Seventeen
DARIA FUMED FOR the rest of the afternoon, despising Lord Murchison and his daughter for their inexcusable indifference to her plight, and despising Lady Ann for her inexcusably imperious manner.
She realized that Jamie would likely marry someone just like that wretched woman, and the thought gave her a nauseating little twist. Maybe that was whom he had meant when he said his marriage was all but arranged. Daria shuddered for him.
Her humor wasn’t improved when she came down for supper and found only Duff within. He saw her hesitation and gestured for her to enter the room. “I’ll no’ bite you, lass.”
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
“Out here and there.”
While she was forced to dine with the tersest man of Dundavie. That, she thought wryly, was quite a challenge.
He glanced up at her as if he knew what she was thinking. “Sit.”
Daria sat.
Nothing was said through the first course, which Daria found excruciating. When the main course was served and Duff remained focused on his plate, she said, “I suppose the laird and his family are dining with the Murchisons?”
Duff said nothing.
“Perhaps the Murchisons are frequent visitors to Dundavie, hmm? After all, what other society is available to them?”
Duff merely fixed his gaze on her as he stuffed a healthy portion of potatoes into his mouth.
“If it were me, I would avoid unnecessary society with them. I consider myself a good judge of character, and it strikes me that the laird is quite a bit above that family.” She shrugged as if it made no difference to her.
Duff paused and wordlessly looked across the table at her.
She tried to smile. “I realize I am speaking out of turn—”
“Aye.”
“I mean well, Mr. Duff. I am speaking to you as a friend who has the laird’s ear. It seems everyone at Dundavie is waiting for the laird to marry and produce an heir, and quite naturally, for that is what lords and lairds do. But I would caution him from seeking a match with Lady Ann. I cannot think he’d be happy.”
Duff put down his fork. “You are free with your opinions, are you no’?”
Daria shrugged again. “I’ve never been able to help myself.” Nor could she stop herself from imagining Jamie and Lady Ann, shackled for all eternity by matrimony—
“Who he might marry is no business of yours, lass. But I can assure you that he’d sooner take his own life than marry an Englishwoman.”
That was a bit of a stinging put-down. “Well, he must marry someone,” she insisted. “If not Lady Ann, then who?”
An uncharacteristic smile softened Duff’s face. “Diah, but it warms me heart to hear your concern for our laird’s happiness, Miss Babcock. Allow me to put your fears to rest. The laird has held Isabella Brodie dear to his heart, aye? It is likely their engagement will be renewed.”
“It is?” she asked, sounding damnably weak.
“Aye.” He stood. “Good evening, then, Miss Babcock.”
“Wait!” Daria exclaimed as Duff started for the door. He paused and glanced back at her. “Is he . . . Do you mean that he loves her?”
Duff muttered something under his breath and walked out of the dining room.
She stabbed at the food on her plate. The news was oddly unsettling. It should have soothed her, reminded her that she was filled with childish daydreams. But it hardly mattered—she would be away from Dundavie just as soon as she could. Let Jamie marry whomever he pleased. It was nothing to her.
It certainly had nothing to do with her not sleeping well that night. She tossed and turned, feeling every lump in her mattress. She was disappointed that she had been so caught up in a silly little fantasy. She was far too experienced to have her head turned by a mere kiss. Knowing that Jamie would marry Isabella Brodie was exactly what she needed to step back and think clearly. She was a captive here. She couldn’t speak the language; no one liked her—You are a fool!
She had thought herself fairly awake but was startled half out of her wits by someone shaking her in the middle of the night. Daria came up with a cry of alarm until she saw Jamie standing there, holding a candle aloft. Her heart began to beat wildly. Several highly improper thoughts scattered across her mind. “What in heaven are you doing?”
“Get up,” he said, and tossed something on the foot of her bed.
Daria’s skin tingled with foreboding. She looked to the window—it was black as ink out there. “What time is it?”
“It’s four o’clock. Don these clothes and meet me in the foyer, aye?”
He set the candle down on the basin. “I’ll expect you in a quarter of an hour,” he said and walked away, disappearing into the shadows. She heard the door pull shut.
