The Laird Who Loved Me (21 page)

Caitlyn shivered at the promise in the deep voice.

Dervishton watched suspiciously as MacLean bowed and left.

As he walked out the door, Caitlyn realized that he’d placed something in her palm. Her fingers immediately closed over the small, uneven object, knowing what it was: a piece of beehive.

Smiling, she tucked it into her pocket, distracting Lord Dervishton by asking him about his new horse. Tomorrow she and MacLean would start round two, and this time it wouldn’t be a tie.

She’d make sure of that.

Och, ’tis but an old wives’ tale that women will change their minds when the mood strikes. Women change their minds when they need to, and that’s that.

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA FROM
L
OCH
L
OMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

MacCready stood at attention by the wardrobe. “My lord, which shall it be today? Morning attire, riding attire, or tree-climbing attire?”

“Don’t be impertinent.”

“My lord, I would never dare. I have no desire that you should open the heavens and splatter me with rain.”

Alexander cocked a brow. “I could have you replaced, you know. Find a younger, less witty fellow to buff my boots, iron my cravats, and whatnot.”

MacCready looked pained. “It is the whatnot that is such a burden.”

Alexander grinned, feeling quite energetic this morning. The more time he spent with Caitlyn, the more determined he was to beat her at her own game.
Last night he’d felt a great deal of satisfaction in handing Caitlyn that damned piece of beehive, regardless of the cost.

MacCready sniffed. “I have it on good authority that Miss Hurst has enlisted the assistance of both her maid and Mrs. Pruitt, the housekeeper.”

“I know. They were keeping watch in the hallway when Miss Hurst was collecting his grace’s snuffbox.”

“You
did
return it?”

“Of course, and he hasn’t mentioned it since.”

“That’s excellent news, my lord. Dare I hope that any future tasks you name for Miss Hurst will stay on the sunny side of the law, just for something different in tone?”

“The next task for the troublesome Miss Hurst is a mission of courtesy, rather than larceny.”

“Excellent, my lord! And I hope your task is less physical. Your breeches have been consigned to the fire. I am a miracle worker, but even I cannot mend a tear of such raggedness.”

“I don’t give a damn about the breeches; I’m fortunate I didn’t break my neck.”

“In future endeavors, I hope you will take someone more”—MacCready pursed his lips—“shall we say, agile—to help?”

“I’m agile enough,” Alexander growled. Damn it, why did everyone seem intent on suggesting he was getting old? “I was barely six feet aboveground. I was merely startled when bees came out of the hive.”

“Of course, my lord. So very surprising, to find bees in a beehive. Makes one think that perhaps there are birds in birds’ nests, horses in stables, foxes in dens . . .”

Alexander gave him a flat stare.

The valet sighed. “Just promise that in the future, when faced with some object higher than your head, that you’ll get some assistance.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Your nemesis, Miss Hurst, seems to think nothing of getting help. In fact, she has almost
every
female staff member swearing allegiance to her side.”

“Her
side
? What is this, a war?”

“So it would seem. Mrs. Pruitt and the upstairs maid have been recruiting, and in a manner that was very unflattering to your reputation. It is an uprising of sorts. Mr. Hay and I did what we could to quell it, only to be told in no uncertain terms that we were ‘for the enemy.’”

Alexander frowned. “I refuse to get embroiled in affairs belowstairs.”

“Most unwise, my lord, for they are essential to your basic comforts.” MacCready crossed to the tray that sat before the fire. “Normally for breakfast in your chambers you would receive poached eggs, ham, toast, fresh fruit, and coffee.” He lifted a server from the tray. “Two pieces of black toast, a piece of ham fat, and a cup of tepid tea.”

“Bloody hell! I should have gone down to breakfast
this morning. If I hadn’t wanted a bath to soak the soreness from my back, I would have done so.”

“My lord, there’s more. Though I black your top boots myself, using my special champagne mixture, I don’t usually polish your other shoes. Have you noticed the condition of your footwear this morning?”

