Chapter Six
Alex took the last half mile to Balforss at a trot, figuring it was best to get there ahead of Lucy and brace himself for unpleasantness. His stomach still roiled after this morning’s altercation with the lass. Things were likely to get worse once his father found out about his folly.
Peter scurried out of the stable and took Goliath’s reins. “Welcome home, sir.”
“Thanks, man.” Alex dismounted and stretched, enjoying the satisfying pop and crackle of his spine. “Rub him down good, aye? It’s been a long journey. And have the smith look at his right front.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Wait.” Alex rummaged in his sporran. He handed Peter a paper-wrapped sweetie. “One of Mrs. Ogilvy’s molasses drops.”
The towhead broke into a wide grin, revealing a gap where he’d lost a front tooth. “Thank you, sir.” Peter stuffed the sweetie into his mouth and led Goliath off toward the stables.
He was more than happy to see his mother and father waiting outside the house, looking well, but he was apprehensive about what would follow. Lucy had not spoken to him since dumping his breakfast on the ground. Most likely, she would immediately tell his father of his inexcusable behavior and demand to be returned to England. Why not? The lass had every right.
Alex strode toward the house to meet the wagon. When he opened the door to help Lucy out, she handed him Hercules, saying nothing. He tucked the squirming dog into the crook of his arm, held out his other hand to help her down, then led her to his waiting parents.
“Mother, Father, Miss Lucy FitzHarris.” Alex was momentarily stunned by her sweet smile. Recovering, he continued with introductions. “Lucy, this is my father, John Sinclair, whom you met many years ago.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Laird Sinclair,” she said, and bobbed a curtsy.
“It’s a great pleasure to see you come, my dear.”
“And this is my mother, Flora Sinclair.”
Lucy released Alex’s hand and reached both of hers toward his mother. Drawn to each other by some magical female force, they embraced without a word. His mother smiled and heaved a weighty sigh.
After a moment, Flora circled her arm around Lucy’s waist. “Come into the house, dear. We’ll have some refreshment in my parlor. Then you can rest a bit before supper.”
“Thank you, Mother Flora.”
Alex marveled at the instant connection Lucy and his mother made. He and his father remained at the entrance, watching their women take the staircase to the second floor.
“I think they will get on fine,” John said. He looked at Hercules, still content in Alex’s arm. “What’s that?”
Suddenly remembering, Alex said, “Oh. Her wee dog.”
“Mind it carefully. A hawk might take it for a rabbit. Come inside and have a dram.”
Alex set Hercules on the floor of his father’s library, where the small dog eagerly investigated everything within reach of his short snout. When he removed his coat, his father noticed his blood-spattered shirt.
“Brawling again?” John asked.
“Nae. We were attacked by highwaymen when we made camp north of Latheron.”
John’s eyes widened. “And?”
“Three men are dead. Two escaped.” Alex’s heart beat quickened. He braced himself for his father’s wrath.
“You killed them?”
“We had nae choice, Da. Ask Fergus. They used deadly force.”
His father scrubbed his face with both hands.
“Sorry, Da,” he said. “You should know, at least one of the men was a Redcoat we had encountered earlier in the day in Golspie. Sutherland’s man most likely. He was out of uniform. The man might well have shot me if Lucy hadnae been so bold.”
“What?” John shook his head slightly as if he didn’t hear Alex properly.
“It happened she was playing with her bow—she’s more than handy with it—and when the banditi came out of the wood, two men set upon her. I cut one down. The other raised a firearm. Lucy’s arrow hit him in the chest. Gave me time to finish him.”
“Jesus.” His father looked unsettled, and Alex had rarely seen him in that condition.
“Needless to say, she was scared. I think I frightened her more than the men who attacked us.” He paused and rubbed his beard stubble. “It’s odd, that.”
“What’s odd?” His father still didn’t comprehend his story.
“Why would two men have headed for the woman? Most highwaymen would ignore the woman and take the men. There were five of them and four of us.”
His father finished his whisky. “What happened next?”
“We hid the bodies in the wood, assuming those that escaped would return for their comrades. We continued north until we ran out of light.”
“Lucy?”
“She was upset but uninjured.” Alex chuckled. “She’s a braw lassie. I dinnae ken should I be impressed or fearful.” A moment of silence passed, and he added, “I’m truly sorry, Da.”
“It’s all right. You did what you had to do. Fergus and I will go to Thurso tomorrow morning and make a report at the magistrate’s office. I’m more concerned about Lucy. Do you mind what I told you about Sutherland?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed remembering his encounter with Patrick Sellar. “Oh, aye. I mind you fine. We came upon a family of Sutherland’s tenants along the road. Said Patrick Sellar and his men had burned them out.”
“Bloody bastard.”
“When we stopped for mid-day meal in Latheron, I found Sellar in the public house.”
“What was he doing in Caithness County?”
“He didnae say. I asked him about the family, about burning out his tenants. He called them liars. When I told him I’d find him out, he threatened Lucy. He said, ‘Mind her carefully. The roads are crawling with highwaymen.’”
His father shot him a dark look. “Sellar’s a ruthless man. If he thought Lucy was a means to keep me silent, there’s no telling what he might do.”
