The Laird Who Loved Me (33 page)

Mam looked impressed. “How came he to agree to that?”

“He set conditions for me if
I
lost.”

Mam’s brow rose. “Such as?”

Caitlyn’s cheeks colored. “I’d rather not say.”

“Humph. I see how it is.”

Caitlyn wisely held her tongue.

“So, lassie, how can I help ye out of this mess?”

“We’ve based the tasks on the ancient myth of Olwen, and my final task is … difficult. Do you remember when Olwen bathed naked in the fountain to distract the enemies?”

Mam stiffened. “That arse didn’t ask
that
o’ ye!”

“I’m afraid he did. And I told him he had to wear a gown. In public.”

“Ye dinna! After knowin’ how much his pride means to him—”

The door opened and the butler came in, bearing a tray of delicacies from Muiren’s basket and a pot of gently steaming tea. Mam waited impatiently for the butler to set up the tea, then shooed him off, barely waiting for the door to close before she turned
to Caitlyn. “Ye’re playin’ wit’ fire, lass, but I think ye know tha’.”

“I do, but … Mam, I don’t know what it is, but I can’t help myself! Whenever he’s around, I
want
to goad him and make him react. I can’t seem to stop.”

Mam sighed. “Ye’ve got it bad, don’t ye, lassie?”

Caitlyn’s heart squeezed and a tear welled.

“Och, dinna cry.” A frothy lace handkerchief appeared and Mam pressed it into Caitlyn’s hand. “We’ll find an answer fer ye.” Mam poured them some tea and arranged some cakes on two plates, her brow furrowed as she thought. “Tell me about these other wagers, how they played out.”

Caitlyn did so, Mam nodding thoughtfully as she listened. Afterward they sat in silence, sipping their tea.

Mam sighed. “What to do, what to do … Ye are to swim naked afore him, but if ye’re caught, then ye’ll be ruined fer certain—and yer family with ye.”

“Exactly.”

“Hmm. What ye need to do, then, is to control the situation. Control MacLean.”

“Control MacLean? How on earth—”

“Och, let me worry about the details; I think I know just what ye need.” Mam’s gaze sharpened. “Whilst I can help ye with yer wager, I canno’ assist ye wit’ the true problem here. Ye know what tha’ is, don’t ye, lass?”

Caitlyn quietly placed her teacup back on its dish. “Yes. I love him.” Saying it out loud wasn’t as difficult as she’d thought it would be.

Mam nodded. “How does he feel about you?”

“He sees me only as a challenge. I know he doesn’t love me.”

“Ye’re certain of this?”

“I am. I asked him this morning, and he—” Caitlyn tried hard to keep the tears at bay; her throat was so tight she couldn’t swallow. She loved him so much, but all he could offer was a brief physical relationship. Sharing their passion had only made matters worse. Every time they were together, in bed or out, her feelings for him deepened. “I can’t settle for a half of a relationship, and that’s all he has to offer.”

Mam’s blue eyes darkened in concern. “Och, lassie. Ye look so sad.”

She
was
sad. Every bone in her body seemed weighted, her chest ached, and her eyes stung. But she wasn’t the sort of woman to give in. She had a few more days before she had to leave Balloch Castle, and she’d make certain those days counted.

She blinked back the tears that threatened, lifted her chin, and looked her grandmother in the eye. “So you have an idea of how I may fulfill my task? I want to leave Balloch Castle as a winner.”

Mam grinned and rose to rummage through a small desk in one corner of the room. “Here ’tis.
This
will solve yer problems.” She placed something in Caitlyn’s hands.

Caitlyn blinked at the tiny vial closed with a whittled cork. “But—”

“Four drops o’ this in his drink, and he’ll no’ be
able to move fer two, perhaps three hours. Ye can have yer swim in the fountain in full view o’ him, and he’ll no’ be able to raise a call and cause yer ruin.” Mam chuckled. “He might no’ even be able t’ blink.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not wit’ four drops. Not even wit’ eight. If ye gave him twelve or more, I might worry, but there’s no’ that much in tha’ bottle.”