“I hadn’t looked.”

MacCready shuddered. “Pray do not.
Do,
however, look at your newly starched cravats—a service performed by the laundress and her daughter.”

“They left them wrinkled?”

“Oh, no, my lord. These are well-trained servants.” MacCready crossed to the dresser, where a stack of fresh cravats lay. He removed the top one and held it out.

“Good God, it’s as stiff as a plank of wood!”

“Exactly so. In order to bend it about your neck, you might need a hammer.”

“Blasted hell! I’m going to rue the day I allowed that woman to talk me into a modified course of action.”

“Oh, no, my lord. However difficult the current situation, this is a much better plan than ruining the young lady without a fair trial.”

“She didn’t need a fair trial; I already know what she did.”

“My lord, a young girl—”

“She’s not a schoolroom miss. She’s three and twenty.”

MacCready smiled tolerantly. “To me, she is a young girl.”

“To me, she is a pain in the ass,” Alexander muttered.

“I understand from Mrs. Pruitt that the young miss is the daughter of a vicar.”

“Yes.”

“And has been sequestered in the country most of her life.”

“You’d never think it if you saw her in the drawing room, fending off suitors.”

“
Fending
them off: exactly, my lord.” MacCready collected the overstarched neckcloths and placed them on a small table by the door. “My lord, men our age know that actions speak louder than words.” He paused. “I wonder if that’s the message the young miss is attempting to deliver?”

“The only message Caitlyn Hurst is trying to deliver is that she needs her good reputation in order to return to London, where she’ll dupe some fool into offering for her.”

“Marriage is not a disreputable goal, my lord.”

“It is when it’s procured by guile.”

“From what I’ve heard, I don’t believe Miss Hurst is that sort of woman. However, you know her best.”

“Damned right, I do.” Alexander had told MacCready of his agreement with his fair enemy, but he hadn’t mentioned the full price Caitlyn would pay if she lost. Some information was not meant for servants’ ears. “MacCready, how am I to quell this servant
uprising? I’ve no wish to find my unmentionables starched.”

“Fortunately we have Hay firmly on our side, due to Mrs. Pruitt’s calling him a ‘creaky old bag of musty bones’ during an especially tense moment this morning.”

“That
is
fortunate for us. What will you do?”

“Recruit for our side, my lord. Since I cannot quell the rebels, I can at least fortify the bastion.”

“Fine. A footman or two to assist in the next battle would be an excellent boon.”
Let
them
climb the trees.

“Very good, my lord. I require only one thing. I must have your assurance that your behavior toward the young miss is honorable.”

Alexander eyed him coldly. “My behavior is my own concern.”

MacCready folded his hands behind his back and stared at the ceiling.

A flicker of something that in another man might have been guilt made Alexander’s jaw clench. It was merely irritation at having to explain himself, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. “I’ll be just as honorable as the lady herself. How is that?”

MacCready beamed. “That will do quite well, my lord. Quite well, indeed.”

“Good. Now, I must dress. I’ve a meeting with the ‘young miss’ and I don’t want to be late.”

Downstairs, Caitlyn declined to go riding with the others. Normally a picnic on the far edge of the lake
would be the exact sort of activity she enjoyed, but MacLean had sent a note requesting a brief meeting. She’d gladly give up a dozen picnics to settle the next round of their contest.

It had been the first thing she’d thought of this morning upon arising. She’d looked forward to breakfast with special excitement expecting to see MacLean, but he hadn’t shown.

Caitlyn had hidden her disappointment, but her grace was another matter. As the minutes passed and MacLean still did not appear, the duchess’s laugh had become brittle, her air tense. As if suspecting that MacLean might be watching from some hidden vantage point, the older woman had made a production of going on the ride, flirting heavily with a politely bored-looking Dervishton.