“Do you think Sellar sent those men to hurt Lucy?”
His father took another sip of whisky. “Maybe. Maybe not. They that attacked you may have been Sellar’s men or highwaymen. Either way, never let your guard down. Lucy is safe here at Balforss, but go canny when you’re outside the estate. Dinnae doubt Sellar’s threat. Mind her carefully, son.”
“If she’ll let me near her.”
“Oh Jesus. What have you done?” His father dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Alex confessed his folly. Much to his consternation, his father didn’t seem at all surprised.
“Dinnae fash, Alex. Women dinnae stay angry for long.”
“You think she’ll forgive me?”
“Aye. She’ll forgive you.” He added ruefully, “Mind you, she’ll never forget.”
Hercules whined at Alex’s feet. “What do you want?”
“It’s no’ going to answer you,” John said as if he were talking to a turnip.
Disgusted, Alex picked up the dog. “I’ll feed it. That might shut him up for a bit.”
It was a warm, late summer afternoon, the kind Alex didn’t like to waste indoors. He carried Lucy’s beastie outside and around the back of the house to the kitchen, certain the cook would find something for the dog. The smell of cooked meat and boiled potatoes floated out of the kitchen door along with the sound of Mrs. Swenson inside, banging pots and barking orders.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Swenson.” He kissed the small but sturdy woman on the cheek.
“Och, ye gomeril. Stop your flirting. You know I’ll feed you.” She looked at Hercules with an appraising eye, as though considering whether the dog would be best boiled or roasted. “What’s this you brought me?”
“It’s no’ for eating. It’s Miss Lucy’s pet.” He set Hercules on the floor.
Mrs. Swenson continued to stare at it, looking confounded.
“It’s a dog,” he clarified.
“Best keep it indoors. A hawk’s like to take it for a rabbit.”
“So I’ve been told. Have you got anything to feed it?”
“What does it eat?”
“Dinnae ken. I saw Miss Lucy feed it scraps of meat once.”
Mrs. Swenson dropped some minced beef in a bowl. “See if he’ll take this, then.” She sat on a milk stool and placed the bowl in front of Hercules.
Instead of eating, he gazed up at the cook with adoring eyes.
“What’s the matter, dog? You dinnae like it raw?” she asked. “Shall I cook it for you first?”
Without warning, Hercules hopped onto her lap, causing the cook to let out a whoop. He tickled her chin with dog kisses. Alex had never heard Mrs. Swenson giggle before.
“Do you want someone to feed you, my wee mannie?” she said, talking to him like he was a baby. She picked up the bowl and hand-fed the bits of meat to Hercules. He chewed and swallowed, all the while gazing adoringly at the cook.
“Looks like you have a new friend.”
Mrs. Swenson feigned irritation with Alex. “Och, take a cake and be gone with you.”
He plucked a small raisin cake from a mound of baked goods, kissed her again, and crammed the entire thing into his mouth. On the way back to the house, he encountered Lucy. She had removed her bonnet and jacket as well as the lacy piece of clothing that covered her shoulders and chest. Some of her curly black locks of hair had come unpinned and bounced around on the swells of her breasts, leaving him spellbound.
“Where’s Hercules?” she asked, as though accusing him of losing her dog. “I have been looking all over for him.”
Mouth still filled with cake, he struggled to swallow, but only succeeded in choking. Pointing at the kitchen door, Alex watched Lucy march off in a huff. At last, he swallowed a mass of cake the size of a crabapple, and wiped his mouth. He remained in the middle of the yard, waiting, half expecting to hear Mrs. Swenson and Lucy break into an argument over the dog. To his relief, Lucy exited the kitchen with Hercules and the cook, both women laughing. Mrs. Swenson pointed to the sky and Lucy nodded. Warning Lucy about the hawk?
She crossed the yard, smiling. The smile disappeared, however, when she met his eyes. She swept past him without a word, nose in the air. Some inexplicable force compelled him to follow her.
…
Lucy smiled inwardly. He’d followed her inside the house. One footstep for every two of hers echoing down the back hallway. For a reason she didn’t understand completely, she liked him tagging along behind.
“Lucy,” he said. Although the familiar use of her Christian name still rankled her, the tone of his soft, rumbling voice made her stop. His steps slowed. Closer. Closer, until his warm breath rippled through her hair.
“What is it?” Her words gave away the tremor in her voice.
Hercules wriggled in her arms, excited by Alex’s nearness. She shifted the pup over her shoulder and patted Hercules on the back to reassure him, but he only calmed when Alex reached out and stroked his little head.
“Will you talk to me?” he asked.
The heat of his whisper burned the back of her neck. “I’m to meet your mother in her parlor. What do you have to say?”
“Please look at me.”
His voice, so gentle, so sincere, touched her. When she turned, Hercules’s wriggling only increased. Alex caught the pup just as she was about to drop him. He immediately relaxed in the Scot’s embrace. The memory of resting in Alex’s warm arms flushed across her cheeks. Lucy wanted to be angry with Alex. She wanted to punish him for his deceit. But being so near to him unbalanced her.
“Lucy. Please look at me.” His intimate murmur dissolved her anger.