Caitlyn closed her fingers around the vial. “Mam, thank you.”

Mam sighed and placed her hand over Caitlyn’s. “Lass, I dinna solve yer greatest problem, and ye know it. That one, ye’ll have to work out fer yerself.” She kissed Caitlyn on the forehead. “But ye’re a smart one, ye are, and I know ye’ll work yer way through it. Jus’ promise me tha’ when the time comes, ye’ll listen to yer heart. That will tell ye what to do.”

“I promise, Mam—but I don’t think MacLean and I will have a ‘time.’ It’s just not meant to be.”

“We’ll see, lass. We’ll see.” Mam then turned the topic to Caitlyn’s sister Triona, and how well she was doing with her new stepdaughters, and about the horses Lord Hugh was raising on his estate.

Caitlyn listened, always interested in how her twin sister was doing. But deep in her heart, another voice was whispering, telling her that her heartache was just getting ready to begin.

’
Tis a fool who tries to think his way t’ his own heart.

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

“My lord, I must ask you to reconsider that costume.”

“No.”

“People will talk.”

“Let them. I like it.” Alexander glanced at himself in the mirror. He was wearing knee boots of thick fur wrapped with leather lacing, and a long kilt that came past his knees. A sporran hung from the wide leather belt at his waist, weighing down the kilt to keep the winds from exposing him. A wide swath of the kilt rose across his chest and over one shoulder.

“My lord, at least wear a shirt with your”—MacCready shuddered—“skirts.”

“I am going to Georgiana’s masquerade as my own ancestor Duncan MacLean. He didn’t wear a damned shirt and I’m not going to, either.”

“He was a barbarian, my lord.”

“Tonight, so am I. Open the door, MacCready.”

Sighing his displeasure, the valet did as he was told.

Alexander had spent the entire day riding as hard as he could across the Roxburge lands. The ride had cleared his thoughts but had brought no real answers.
When she loses the wager, as she’s bound to do, I’m to take her to be my mistress for two weeks. Should I really risk making things more difficult? But can I resist the opportunity?

He didn’t think he could. The thought of having the lushly curved Caitlyn for two sensual weeks made his body ache. Damn, how he lusted for her!

In the back of his soul came a whisper:
But is that all? Is it just lust? Or are you as weak as Charles?

He paused by the top step and looked down the hallway. Where was she, anyway? She’d left the house shortly after he had; he’d seen her climb into a carriage just as he’d ridden his horse onto a rise.

He’d watched the carriage bowl down the drive and had been tempted to follow it, but he’d resisted the silly desire.

Instead, he’d ridden hard, trying to burn some of the lust from his veins through hard exercise. When he finally returned to the house, he’d been informed that Caitlyn had not yet returned, and that the other guests had all retired to their rooms to bathe and dress for the masquerade. Georgiana had invited a good number of local guests and was predicting a squeeze, which suited Alexander fine. The bigger the crowd, the easier it would be to whisk Caitlyn away for private speech when he finally won this contest.

He walked down the stairs, the ball already in progress. He passed the Marchioness of Treymont on the bottom step. Dressed in a pale green gown covered with silk flowers, she was probably representing spring, an attractive choice for someone with her white skin and reddish hair. Her gaze locked on his kilt and she faltered on the steps, flushing a deep red before she looked away and hurried past.

Alexander’s grin widened. He wanted to shock the masses tonight, to scandalize the whole stuffy lot of them. He was tired of playing polite guest, and this would definitely set the tongues wagging. The thought pleased him, and he swaggered a bit more as he entered the drawing room.

Through a room filled with spring sprites, princesses, and ice fairies, Caitlyn immediately drew his eye. He stopped then, his feet suddenly rooted to the floor. She was dressed in a gown that appeared to be made of silver tissue. The silver would wash out many blondes, but Caitlyn, with her rich, pure gold hair and dark brown eyes, seemed to shine in it, her coloring augmented in some way he couldn’t fathom.