She picked up the first thing she could reach from the items he’d put at the end of the bed: a pair of buckskin pantaloons? What was this? His nocturnal intrusion was scandalous, unacceptable, and possibly even law-breaking in England. Any proper young English debutante would denounce a gentleman who presented himself in such a manner.
But she was not in England. She was in Scotland. And none of the English gentlemen had roused such a heartbeat in her as Jamie had. So she pushed the loose hair from her face, climbed out of bed, and pulled on the pantaloons.
They were short, reaching just above her ankles, and a little snug, but Daria felt delicious wearing them, as if she were doing something almost indecent. He’d also left her a woolen shirt and a coat, and a pair of boy’s boots. The shirt, which she pulled on over a chemise, was quite long, with far too much fabric to tuck into the pantaloons, so she tied the ends at her waist. The coat almost swallowed her whole, but it was warm and smelled slightly of horses. She braided her hair and pulled on the boots. They were a little large, but they would do. Daria picked up the candelabra and made her way down to the foyer.
Jamie was waiting, his feet braced apart, his hands clasped at his back. He was dressed in the plaid, its end draped over his shirt and shoulders and belted at his waist. Daria was so taken up with his appearance that she scarcely noticed how his gaze raked over her. “You did as I asked,” he said approvingly. “I’d thought there’d be some resistance.”
“There was,” she said, and smiled. “You might at least explain why I must parade about as a man.”
He grinned. “There is no’ a person on earth who would ever mistake you for a man, leannan. But you canna ride over the hills on an English sidesaddle, aye? The paths are too treacherous; you must ride astride. I thought you’d be more comfortable dressed in this manner.”
Daria perked up. “Over the hills?”
“To call on your wretched grandmother, aye.”
She beamed at him. “I am in your debt, kind sir. But why on earth must we go in the middle of the night?”
“There is something we must do before we visit your grandmamma.”
“What is that?”
“You’ll see soon enough, aye?” He took her by the elbow, steering her outside.
Young John was in the bailey, looking a bit bleary-eyed. He handed Jamie a cloth bundle, and the two of them spoke briefly before Jamie continued on, taking Daria with him. In the bailey it was still quite dark, and only one rush torch had been lit. She could see two horses, one gold, one black. Daria glanced around them. “Where is Duff?”
“Sleeping, I would guess,” Jamie said. “Did they teach you how to sit a horse in England? Or were you pulled about in wee carriages by wee ponies?”
She snorted. “Every proper debutante has riding lessons, I’ll have you know. I am no novice.” That was a bit misleading. She was not a novice, but she was not a very good rider, either. Daria had found her dashing riding instructor to be far more interesting than the horse, but she wasn’t foolish enough to tell Jamie that. She walked up to the light-colored horse and stroked his neck.
She felt Jamie’s hands land on her shoulders. He turned her toward the black horse, giving her a gentle push. “That one,” he said, and went about lashing the cloth bundle to the back of his saddle.
Daria eyed the black horse. He eyed her right back, his nostrils flaring as he caught her scent. He was shorter than English horses, which gave her a tiny bit of confidence. She lifted her leg, trying to reach the stirrup, but it was too high. She debated asking for help—she very much desired to do it herself—but before she could speak, Jamie’s hands grabbed her waist. He lifted her up and set her on the saddle. The horse danced to one side when he felt her weight, and Daria shrieked as she grasped the pommel of the saddle.
“Uist, leannan, you’ll wake the dead.” He took the reins, gave them a slight tug, then handed them to Daria and eyed her curiously. “You can ride, aye?”
Daria clucked her tongue at him as she took the reins. “Yes.”
He gave her a charmingly lopsided, blatantly skeptical smile, but returned to his mount. He swung up with ease and took the reins from the stable boy, then gave her a wink. “Are you ready, then?”
No, she was not, particularly as they’d be riding into the dark. “Quite.”
He smiled, then gave a low whistle. On cue, Anlan and Aedus came racing around a corner, as eager as if they’d been waiting for this moment all night. “Coisich,” he said, and the dogs put their noses to the ground and began to trot toward the entrance.
As they rode through the gates and onto the winding village road, Daria gripped the reins with all her might, afraid of falling in the dark. Her feet barely reached the stirrups; she couldn’t see more than a few feet by the light of the moon.