She gazed into his grey eyes, not the steely eyes of the soldier she’d seen on her journey here, but the soft, imploring eyes of a man who wanted her to see him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was wrong. I dinnae expect you to understand—”
“No. I don’t under—”
“Please listen.” Pleading. Alex was pleading with her.
She would have listened. Lucy wanted to hear why he had played such a silly, juvenile trick. But his eyes distracted her. A thin ring of grey around dark pupils. Delicate blond lashes, almost invisible, flitted up and down as he spoke. Ginger-blond eyebrows knit together. Wisps of tawny hair had escaped his queue. The light from the window behind him illuminated the curls creating a halo of gold around his head.
And his Roman nose—long, straight, and narrow. The only strikingly male feature on his face. It transformed the other pretty parts—eyes, brows, lips—into an utterly masculine countenance.
He smelled of the spice cake he had just eaten. A crumble of it clung to the corner of his sweet lips and she wanted to reach up and…
“Lucy?”
The sound of her name brought her back to the moment. “Yes.”
“Will you forgive me?” His question hung in the air by a thread, so tentative was his asking.
Over the last three days, he had been irritated, amused, violent, and brooding. Not once had he been uncertain. This vulnerable moment nudged at her heart, yet she wasn’t ready to release him. Not until she had exacted the retribution she rightly deserved.
“You have a bit of cake,” she said pointing to her own mouth.
A moment of confusion in his eyes, before Alex’s tongue, pink and wet, slipped out and licked off the crumb. A corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. “Better?” he asked.
Lucy’s shoulders stiffened. By the leer breaking out on Alex’s face, he knew very well the effect he was having on her. His cocksure smile reignited her anger.
Infuriating Scot.
Spell broken, she spun around on her heel and opened the nearest door. It was a storage room of some sort. Feeling foolish, she shut the door, and tried another that led to an unfamiliar room. Merde. She was lost in this confounded maze of a house.
“This way,” Alex said, and continued down the hall. Lucy detected more amusement in his voice and struggled to disguise her irritation. She followed him out into the large entry, up the stairs, and into Flora’s parlor. Alex set Hercules on the carpet and strode across the room to his mother seated by the fireplace.
Mother Flora set her needlework down and rose to embrace her son. “Alex. I haven’t properly welcomed you home.”
He kissed his mother’s cheek. Lucy noted with a bump in her heart the tenderness in that kiss.
“Did Cook find you something to eat?” Flora asked.
“Oh, aye.”
“Good. Go and wash for supper while Lucy and I take some time to get acquainted. You’ve had her for three days. Now it’s my turn.” Flora patted Lucy on the arm. “Come and sit with me, dear. Have some tea and cake.”
As he passed, Alex rumbled in her ear, “We’ll talk more after supper.” Then he left, closing the parlor door gently after him.
Hercules went to the door and whined. “Viens ici, mon cher,” Lucy called. He trotted back and hopped into her lap.
“I see you’ve found your pet. What a sweet wee thing,” Flora said. “It’s a dog, is it no’?”
“Yes. He’s a gift from my father.”
“Your father, the duke?”
“Yes. Hercules is very well behaved. Everyone loves him once they get to know him. He’s not much use hunting or catching vermin like a hound or a terrier, but he’s good company. I’m never lonely when Hercules is with me. He’s my best friend, really.” Lucy was surprised so much was tumbling out. She didn’t realize how starved she’d been for female company. This was the first time since she left Maidstone Hall that she felt truly at ease.
“I can tell he’s a good companion.” Flora’s smile was genuine rather than the plastered-on smile so many women donned at luncheons. “Will you have milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
Flora added a substantial dollop of milk and shoveled two heaping teaspoons of sugar into her cup, exactly the way Lucy liked her tea. The moment she had seen Flora smiling down on her from the front steps of Balforss, she’d known they would be great friends. Her handsome face was open and sincere. A rarity.
She handed Lucy the delicate china cup and saucer. “I know you must be missing your home already. Your father, of course, and I understand you have a brother.”
“Yes. His name is George. I suppose I miss my lady’s maid, too. Her name is Phillipa. She’s French. Like my mother.” Why had she mentioned her mother? A woman she’d never known? Why open herself to the raw scrutiny of her hostess?
“I find myself lonely at times, too.” Flora shifted the conversation seamlessly, as though sensing Lucy’s uneasiness. As though protecting Lucy from the discomfort of an awkward topic. Never in her life had Lucy met such a gracious lady.
“My daughter Margaret’s married and lives with her husband in Edinburgh.” Flora sighed with real longing. “We dinnae see them but on Hogmanay and Beltane. They cannae come for the wedding as she’s days away from giving birth to our first grandchild. Ian, my youngest, has joined the military like his da. We hope he will be home for the wedding. Will you have some cake?”
Flora was an attractive woman with the same tawny coloring as her son. The same kind grey eyes shone in the late afternoon light. The same blond brows and lashes. A few light red locks curled down from under her white cap. Her gown was cut from indigo wool that fit her slim figure beautifully. Although not stylish, it was well made with pewter buttons and trimmed with a fine Belgian lace collar. Pinned at the center of that collar, a charming silver adornment, heart-shaped with a tiny crown spanning the top and a rust-red stone in the center.
“What an unusual brooch.”
