Barbara's elegant face. Lisbeth felt a little like a crow in her black riding dress.

“You're up early,” she observed pleasantly. “A special occasion?”

Barbara shot her a suspicious look. “I just wanted our … guests to feel at home.”

“And Hugh?”

She shrugged. “He's a bear in the morning.”

Lisbeth helped herself to the food on the sideboard. She had ordered more than usual, not knowing the eating habits of Ben Masters and Sarah Ann. She filled her plate with bacon and scones and eggs while noticing that Barbara took only a slice of toast.

Lisbeth liked to eat. And she worked hard enough during the day to wear it off.

“You have the appetite of a peasant,” Barbara said distastefully as Lisbeth slathered cream over the scone.

“Aye,” she replied contentedly. “You don't know what you miss.”

“I don't see how you can eat anything in the morning.”

“Sleeping well gives me an appetite,” Lisbeth said. It was a lie, at least as far as last night was concerned, but it was as good a retort as any.

“How nice.” The deep masculine voice came from behind her, startling Lisbeth and bringing color to her cheeks. Her skin prickled with awareness. She could literally feel the American's presence; she probably would have known he was there even if he hadn't spoken.

“Good morning.”

He sounded so self-assured. The unbidden, unwanted memory of the feel and sight of his naked flesh made her face flame even brighter. Oh, why did her mind insist on thinking the exact thought she, most wanted not to think at that moment?

Barbara smiled prettily. “Good morning, Mr. Masters, and to you, too, Sarah Ann. I thought we might go into the village. There's a little shop there and a dressmaker. We can order some new dresses for Sarah Ann. And a new scarf,” she added with distaste.

“I don't want a new scarf,” Sarah Ann said. She went over to Henry, kneeling and pressing her head against his, receiving a big swipe of a tongue in return. She giggled and stood, totally ignoring Barbara.

“Of course you do,” Barbara said confidently, obviously certain she could turn Sarah Ann to her way of thinking.

Ben Masters simply leaned against the sideboard.

“No,” Sarah Ann said flatly. “Papa said we could look for a pony, and I don't want a new scarf.”

Barbara looked pleadingly at Masters. “I really would like to take her shopping.”

He hesitated. Lisbeth thought that perhaps he wanted to accept Barbara's offer.

“I want my own scarf,” Sarah Ann insisted stubbornly, “and I don't want a new dress. I want a pony.”

“The scarf was her mother's,” Ben explained kindly.

Lisbeth could see he felt sympathy for Barbara, and she wanted to kick him. Barbara was a superb actress; Lisbeth doubted she felt any real concern for Sarah Ann.

“Oh,” Barbara said, giving Masters a grateful smile. “I understand.” Turning to Sarah Ann, she said, “Then of course you must keep your scarf. And tell me something about your mother sometime.”

Sarah Ann, having won her point, smiled.

Lisbeth watched Ben help the child select her food, bending down and asking what she wanted, and placing two scones and an egg on her plate. He filled his own plate with ham, salmon, eggs, and a scone, then carried both plates to the table. He set them down and held out a chair for Sarah Ann. The pillow was in place, and he shot Lisbeth a quick smile of thanks. She felt the impact of that smile all the way to her toes.

Sarah Ann was also looking at her. “You said we can go find a pony.”

“It depends on your father,” Lisbeth said. She gave him a challenging look, expecting him to take Barbara's offer instead.

Masters nodded. “I won't hear anything else until we do,” he said. He turned to Barbara. “Perhaps we can take her shopping another time. Next week perhaps. I have to meet John Alistair in Edinburgh this week.”

“I'll go to Edinburgh with you,” Barbara said swiftly. “I can introduce you to dear Mr. Alistair and to some other families. My family—the MacLeods—maintain a town house you can use.”

Ben hesitated. He wasn't sure about the proprieties. “I think a hotel might be better.”

“Oh, I'll stay with my sister,” Barbara said. “She's married to a marquess who's in the Parliament.”

Lisbeth noted that Barbara conveniently forgot the fact she and her sister disliked each other intensely.