Jamie pulled up as they came to the edge of the village. As they moved into the fields beyond, he was somewhere beside Daria, but she dared not look away from the horse or the path. Yet she could feel him near, could hear his horse snorting into the darkness.
“Ease up on the reins,” he said, his voice coming from just behind her. “He canna see where he is going with his nose up in the air, aye?”
Daria gave the reins some slack and could feel the horse relax beneath her. They headed toward the forest, Daria’s heartbeat rising along with the elevation. The dogs raced ahead, disappearing into the trees. Jamie pushed his horse to a trot, pulling ahead of Daria, and followed the dogs into the forest as if the bloody sun were shining overhead. Daria’s horse undoubtedly feared he would be left behind with her, for he quickened his pace and followed without hesitation.
The forest was as dark as a grave, and she couldn’t make Jamie out. “I can’t see,” she called to him.
“Your horse will follow along,” he said.
It was so still, so quiet. Daria was reminded of some of the things Bethia had said that she’d deemed nonsensical. Now, she couldn’t quite dismiss the tales of faeries and witches roaming about the woods, and a shiver snaked down her spine. She would be more comfortable if she heard Jamie speak. “How is it that your horse can make his way?”
“He has walked along this path many times. He knows where he goes.”
“I suppose the dogs know, too?” she asked into the dark, and got no response. A movement to her left—a rustle of leaves—made her heart skip. She pulled her coat closer about her. “They must be clairvoyant, to see anything in these woods.” Her horse jerked his head, giving it a shake, and Daria gasped. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked breathlessly as her thoughts began to slip, unguarded, off her tongue. “I knew a girl once who was quite keen to tell ghost tales.”
“I suppose she told one or two that took place in dark woods, aye?”
Daria shivered and looked up at the scrap of sky she could see over the treetops. “Bethia says there are faeries and witches in these woods. I don’t believe in witches and faeries.” At least, she hadn’t before she had come to Scotland. “Do you?”
“I’d no’ be surprised by anything in these woods.”
That gave her no comfort at all. “Dear God,” she muttered. She swore she heard Jamie’s low chuckle.
They moved steadily upward until at last they cleared the trees and the dark shadows. Daria was pleased to see the sky was beginning to pinken; there was a soft glow behind the hills to the east. She saw a crumbling cairn, the sort that popped up around the rural English countryside. Jamie turned west at the cairn and they began to go down. In the distance, Daria could see the glint of a river. As the sun rose, they rode beneath limbs of junipers and firs, past stands of yew so thick she couldn’t see through them. Daria felt foolish for being so fearful. She felt even more foolish for not having appreciated the beauty of the land when she’d first come to Scotland. For finding everything unrefined and coarse by English standards. This was not unrefined or coarse. This was undiluted beauty.
They reached the path that ran parallel to the river. Fresh prints indicated deer had recently wandered through. The dogs had disappeared; she heard Anlan’s bark and guessed that he had chased after a hare. The path bent around an outcropping of rock and when they rounded it, the river was there before them, the sound of it soothing in the morning mist.
At the water’s edge, Jamie leapt off his horse quite agilely for a man shot only a short time ago. He helped Daria down, then slapped the rump of her horse, sending him down to the river’s edge to drink.
Daria took a moment to shake out her legs, which were a bit numb from riding astride. She put her hands on her back to stretch it and looked around her. “It’s indescribably lovely,” she said, lifting her face to the morning sun, which was beginning to break through the veil of mist that blanketed the trees.
“Aye,” Jamie agreed. He walked down a footpath and disappeared into the trees; a moment later, he emerged carrying a fishing pole and a small, enclosed basket.
“What is that?” Daria asked.
“A fishing pole.”
“Yes, but . . . where did you find it? Why do you have it?”
He chuckled as he reached into his pocket and withdrew something that looked like feathers. “Because I am going to fish.” He walked to his horse and opened one of his saddlebags.
“Here? Now?” Daria exclaimed. “But I thought we were going to Mamie’s!”
“Diah, we are, in time.” From the bag he withdrew a pair of boot coverings that Daria had seen men in England wear when they went hunting or fishing. He eased himself down onto a rock and put them on as Daria stared at him in disbelief.
He smiled. “You will allow me this pleasure, aye? Duff doesna care for it and has the vexing habit of hurrying me along.”