“Thank you. It’s precious to me. A token of love from John. This keepsake was first given to Alex’s three times Great-Grandmother Shona from her husband James Sinclair, the first Laird of Balforss, and has been passed down to every Lady Balforss since. You will wear it one day.”
The reminder of her impending union with Alex made her cheeks redden. Lucy dipped her head and took a polite bite of her cake. She closed her eyes and uttered an involuntary, “Mmm.”
Flora chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Swenson you appreciate her molasses cake.”
“It’s delicious.” Hercules sat up and looked expectantly at the cake. “No, you little beggar. You’ve had your supper.” She set him down on the carpet and gave him a look of warning. “Behave yourself.”
The tension in Lucy’s shoulders eased. She liked Flora, and Flora seemed to like her. She didn’t feel as though she had to pretend to be anything more than who she was. Pretending was so exhausting. Perhaps life would not be so awful at Balforss. Certainly better than the humiliation of returning home a failure.
Lucy took another bite of cake.
“I trust you had a pleasant journey from Inverness?” Flora asked.
Her question triggered sharp memories of yesterday’s violence. She swallowed hard. “The truth is…” Lucy felt short of breath. Was this the proper time to reveal yesterday’s bloody business?
Flora chuckled again. “Never mind, a nighean. You must be exhausted. Finish your cake. Then I’ll take you to your room so you can have a rest. You’ll tell me all about your journey at supper.”
At her bedchamber door, Flora introduced the upstairs maid. “This is Haddie. She’ll wake you in plenty of time for supper.” She added before leaving, “I’m glad to have you here with us, Lucy. I hope you will be happy at Balforss.”
Lucy dumped Hercules onto the bed. He found a comfortable spot and curled up.
“I’ll jest put yer things awa’ in the cupboard.” Young Haddie was a rather ill-favored girl, impossibly thin with eyes close-set and spots on her face, but her smile was winning.
“That will be fine.”
While Haddie unpacked her trunk, Lucy made herself acquainted with her bedchamber. It was a homey room. Rough-hewn wood flooring, a floral Turkish carpet by the bed, and another in front of the hearth. A large cherry wardrobe stood in the far corner of the room, with a washstand, basin, and ewer next to it.
The carved oak bed was hung with wool bed curtains embroidered in an intricate, multicolored woodland pattern. The bedchamber’s one tall glazed window looked out over the front gardens blooming with lilies and daisies. A path from the garden led down through a small grove of trees, over a river and into a quiet glen. Beyond that, endless fields of green pastures dotted with sheep, and segmented by low stone walls.
“Your gowns are so lovely. It’s a treat jest to touch ‘em.” Haddie giggled.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll put another brick of peat in the fire. There’s a chill in the air this late in the day.”
“Is this the privy closet?” Lucy asked, reaching for the knob on a narrow door to the left of the hearth.
“No, miss. That’s the door to Mr. Alex’s room. There’s a chamber pot under the bed, and the privy closet is doon the hall. Shall I show ye?”
“Thank you, no.” Lucy stood contemplating the door. “Is it locked?”
Haddie stopped poking at the fire. “Pardon me, miss?”
“Is the door to Mr. Sinclair’s room locked?”
“Oh, aye. It’s locked from the other side. Shall I open it for you?” The maid’s eyebrows came together, nearly touching in the center of her forehead.
“Do you mean it doesn’t lock from this side? Mr. Alex could—I mean, he wouldn’t, but he could…”
Haddie’s brows relaxed, and she glanced around the room. Spotting one of Lucy’s trunks, she grabbed the side handle, and dragged the thing, empty but still very heavy, across the floor, then shoved it up against the door. She looked for confirmation from Lucy.
“Perfect.” Lucy smiled her relief. Haddie could read a person’s thoughts, an ideal quality in a maid.
Haddie lit a candle by the bed and closed the window shutters. “I’ll be back a’fore supper to help you get ready.” She left the room and closed the door without a sound.
At last, completely alone, yesterday’s bloody events seized her, the smells, the sounds, the dying cries of those men, the images and sensations as vivid as they had been a mere twenty-four hours ago. Lucy lay on the bed, her body racked with tremors. She had contributed to a man’s death. Was she guilty of committing a mortal sin? Would God ever forgive her?
“Oh, Hercules. I wish Nounou Phillipa were here.” Too exhausted to hold on to her tears, Lucy buried her face in her pillow and sobbed.
…
As road weary as he was, Alex could not relax. He lay on his bed, listening to the murmurs of female voices in the next room, Lucy’s bedchamber, where she would sleep, and dress, and bathe. Naked.
The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor brought him up out of bed.
Thunk.
“She’s blocked the door, the wee bizzum.”
What did she think? That he would sneak in her room uninvited and take her maidenhead before they were married? The idea galled him.
He listened and waited. Silence. Hattie must have left the room. Then he heard muffled sobs. Lucy? Crying? He backed away from the door. She was unhappy here. Of course she would be. Alone among strangers in a strange place, no familiar faces anywhere, no kin, no friend, save a dog. On top of everything, she’d discovered her fiancé was an ass.