Her gown was in the medieval style, the neckline round, the long sleeves falling to a point over her slender fingers. Her hair was down, braided to one side in a style reminiscent of times long gone. No jewel offset the long braid, which was held by a complex-winding black ribbon. He hardened just thinking of how that luxurious braid would look unbound, the silken gold tresses streaming over him and his pillows again.

Alexander had to force the image away—he didn’t dare allow himself to react fully in a kilt. Nearby, Lady Elizabeth caught sight of him and his costume. She openly gaped until her companion turned to see what she was reacting to, and the two women stared, not looking away.

Alexander gave them a mocking bow and walked farther into the room, ignoring the immediate spate of shocked murmurs and whispers. He was far too busy admiring Caitlyn.

He wondered who or what she represented. Maid Marion perhaps? Or— Ah! Hanging from her girdle was a series of embroidered disks depicting a silver comb, a small golden boar, and other images from the myth.

He chuckled. She was playing Olwen herself, each charm representing one of the challenges.

She hadn’t yet seen him, being deep in conversation with Miss Ogilvie, who was dressed as a milkmaid. Caitlyn’s long golden braid swung gently, caressing her hip and making him yearn to grasp it and turn her to him so he could plunder her soft mouth.

He’d always thought he admired women who were more deliberately feminine; women who were conscious of their female wiles and blandished them with ease. Now he was beginning to think that sort of woman was too predictable, too stale.

Caitlyn’s straightforward enthusiasm was refreshing. She wasn’t shy or retiring and possessed a surprisingly earthy streak that he liked, reveled in, and responded to on a very, very intimate level.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who did, for a quick glance around the room found Lord Dalfour listening with half an ear to Georgiana as his gaze was glued to Caitlyn. Lord Falkland was staring open mouthed, and even Caithness, who’d made no secret that he admired Miss Ogilvie, was eyeing Caitlyn appreciatively. In addition, a half a dozen other men that Alexander didn’t recognize were swiftly converging on Caitlyn.

If he didn’t hurry, she’d be surrounded. He couldn’t wait to wrest the statement from her lips that he most longed to hear: “You win.”

Hands closed over his arm as Georgiana suddenly appeared at his side. “Alexander! What a pleasant surprise.” Her icy blue eyes raked him from head to toe. “My,” she drawled. “You came as a barbarian. How apropos.”

“I came as my ancestor Duncan MacLean.” His gaze narrowed as he saw that she, too, wore a blue plaid over her shoulder. Alexander frowned. She wore the MacLean plaid that matched his kilt.

“Do you like it?” she purred, smiling.

“No.”

After a stunned moment, Georgiana managed a fake laugh. “Alexander, please! It’s merely a coincidence. I had no idea what you were wearing.”

Hadn’t she? No doubt one of the maids had mentioned seeing the plaid in his room earlier. “Where’s Roxburge?”

Georgiana nodded to one corner, her expression dismissive. “He is by the punch bowl.”

The duke was dressed as a fool, complete with dunce cap and a multicolored cape. Though it was only nine in the evening, he already looked ready for bed and a cup of warmed milk. For the first time, Alexander felt a wave of pity.

“Excuse me, Georgiana, I believe I’ll share a glass of punch with your husband.”

“With Roxburge? But why?”

Alexander bowed and left. He made his way to the duke’s side, where he waited for the right time to remove Caitlyn from the throng of men that now surrounded her.

Finally the call for dinner sounded. As people milled around, looking for their partners, he headed for Caitlyn, where two gentlemen were vehemently arguing over the right to take her down to dinner.

“Ah, Miss Hurst, there you are! Are you ready for dinner?” Alexander asked.

The gentlemen broke off their argument, their eyes widening when they saw Alexander’s bulging arms.

Caitlyn hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm, her fingers cool on his bare skin. “Of course. It will be our last dinner together.”

“Last? We still have tomorrow, and then the two weeks after that.” He smiled down at her as the crowd slowly moved toward the dining room.

No responding smile lit her eyes. “Perhaps.”

Alexander’s humor fled. Something was different about her tonight, something somber and … sad? He tucked her hand tighter in the crook of his arm
and pulled her to one side, allowing others to walk on past. “What do you mean by that?”