“What am I to do while you fish?”
“You have a peculiar habit of inquiring what you ought to be about.” He stood up, hoisted the basket over one shoulder, and grinned at her. “Do whatever you like.” With that, he started down to the water’s edge, wading out until he was standing knee-deep. The bottom of his kilt floated around him as he fit the feather on the end of the fishing line. He then unreeled the line and cast it before him in one fluid motion.
Daria sat on a flat rock beside the river and pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, watching as he slowly reeled the line in and cast it again. She scarcely knew a thing about fishing, but he made it look artful. He cast the line as if he were painting, then adjusted his hold of the rod to fit the flow of the river. He looked strong and full of vitality, reeling in one fish, then another, putting them in the basket on his back.
It was a peaceful, blissful morning. Daria could imagine herself here, on this rock, painting or reading. She could imagine sun-filled days watching Jamie fish and feeling the warmth of the rising sun on her face and shoulders.
Then she imagined him here with Isabella sitting on that very rock. A slight shudder of revulsion went through her. He loves her, she reminded herself.
She pushed it out of her mind and looked up. There was something magical about the Highlands that she was beginning to appreciate. Not in the way Bethia explained it, but in the sense that it felt good in her soul. Why would anyone leave it if they were born and reared here? “Why are Scotsmen leaving the hills?” she abruptly asked.
Jamie did not take his gaze from the river. “It’s complicated.”
“Contrary to what you and Lady Ann seem to believe, I am not incapable of understanding complicated matters.”
He glanced at her with a smile. “Aye, that I know, lass. Here it is: In the last decades, the Highlanders’ livelihood has been cattle and what few crops we might grow, aye? But times have been hard, so land has been sold to enterprising men who put sheep on the land. Sheep need quite a lot of room for grazing and encroach on the land available to cattle. But it’s more than that: they encroach on the Highland way of living.
“Some lairds have recognized the opportunity for becoming rich, and have forced their people off their lands against their will so that they might profit from the sheep. Englishmen—lords and rich traders—pay for land, too. The old ways are disappearing, along with families. And there are new opportunities in Glasgow and Edinburra and America, opportunities for work that is easier than working the land. Work that feeds a family. So, many Highlanders have taken those opportunities.”
“That’s what is happening with the Campbells?”
He cast his line again. “For some. I’ve done my best to give the clan a livelihood, yet some have sold to Murchison. Most of our people want to stay, and they will if I can find a way to keep them. It is a fact that the less land we have to produce a livelihood, the less we have in our coffers.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “The money your grandmamma took was to ensure there is food on their tables and roofs over their heads for as long as possible.”
Daria felt her cheeks flush warm. She stood up from the rock, picked up a pebble, and threw it into the river, watching it skip twice before sinking. She suddenly remembered a sunny afternoon spent in Mamie’s company, throwing rocks into a pond. “Throw them now, my love, for when you are a debutante, people will think it untoward behavior in a young lady.”
She shook her head against that memory. “Perhaps you might grow something,” she suggested idly. “Something that might feed them and that you can sell, as well. Lord Eberlin has begun to grow wheat at Tiber Park.”
“Would that it were that easy,” Jamie said. “There is no’ enough arable land in these hills. Most of our holdings are hills or bog.”
“There was a bog at Tiber Park. It took up quite a lot of acreage and he wanted it for crops, so he drained it. And now they grow grain there. It was all the talk for quite some time in Hadley Green. No one believed it could be done.”
“How did he drain it?” Jamie asked curiously.
Daria shrugged as she picked up another rock. “I don’t know precisely how, but they bored a lot of very deep holes.”
Jamie paused to look at her. “How large of an area?”
“Let me think—what shall I compare it to?” she asked thoughtfully. “Have you been to London?”
“Aye.”
“Then you have surely seen Hyde Park. My guess is it is half the size of the park.”
“As large as that, then.” He turned his attention back to his line, slowly reeling it in, then casting it again.
Daria walked down the little footpath and squatted down to pick some late spring flowers. “Why were you in London, since you have no love for the English?”
“Aye, the direct result of having spent two years in Mayfair salons among fops and dandies.” He winked at her.
“If you feel that way, then why were you there for two whole years?” she pressed him.