This was his doing. He had told her he was infinitely sorry, explained he’d been just as worried and nervous about their meeting as was she, that he had been wrong not to reveal himself immediately, but he hadn’t meant to trick her. The ploy was a way for him to know her before they were thrust into a relationship. But Lucy hadn’t heard a word he said. Or if she had, she didn’t care.
He would make an attempt to explain once again tonight after supper. If she still rejected him, he would release her. If she wished to break the engagement and go home, he would not object. He tried not to think of the humiliation his failure would cause his father, not to mention the jeopardy Balforss would face should his father lose their contract with the duke. With that connection broken, Alex wouldn’t be able to remain at Balforss and live with the shame. He would have to leave. Either re-activate his commission in the army or emigrate.
Unable to bear the pitiful sounding sobs from the next room, he stormed out of his bedchamber. He ignored his mother’s voice calling to him. His blood was too high. He couldn’t be civil to anyone in his current condition. Alex hurled himself down the stairs and out the front door. He strode purposefully to the only place he could be alone, the only spot on Balforss land where he could be with his thoughts, where he could compose himself and think clearly—the falls.
The soothing sound of water crashing and dancing down the multi-stepped falls reached his ears a moment before the mill came into view through the trees. Already he could feel his heartbeat slow; his breath came easier, the urge to strike someone abated. He wound down the cool, tree-lined path toward his safe haven, and descended the steep stone steps at a relaxed pace until he reached the swirling pool at the bottom of the falls.
Alex was not accustomed to failure. He irritated his father all the time with his rash behavior and his penchant for fighting. But only once before had he failed on such a grand scale. Elizabeth Ulbster. Even then, her rejection hadn’t laid him as low as did Lucy’s now. Why?
He bent and selected a stone. With a flick of his wrist, the stone skipped one, two, three times across the pool before sinking.
Duty must be the reason. Nothing had been at stake when he had asked Elizabeth to marry him. Far more depended on the success of his and Lucy’s union. To fail with Lucy was to disappoint his father, break his oath to the duke, and jeopardize the lives of everyone who lived and worked on Balforss land. One hundred and fifty years of his family’s history rested on his shoulders.
And yet, that still didn’t adequately explain why he wanted to beg Lucy for her forgiveness. Why would her rejection hit him harder than Elizabeth’s? Why did he feel he had to regain her good favor before his heart—
Shit. His heart? Not possible. He barely knew the lass. No. No. He rejected the idea of love. What he felt must be desire. He wanted her. He wanted to marry her. Have her.
But did she want him?
There it was, the fear that made his insides churn. He wanted her, but she didn’t want him. Or did she? Perhaps he hadn’t lost her completely. Not yet. Yesterday evening, after the attack, holding her in his arms, there had been a moment between them when she’d cleaved to him. Later, by the fire, he had tried to ease her concern for having shot the man. Lucy’s eyes had met his, and he remembered how the firelight licked her smooth cheek. He would have kissed her then. He believed she would have let him, too, had he not cocked everything up with his foolishness. If only he had kissed her. A kiss would have bound her to him regardless of his deception.
A kiss. That was the answer. If he could calm her ire, if she would let him get close enough, if he could kiss her, he could win her.
Later that night, Lucy swept into the dining room on his mother’s arm, looking fresh and rested. No trace of her earlier distress. That was a good thing. She might be more receptive to his appeal with her mood improved. She had changed into a gown the color of a fawn, with pink stripes on the sleeves. Alex remembered his manners, thank God, and was quick to pull out her chair.
She smelled of the citrusy bergamot soap his mother made. Without her bonnet, he could see her hair wasn’t a true black, more the fathomless brown of Loch Calder. She had her curls pinned into a mass of twists and whirls. Shiny dark ringlets bounced against the back of her long white neck. He wanted to touch those curls, to feel the silkiness of them in his hands. He should have worn his kilt to supper. A kilt hid a man’s desire so much better than trousers.
Only the four of them were at table tonight, Ma, Da, Lucy, and he, which was unusual. Perhaps his mother didn’t want to overwhelm Lucy on her first day at Balforss. Or, more likely, they had things to discuss privately. Whatever the reason, with so few people at table, their voices echoed in the dining room, adding to his nervousness.
His parents took their usual seats at either end of the long table. Across from him, Lucy sat ramrod straight, eyes assiduously avoiding his.
“Is your bedchamber comfortable, Lucy?” his father asked.
“Yes. Very,” she answered with good grace. “The whole house is lovely.”
“I’ll show you ’round after supper, if you like,” Alex offered.
Without looking at him, she answered with a hollow, “If you like.”
His mother raised her eyebrows at him. Alex shrugged imperceptibly. She turned to her husband, and his father shook his head as if to say, I’ll tell you later.
“Papa sends his warm regards,” Lucy said, smiling at his father.
“They are warmly received. I trust he is in good health.”
“Oh yes. Very.”
Two kitchen maids entered, carrying steaming platters and bowls. They set them on the table then quietly exited. Lucy looked confused. She must be used to servants filling her plate, because she seemed at a loss as to how to serve herself.
Picking up a bowl of boiled potatoes within his reach, he asked, “May I?”