“What about Hugh?” Lisbeth said and almost immediately regretted it. She attributed the question to the devil that sometimes ruled her tongue. She hated being snide, but Barbara seemed to bring out the worst in her.

Barbara cast an irritated glance her way. “Hugh can take care of himself.”

“So can I,” Masters said, “and I really would prefer a hotel. We'll just be there a day.”

“We?”

“Sarah Ann and I.”

Barbara's face fell. “I thought Fiona and Maisie could care for her here.”

Fiona, Ben had learned, was the cook, and Maisie, Barbara's maid. Effie, Maisie's sister, was Lisbeth's maid. The sisters had helped prepare Ben's and Sarah Ann's rooms and tended to Sarah Ann's clothes.

“No,” he said flatly.

Barbara shrugged again. “I would still like to travel with you. I need some new dresses.”

This time, Lisbeth kept her tongue in place, merely lifting an eyebrow.

“And you, Lady Lisbeth,” Ben Masters asked, “would you like to go with us?”

“Just Lisbeth,” she insisted. “We are practically relatives, and I know Americans aren't comfortable with titles.” She smiled. “Neither am I, actually. And thank you, but I have too much to do here. Shadow's training is critical now.”

Ben Masters nodded and finished his breakfast. She enjoyed watching him eat, for he obviously relished it.

“You like scones?” she asked.

“I like anything except beef jerky and hardtack.”

“What's that?” she asked.

“You don't want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

She saw the doubt in his eyes, but then he answered. “Hardtack is a hard biscuit made of flour and water, and jerky is beef cooked so long you can hardly chew it. But they both keep a very long time if you're on a trail.”

“On a trail?”

He hesitated, and she wondered why. Was he hiding something?

“A long ride,” he said a moment later.

She puzzled over that. He'd said earlier that he rode “a little.” Yet it sounded as if he'd eaten a lot of that hardtack and jerky that one only ate on the trail.

“Don't you have trains in America?” Barbara asked.

He looked amused. “Yes, but America is very, very large and there are great expanses of territory without roads, much less trains.”

“I think I would like to go there someday,” Barbara said dreamily.

“Despite the Indians?” he asked.

She shuddered. “Are there Indians in New York?”

“No. They're all pretty much west now.”

“I'd like to go to New York, then.”

“I would like to go west,” Lisbeth said. “I've read about it. It's said the mountains are greater than our Highlands.”

“Lisbeth is from the Highlands,” Barbara said almost apologetically.

Lisbeth knew Barbara and Hugh considered being a Highlander akin to being a barbarian. She, on the other hand, considered most Lowlanders less Scottish, and knew them to be more favorably disposed toward their English neighbors. But she decided not to be affronted. She was too interested now that the American was beginning to talk.

“I would like to visit the Highlands someday,” he said, turning the subject away from himself.

Lisbeth thought she would like to show them to him. She loved the craggy, majestic mountains. They had been her escape, a thing of beauty away from a home filled with ugliness.

“In the summer,” she said, “they're covered with heather. That is the time to see the Highlands. They can be bitter cold in the winter.”

“All Scotland seems cold,” he said. “The wind bites through you.”

“Is it not so in America?” Barbara broke in.

She looked decidedly irritated, Lisbeth thought, undoubtedly because it was the first time a man paid more attention to Lisbeth than to Barbara.

“In some places, it is,” he replied. “Winters in Colorado and Chicago can be damnably cold, though there's not this constant damp.”

Sarah Ann started squirming then, and Lisbeth rose. As much as she would like to learn more, she knew the child must be tired of sitting. She'd been very good to stay still this long.

“If you're ready,” she told Masters, “we'll go down to the stables. Callum, our trainer, should be there, and he might tell us where we can find a pony. You can pick out a horse for yourself.”

She noticed the quick flare of pleasure in Masters's eyes. Had he minimized how well he rode? She would soon find out.

“Sarah Ann will need her coat,” he said.

“So will you,” she replied. “I'll meet you at the front hall in five minutes.”

Sarah Ann was wriggling with excitement, and it tugged at Lisbeth's heart. The child was already bringing something special into this cold house, a sense of wonder that had long gone.