“After I completed my schooling at Oxford, my father thought I should live in London and learn the ways of the English.”
She grinned. “A painful lesson, no doubt.”
He laughed. “It was no’ entirely painful. The women are bonny, I’ll grant you. But my purpose there was to learn to guard myself—no’ ingratiate myself.”
Daria frowned lightly. “I don’t think we’re as bad as all that.”
“No? If years of history between our nations doesna convince you, then perhaps you might expound on the virtues of the English for me. Begin with your suitors, if you please, those gentlemen with limp wrists and preening speech that make your heart flutter.”
Was he mocking her? She bristled. “I have suitors, if that’s what you mean.”
Jamie’s brows arched with surprise as he cast his line again. “I would never doubt it.” His gaze flicked curiously over her. “It would seem I’ve touched a tender spot.”
“You haven’t.”
“What is it, Daria? What makes you blush at the mention of suitors? Were you bitten by a scandal that has kept you from an offer?”
“Of course not! My behavior is always above reproach.”
“Ah, above reproach.” Now he was teasing her. “Perhaps that is what keeps you from an offer.”
It was too tender a subject for Daria to jest about.
When she didn’t speak, Jamie smiled. “There now, lass. I meant no harm. I am well acquainted with debutantes, and gaining an offer from a suitable purse is their one goal in life, aye? Donna deny it.”
“I won’t deny it.” She wouldn’t try, because it was true. “What else is there for an unmarried woman?”
“Daria, you are bonny. And clever. I’d expect you would have any number of offers for your hand. If you haven’t, then the English are even barmier than I’d imagined.”
“I’ve not had any offers,” she admitted and tossed the wildflowers into the river. “I’ll tell you a secret: I am the last debutante in all of Hadley Green.”
“The last?” he asked as he began to wade back to the shore.
“Yes, the last,” she said. “Everyone else is married but me. There is no one left to offer.”
He paused below her in the river, the water rushing around his calves. “Why did no one offer for you?”
She would not confess her deeper, darker fears. The ones that whispered she wasn’t comely, or interesting, or was offensive to men in ways she couldn’t understand.
“My friend Charity says I haven’t the right connections,” she said. “It’s all about that, you know—where you are seen and in whose company.” She couldn’t look him in the eye, as if he could see the real reason painted on her shirt. Or worse—he might point out another, even graver reason why. “Unfortunately, my parents are not willing to enter the fray of a London Season.”
“No?”
“It’s the botany,” she said, although she really didn’t believe that. She had tried to understand their reluctance to see her properly turned out, and had failed time and again. She’d had her debut, but even then, her Season in London had been cut painfully short by some emergency at home. “I think they are very pleased with their simple existence and they believe that I should be, too. But I can’t be pleased with it. I can’t live my whole life . . .”
She let her voice trail away, unwilling to say out loud that she could not be a spinster her whole life with nothing more than her parents’ interest in orchids to divert her. No children! No family, no society.
“It’s why I came to Scotland. I thought I would perish if I were forced to endure one more summer going from this tea to that ball and smiling for all the eligible men with the hope that one of them would offer. It made me feel useful to come and see about Mamie. It made me feel as if I had a purpose. As if my life had some meaning to someone.”
“If you dislike your situation so,” he said, propping one foot on the rock where Daria was standing, “find another occupation.” He stepped up onto the rock, so close that they almost touched.
She snorted at his suggestion. “I am not allowed to have an occupation, Jamie. I am to receive callers and take tea and dine when asked. What else could I possibly be?”
“I donna know, leannan,” he said softly. “Whatever interests you. But I donna think life will come and rap on your door. You’d best go out and find it, aye?”
“It’s not like that in England,” she said, her frustration rising along with her pulse. “That’s not what is expected.”
“Expected by whom?” he asked, his gaze on her mouth.
“Everyone!” she exclaimed, casting her arms wide.
A smile softened his face. “What do you expect?”
“Me?”
“Aye, you,” he said, pushing her braid over her shoulder. “What do you expect for yourself?” He put his hand on the side of her face. “I’ve watched you befriend a boy who canna hear, a man who canna speak. You found a wife for Dougal, and you have endured captivity with grace and humor, insisting that you be allowed into our society. So why, in England, do you sit about and wait for a man to claim you? Make your own way, Daria.”