She nodded. He spooned a generous helping of potatoes onto her plate. Flora and John served themselves from different serving platters. When Flora passed her the platter of sliced roast duck, Lucy accepted it, hesitated for a moment, and then set the platter on the table. She fumbled with the serving tongs. Alex ached to help her but thought it best not to interfere. At last, she managed to get a slice of duck on her plate and returned the tongs to the platter with a clank. She glanced up at his father with a look of uncertainty.
“As I recall,” his father said, “you had a different type of table service at Maidstone Hall. We are much more informal at Balforss.”
Lucy’s shoulders relaxed. The confusion she held earlier seemed to vanish. “I’m sure I will enjoy the change.”
Her response to his father seemed genuine, more than a polite reply. He felt a twinge of jealousy, yet another one of his shortcomings. His father knew exactly how to put Lucy at ease. Alex looked like a fumbling idiot by contrast. He should be grateful Laird John was a good host, because Alex wanted Lucy to be happy at Balforss.
There was a lull in the conversation as they ate. Lucy examined the contents of her plate cautiously.
“Try a little of Mrs. Swenson’s gooseberry preserve on the duck.” Alex passed her the jam pot. She dolloped a purple glob onto her meat. When she took a bite, he was certain she smiled a little.
“Perhaps we should discuss the wedding,” John said.
Lucy stopped chewing, swallowed, and set her knife and fork down, giving his father her full attention. But his mother spoke next.
“The wedding is set for a week from this Sunday.”
Lucy made no comment. Her eyes flicked in Alex’s direction. Did that mean he should say something?
“Erm,” Alex started. “I…we…I mean, Lucy and I will discuss it, aye. After supper.”
“Of course.” His mother’s sunny expression drooped. “Forgive me. I’m just so happy you’re here.”
Another lull in the conversation followed. Alex ate rapidly, wishing the meal to be over soon so he could talk to Lucy. He was about to suggest they excuse themselves when the kitchen maid entered with the clootie dumpling bathed in custard sauce. Normally, he would be thrilled at the rare sight of his favorite treat. Tonight, though, dessert was merely an annoyance.
He took some pleasure in watching Lucy inhale the heady aroma of cinnamon and ginger. Black currant cake sweetened with treacle and covered in sweet vanilla custard was undeniably irresistible. If he couldn’t convince Lucy to stay on his account, perhaps Mrs. Swenson’s food would. Ah. Another discovery: Lucy loved sweets.
Supper was about to reach a successful conclusion when his father said, “Alex tells me you had a bit of trouble on the way to Balforss.”
“Da,” Alex blurted.
The blood drained from Lucy’s face. “It’s all right,” Lucy said, sounding miserable. “I should tell you I’m so sorry, Laird Sinclair. I didn’t mean to…” Lucy’s voice quavered.
His father was quick to reassure her. “Dinnae fash yourself, a nighean. You had nae choice in the matter. The fault of the man’s death is on him.”
Lucy nodded and sniffed away threatening tears.
Flora looked from Lucy to John to Alex and back to John. “What’s amiss? Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing, Ma. I’ll tell you later.”
John reached out and patted Lucy’s arm. “Alex said you dealt with the man brawly. You’re quite handy with the bow, I hear.”
Lucy’s cheeks turned a ferocious red.
“Da, please stop,” Alex said, wanting to end a conversation that was upsetting Lucy.
His father spoke more carefully. “The soldiers you talked to at the public house. Did you happen to tell them who you were?”
“Really, John. This discussion is not for the supper table.” But his father paid no attention to his mother.
Lucy thought for a moment. “Yes. I introduced myself. Why?”
“No reason. Just wondering is all.” His father shrugged and spooned another bite of clootie dumpling into his mouth.
“Do you think their attack had something to do with me?” she asked, alarm evident in her tone.
“No,” Alex said quickly and definitively.
“Possibly,” his father contradicted.
“Da, you’ll frighten her needlessly.” Why was his father bent on provoking his bride? “There’s no need to worry, lass. You’re safe here.”
Flora’s response overlapped Alex’s with, “For goodness’ sake, John. She’ll have nightmares.”
“Why?” Lucy looked shaken. “Does someone want to—”
“Nae, lass,” he said, attempting to extinguish her worry. He could kick his father for making her anxious.
“I have a right to know.” Lucy glared at him.
He sat back in his chair and cast a withering look at his father, the implication being see what you’ve done now?
“She’s right,” his father said. “Will you tell her, or shall I?”
Alex gritted his teeth. Barely able to control the anger boiling up inside him. “Fine. I’ll tell her.” To Lucy, he softened. “I’ll tell you my da’s concerns after.”
Flora said, “Let’s everyone enjoy Mrs. Swenson’s pudding.”
He shot his father another angry look and stabbed at his clootie dumpling.
When they left the house, a dusky light bathed the grounds around Balforss. Soft breezes tossed the leaves in the trees, making a pleasant rustling sound, a background to Balforss settling down for the night. They walked side by side at a casual pace toward the paddock. He pointed out things that might interest Lucy. The forge, the candle shed, the washhouse. She nodded without comment.
Lucy had wrapped herself in a green shawl decorated with leaf patterns.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Many people unaccustomed to Highland weather complain of the cold,” he said. “Not you, though. I ken you’re one of those rare individuals who adjusts to her surroundings no matter the circumstance.”