Caitlyn thought she knew why MacLean hadn’t come to breakfast. If she’d fallen out of a tree, she’d have spent the entire next morning soaking in a deep copper tub. But he wasn’t the sort of man to admit feeling anything other than perfectly well, even if his entire body was a mass of bruises.

She yawned as she leaned against the library window, her eyes heavy. She’d barely slept a wink last night. Every time she’d closed her eyes, the events of the day before would barrel through her mind—of her thudding heart when MacLean had kissed her, of his bruised face and lip after his fall, of the burning look he’d given her as he’d left the sitting room.

Caitlyn turned from the window and meandered about the room, admiring the opulent furnishings, running a hand over some ancient books set on a low wooden display table. Some were old texts, drawn in ink and so painstakingly painted that the letters themselves became the art. One book consisted of thin sheets of beaten metal that held intricate maps of the world as it had been charted in the late 1400s. “Fascinating,” she murmured, running her fingers over the carved maps. The workmanship simply astounded her.

She left the display table and sat at the huge oak desk, smoothing her hands over the polished wood and admiring the warm sheen caused by the application of multiple coats of furniture wax.

It would be odd to go home after being here. She smiled thinking of Papa’s cozy and cluttered library. It was so small that any one of the dozen or so rugs in this library would cover the floor of the entire room. His desk was small and plain, the drawers often stuck, and the surface had a crack that he covered with a large felt blotter.

Her smile trembled, and she was suddenly acutely homesick. Right now, Papa would be teaching Robert and Mary their daily Greek lessons. He taught the more high-spirited William and Michael separately, saying they needed “more repetition.” The thought made her chuckle, even as her heart ached.

To stave off tears, she picked up the small book of Arthurian stories, carried it to the settee, and
settled among the cushions. She already knew what MacLean’s task would be, and she flipped through the book looking for inspiration for the final task. One couldn’t prepare too much for a big challenge. She smiled, thinking how funny MacLean had looked last night, dressed in his elegant evening clothes while sporting bruises and scrapes. Yet nothing could diminish his astonishing good looks or that dark, brooding presence. If anything, his wounds had only enhanced them.

Blast all men. Women aren’t blessed with the ability to look good
and
disheveled. Life is most unfair.

His rendition of his adventures and his commandeering of Dervishton’s mount had been humorous, although she hadn’t laughed when she’d first heard he’d been injured. For one paralyzing moment, she’d been struck with raw fear. As if, in losing MacLean, she’d have lost something precious. Even now, if she thought about his being seriously injured or worse, her heart swelled as if to reject the thought.
That is ridiculous! I have no claim on the man at all.
But his next task—retrieving the bow from Lady Kinloss’s nasty-tempered dog—wasn’t dangerous in any way. Oh, he may get his fingers nipped, but no more.

She adjusted a pillow behind her and settled in for a nice read. The leather cover was soft beneath her fingers, the musty scent of leather and old paper tickling her nose. She carefully paged through the delicate leaves and found an interesting chapter. She was immediately drawn into the story of brave Culhwch
and his passion for the beautiful Olwen, reading how he worked so tirelessly, performing task after task to prove his love.

It was a romantic story, filled with hope and promise. As she read, Caitlyn absently kicked off her slippers and tucked her stockinged feet to one side beneath her skirts, leaning on her elbow so that the sunlight spilled across the pages.

That was how Alexander found her when he walked into the library half an hour later. Caitlyn was curled on the settee, nose deep in a familiar, small leather book. The sunlight spilled over her shoulder and across the page, reflecting light on her face, her expression completely engrossed.

He couldn’t help but think of his library at MacLean Castle, which occupied two floors of one turret; it was his favorite place in the castle. Seeing Caitlyn so engrossed in her book, her stocking-covered toes peeping out from beneath her skirts, made him wonder what she’d think of
his
library. She could curl up on its wonderful cushioned window seat, the sunlight warming her on winter days, and read to her heart’s content.