Her heart whispered, Claim me, but she folded her arms. “What are you suggesting?” she asked quietly. “That I not marry?”
“Ach, I didna say that, did I?” he asked with a grin. “But I would no’ care to see you wait like a lamb for someone, anyone, to find you and know what treasure he holds. Leap, lass. You’ll either fall or fly, but if you donna leap, you will waste your time on this earth. Be brave, Daria. Be courageous.”
Be brave. It was what she longed to be, and in that moment, with his hazel gaze staring into hers, Daria took his advice to heart. She suddenly rose up and pressed her lips to his, shaping them around his, softly biting his bottom lip. She was brave. She was courageous! And when Jamie responded with what sounded like a growl, she was flying.
He dropped his fishing rod and basket and grabbed her in a tight embrace, returning her kiss with an ardor that surprised and aroused her. A tide of scorching pleasure rose up in her; her mind suddenly flooded with images of him lying naked in her grandmother’s house, of that sultry, languid kiss when he’d been half out of his mind.
She threw her arms around his neck and pushed her hands through his hair, causing his hat to fall. He eagerly delved into her mouth, his breath mingling with hers, sending fire racing through her veins. He cupped her face, angling it so that he could deepen the kiss, keeping her anchored to him and the evidence of his arousal.
Daria pressed into him, her breasts against his chest. Jamie suddenly lifted her from her feet and whirled her around, putting her back against a tree and crushing into her, his hips moving seductively against her. She slid her hands down his hard chest, her hips pushing back against his hardness.
She cared for nothing but the boundless pleasure of that kiss, that arousal of her senses to heights she had never before experienced. He dropped his hand to her waist, spanning her ribs, then sliding up to the soft mound of her breast that filled his palm. His fingers dipped into her shirt, grazing her nipples and sliding into the warmth of her cleavage a moment before he dragged his mouth from hers and dipped down. Swiftly undoing some buttons, he then pulled her breast into his mouth.
Daria gasped at the extraordinary sensation, rising up, pushing into his mouth. He teased her rigid nipple with his tongue and his teeth, sucking and nipping at her as his hands slid down her body, between her legs, driving her past rational thought, past the point of actually breathing.
Then a distant sound suddenly drew Daria back to the present. Voices. “Jamie,” she whispered, and pushed his head away from her breast. She could hardly hear through her labored breathing.
“Wha—”
Daria quickly pressed her hand to his mouth. Jamie let go of her then, turning to survey the area around them as she quickly straightened her clothing. She was aching for him, her body quivering with unholy desire . . . but also with fear. Someone or something was out there.
She heard it again.
So did he. Jamie held out his hand to her, indicating she should stay where she was, and moved quickly down the path.
But Daria had no intention of being left behind for the faeries and witches to find her. She scurried after him.
He’d climbed up to an outcrop and was lying on his belly. When Daria scrambled up beside him Jamie started and pulled her down, crushing her into his side, his hand over her mouth.
“Uist,” he whispered. “No’ a word.”
Daria nodded. He removed his hand from her mouth but kept his arm hooked around her.
Below them was a gorge, and she saw a man on horseback and Mamie standing beside him. Mamie! Before Daria could gasp, Jamie quickly clamped his hand over her mouth again, drawing her even more tightly into his side.
Mamie and the man were having an animated conversation, judging from the way her hands flew and the rise and fall of her voice. Daria couldn’t tell what she was saying. The well-fed man leaned over his saddle and said something that made Mamie drop her hands and glare at him. Mamie said something else and then whirled about, her cloak flying out behind her as she began to march down the rocky path to the river.
The man watched her go, then slowly turned his horse about. As he did so, he suddenly looked up to where Daria and Jamie were hiding and paused. It seemed to Daria as if he were looking directly at them. Neither she nor Jamie moved.
The tense moment passed. The man turned his attention to the path and spurred his horse, moving up the gorge and disappearing around a stand of trees.
When he had gone, Jamie grabbed Daria’s hand and they flew down the hill and up the path. They reached the horses just as Mamie appeared on the path before them.
Mamie cried out in fright, clamping her hand over her heart. “Who’s there?” Then she suddenly dropped her hand. “Daria?”