She glanced up at him for the first time. “If that’s a compliment, then thank you.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
She dipped her head. Was she hiding a smile?
Peter met them outside the stables and handed him a lantern.
“This is your new mistress, Miss FitzHarris.”
“How do you do, Peter,” Lucy said.
“Miss.” Peter bobbed his head.
“Do you look after all these horses yourself?” she asked.
“Oh, no, ma’am. I mean, miss.” Peter shifted from foot-to-foot like a boy in need of a chamber pot. “I’m just a stable lad.”
“A good one, too.” Alex gave him an affectionate pat on the back. Peter grinned a gap-tooth smile. “Go along to your bed, now. I’ll put out the lantern when we’re done.”
“G’night, miss.” Peter trotted off.
They entered the stables and walked down the line of horses, taking their time.
A chestnut mare named Bella stuck a curious nose out of her stall. Lucy stepped clear of the horse’s reach.
“It’s all right. Bella likes to be pet on her nose.”
She held out a hesitant hand. Was she afraid of the horse? She stroked Bella’s velvety muzzle with the tips of her fingers. When the horse snuffled, she jerked her hand away and let out a nervous laugh. She was afraid of horses.
“Is Peter a relation?” Lucy asked stepping away from Bella’s stall.
“Nae. I found him sleeping in a corner of the market one day in Thurso. He looked terrible. Dirty, starving, flea infested. Yet the wee laddie was feeding the remains of a piece of bread to a stray dog.” Alex leaned a shoulder against a stall wall. “It made me think of the Bible story. Mark, I think it is: For they all gave out of their abundance, but she, out of her poverty, gave all that she had. I asked the lad where were his parents, and he said he didnae have any that he could recall. I asked if he’d like to come work for me, and he said he would. So he did.”
“That was kind of you.”
Alex hung the lantern on its hook and opened the flame, casting a golden glow on the wooden stalls.
“Was it a great enough kindness to make up for the disservice I’ve done you?”
“That was a very nasty trick, you know.” She sounded peevish, an improvement over her earlier wrath.
“I told you,” he said. “I was fashed about meeting you. You were nervous about meeting me, too. You told me so.”
“When?” Lucy’s brow crinkled.
“In the public house. You asked me if I knew Alexander—”
“And you lied to me.”
“You said I was handsome.” He felt as though he had just won whatever argument they were having and grinned at her.
“I most certainly did not,” Lucy said, cocking an offended eyebrow.
“You most certainly did,” he said, raising his own eyebrows in response. “You asked if he was handsome and I said he looked like me, and you said ‘good.’”
Lucy sputtered and stuttered. “That’s…that’s not the same as…I wasn’t implying that you were…” She stopped, took a breath, and restarted. “I was only relieved that he, you, had no gross deformities. You, in your arrogance, misinterpreted my meaning.”
“Did I?” Alex was enjoying this conversation. He thought it was tipping favorably in his direction.
“Yes, you did.”
“So, you dinnae think I’m handsome?” He gave her what he knew was a charming smile, for it had worked often with other lassies. Rather than melting, though, like the kitchen maid at Ulbster Arms last spring, Lucy seemed off balance.
“I haven’t given any thought to the way you look.”
Alex’s grin grew wider. The woman was incapable of deceit. She might be able to mask her feelings with pleasantries, but a liar she was not.
She examined him in the light. “You aren’t altogether unattractive.”
“Shall I tell you how beautiful you are?” He was confident now. Perhaps overly confident.
“I don’t want to hear it.” She turned her pretty head away.
“I think you do.” He stepped closer. Closer to his target. Closer to Lucy.
She moved backward a step. “We came out here to discuss the men who attacked us.”
Bella nibbled at Lucy’s hair, startling her. She let out a shriek and stepped straight into Alex’s arms. She gasped and looked up at him wide-eyed but made no move to escape his embrace. This was his chance. He leaned down to kiss her.
Fortunately, Alex saw the change in her expression and pulled back, catching her wrist before her palm made contact with his face.
His anger instantly ignited. “Dinnae hit me again, or I’ll hit you back.”
She jerked her hand away and lifted a defiant chin. “You said you would never beat a woman.”
“A husband has a right to discipline his wife when she disobeys her master.”
“Master?” she said, incredulous. “You see the role of husband as master? You think a wife is a mere servant, a slave, a thing to be owned by her master?”
Realizing he had most likely plunged into dangerous waters, he retreated. “I use the word master in a metaphorical sense, ye ken.”
“And are you using the word discipline in a metaphorical sense?”
“I wouldnae beat you.” Alex didn’t like being talked into a corner. He lashed out. “But I’d gie ye a good tawsing wi’ ma belt.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she huffed. Lucy tried to leave the stable, but he stepped in front of her, holding his arms up in surrender, careful not to touch her lest he fan the fire he had already lit.
“You’re right. I wouldnae. But I would know this; do you want to marry me?”
Lucy’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“If you dinnae want to marry me, say so. I willnae marry someone who hates me.”
“But your father—”
“It doesnae matter what he wants. What do you want?” When Alex got no answer, he felt his temper straining at its thin leash. His voice, like his insides, shook. “Do you want to break the engagement and go home?” Too late, Alex realized he had once again allowed his anger to supersede his better judgment.