She found her own long riding coat and made her way to the stables. Callum Trapp was brushing Shadow.

“Ye are late this morning,” he observed. “Our lad is a wee bit impatient.”

“Our new heiress has arrived.”

He scowled. “Ain't right,” he muttered. “Ye should 'ave Calholm. Ye are the only one who cares for it.”

“I think it might be better in her guardian's hands than Hugh's,” she said. She probably shouldn't use Hugh's name so informally. But Callum was a friend as much as a trainer. Since she'd come to Calholm, he had been the only one she'd been able to talk to. Even Jamie had considered the horses a business, and had often seemed indifferent to the wonderful sensitive creatures themselves.

“Neither Master Hugh nor the American should 'ave it,” Callum said again, running his hand along the horse's neck. “Shadow's a proud one. He can make Calholm famous and show those bloody English.”

“You should have seen him take the stone wall,” she said proudly.

“Only ye could have done that. He only works for his mistress.”

“Jamie was good with him.”

He ignored that observation. “I'll ride wi' ye, and watch him jump.”

She shook her head. “Mr. Masters and his … daughter are coming over to see the horses. Sarah Ann wants a pony, and I was hoping you might help us find a good one.”

Callum muttered something, but she didn't take offense. He did a lot of muttering. She eyed him affectionately. He was small and wiry; though she knew he was in his forties, he looked ageless. He didn't like people much and made no bones about it, but he was unceasingly patient with the horses.

He had no family that she knew of and he never talked about himself, no matter how she coaxed him. As far as she could tell, he had only one love: horses. The objects of his hatred were wide and varied, ranging from all Englishmen to Scottish “nabobs” to “worthless” jockeys. She didn't know how he felt about Americans but suspected they would probably rank low as well.

“We need him, Callum,” she pleaded now. “Be civil.”

His gaze met hers. His eyes were a dark brown-black and impossible to read. “I willna tolerate a fool, not like that cousin of yours.”

“I don't think this man is a fool,” she said with a slight smile.

“Does he like horses?” Callum questioned fiercely, as if he would take a pitchfork to the man if he didn't.

“I think he likes animals,” she said. “His little girl has a cat.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “A demmed cat's no lassie's companion. 'Tis good for one thing, and that's catching the rat.”

“Sarah Ann thinks Annabelle is perfect,” she said softly. “I think she's a lonesome little girl.”

“He be a brute, then,” Callum said with some satisfaction.

“I hope not.”

The drawl came from the doorway, and Lisbeth whirled around to see Ben Masters. Sarah Ann was eyeing the interior of the stables with a look of great awe.

Lisbeth felt her face go red at being caught discussing him with an employee. Callum, however, merely stuck out his jaw pugnaciously.

“This is Callum Trapp,” she told Ben Masters. Turning to Callum, she added, “Mr. Masters and Sarah Ann Hamilton.”

“Sarah Ann Hamilton Masters,” Masters corrected.

Lisbeth prayed for a moment that Callum would behave himself. Too much depended on this American.

“I hear she be wanting a pony.”

He
was
behaving himself. Lisbeth breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't like the light in Callum's eyes, however, nor his suddenly subservient voice.

Sarah Ann was creeping up to Shadow, and Lisbeth placed a restraining hand on her. “Let him get used to you,” she said gently, taking a piece of carrot from her pocket and putting it in Sarah Ann's hand.

Unafraid of the large animal, Sarah Ann held out the treat, and Shadow smelled it, then took it in his mouth. “He liked it,” she said with a huge smile.

“So he did, and he doesn't do that for many. He's very selective about his friends.” Lisbeth returned to the matter of finishing introductions. “Callum is our trainer, the best in all Scotland.”

Masters held out his hand, but Callum turned toward the horses. Lisbeth winced inwardly as Masters gave her a wry look, then lowered his hand. Gentry didn't shake hands with servants in Scotland, but Lisbeth had read about American casualness and approved. She herself had always maintained a certain informality with servants and other employees. But it seemed Callum was determined to be difficult. He would protest later that he hadn't noticed the American's hand, waiting for a handshake.