Lucy became very still and, for a moment, he regretted having offered her the option to break their engagement. He added with less conviction, “If you want to go home, I willnae stop you.”
The fire was back and raging in her eyes. “It’s that easy for you, is it? Just shirk your duty the instant things don’t go your way?”
“I’ve never shied from my duty. Ever,” he said, burning with equal heat. “I made an oath to your father when I was eleven to serve and protect you. I honored that oath when he asked me to marry you.”
“What?”
Oh Christ. He had done worse than anger her. He had insulted her.
The air around Lucy shimmered with rage. “Do you think he asked you to take me off his hands? That no one else wanted me? Well, you are mistaken, you…you… you horrible Scot. I’ll have you know that I am wanted by a far better man than you. At least he is a gentleman.”
“That’s not what I meant. I—who?” Heat scorched the back of his neck as if someone had set him afire. He hadn’t considered that he might have a rival. “Who else wants you? What’s his name?” he demanded.
Lucy straightened. She wore the same self-satisfied look she did when she hit her mark with the arrow. “Lord Langley. He is a viscount, the Earl of Bromley’s son.”
Alex took a moment to absorb her revelation. He had abandoned hope of attracting the attentions of Elizabeth Ulbster and thought he might never recover. But after the duke’s letter arrived, he hadn’t considered Elizabeth again, all his thoughts turning to Lucy. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might have left Maidstone Hall at the cost of her own heart’s desire, to marry someone she might never love.
“So, you love him—this viscount—but your da made you marry me?” He was aware he was beginning to sound defeated.
Lucy looked away and folded her arms in front of her. “My father didn’t make me do anything. He asked me to agree to our union, and I accepted like any dutiful daughter.”
“Duty?” Alex said, nodding slightly. “This marriage is nothing to you but duty?”
She shifted again. She opened her pretty mouth to say something and closed it. What seemed like a very long silence passed between them broken only by the rustling of hay in one of the stalls.
“Well, then. I’ve a mind to release you from your duty,” Alex said, his voice laden with resentment. “Say the word, and I’ll return you to your precious viscount.”
Lucy remained mute.
“I’m waiting for your answer, lass.”
…
Lucy entered her bedchamber, trembling. She scooped Hercules into her arms and sat on the bed, allowing the warmth of the little dog to comfort her. She hadn’t answered Alex when he’d offered to return her to her father because she was too proud to tell him she wanted to stay. But what if he made good on his threat to release her from her duty anyway? The thought of being sent home stung her deeply. And yet, she had begged her father for months to be released from this engagement. Now that she had what she so fervently desired, she should be overjoyed. Instead, she was distressed beyond reason. Why?
And why had she pretended Langley wanted to marry her? It had been clear by the time she’d left Maidstone Hall that he had no intention of asking for her hand. He was engaged to that ninny, Virginia. Langley’s choice of bride rankled her, stung her pride, but he hadn’t broken her heart.
At one time, she had believed that if she held a title, she would, at last, be impervious to the barbs of petty London Society. At one time, she would have given anything to marry a viscount. Any viscount.
Any viscount. Oh, dear.
How foolish she’d been with the desperate histrionics she had demonstrated daily, only when her father was watching, of course. Lucy had felt false even then, but had a childish need to get what she wanted—to get her way. How was her father faring now? Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Lucy resolved to write to Papa and reassure him of her love.
When Alex asked her if she wanted to marry him, she should have answered yes, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. Pride. Phillipa had always cautioned her not to be ruled by pride.
“But what’s wrong with being proud of one’s accomplishments?” she had asked when Phillipa chided her for the dozenth time. “There’s no harm in thinking well of oneself, is there?”
“Non, ma petite. But you must never let pride get in the way of your happiness,” Phillipa had said. “Do you remember when your papa wanted to take you for riding lessons, but you were afraid?”
“I wasn’t afraid. I just didn’t want to go.”
“You see? Still you hurt yourself with pride. You wanted very much to go. You know it. If you had admitted your fear, your papa would have taken extra care with you. But you were too proud. And so, you do not ride.”
“Merde.”
Lucy flopped back on the bed and stared up at the canopy. Their conversation hadn’t gone the way it was supposed to go. Alex was supposed to apologize to her. Get on his knees and ask for her forgiveness. Beg for her forgiveness. Instead, he had belittled her, embarrassed her, and provoked her into lying about Langley.
Beastly, beastly man.
A crash in the next room brought her up short. Lucy tiptoed across the carpet and put her ear against the door to Alex’s adjoining bedchamber. Heels thudded on the floor. Alex stomping around the room, she supposed. Something banged against the door, and she let out a startled cry.
After Lucy caught her breath, she put her ear to the door again. Alex touched the other side or leaned against it, she couldn’t tell which. She could hear his heavy breathing.
“Lucy,” he said.
“Yes?”
There was what seemed like a long silence and then Alex said, “Good night.”
The words were there, but they caught in her throat. She wanted to say good night, but she couldn’t. Something strangled her—her pride. She heard Alex walk away from the door, then the creak of bed ropes.
The next morning, Alex was gone.