Chapter 9
In all his travels, in all his life, Damian had never seen anything like the Highlands of Scotland.
Oh, he was used to precarious coach rides. In fact, these roads had been perfectly traversable, despite thick mud and rocky precipices. He’d seen far more terrifying things in the Far East.
But this rugged beauty?
He’d been awed by the sights he’d seen again and again over the years. But there was something completely unique here in this soulful landscape. Something ran deep into the bones and blood and heart as one drank in the heady air and took in the wild bens and lochs.
He’d spent the vast majority of the trip through England and the borderlands reading. He had scanned new treatises regarding Napoleon’s and the present government in England’s positions on Egypt.
It was going to be damned difficult. Both seemed to have completely asinine opinions on how to handle the Turks and the land there. And he didn’t see it ending well for anyone in the long term. Still, he could hope beyond hope.
Once they had left Stirling and headed up into the mountains, he had put his books aside. He remained captivated by the unfurling landscape outside the coach window.
It had taken two days to finally reach the Duke of Clyde’s castle. And it hadn’t been a disappointment.
From what he understood of the history of Scotland, most castles had been raised in the time of Robert the Bruce. Fortresses had been dangerous, after all. The Scottish clan lord and future King of Scotland hadn’t wished the English to be able to reclaim them to use against the Highlanders.
So, for the most part, they’d been destroyed.
It was a great loss for history, even if it had been a political necessity.
The Duke of Clyde’s castle was one of the exceptions. It had survived rebellions and civil wars.
It stood in full medieval glory, overlooking the loch. The magnificent structure was tucked up against the jagged bens behind it, protected on both sides from invasion.
Its grey stone parapets soared into the air, at least five stories, and it was grand enough in size to challenge Leeds or Warwick Castle.
In fact, it looked as if it could host an army.
Likely, it had. A host of times.
Now, the great arched portcullis was opened, welcoming visitors rather than keeping them out.
As the coach rolled over the stone bridge and stopped before the impressive gate, he couldn’t help but wonder by what good fortune he’d become reacquainted with this particular family.
He didn’t believe in fate or the gods. But he did hope that the Clyde family might prove the key to his sustainable future in the Near and Middle East.
Now, what to make of Lady Andromeda’s cheerful, yet completely platonic invitation, he knew not.
He could not ignore the fact that, in the British Museum, she had admired his physicality. Not only admired it, but made note. One could not take being compared to Grecian wrestlers as an insult.
But her polite friendliness now seemed to belie that interest.
Had he gotten her entirely wrong?
It seemed possible.
Blowing out a breath, he vaulted down from the coach and stretched. At least, there would be exceptionally fine walking in the area. He’d need it after the imprisoning vehicle ride over the last days.
It was tempting, actually, to turn back to the bridge, head over it, and climb up into the purple-hued bens. But even he knew that such a thing would be beyond the pale.
Whether a sultan or a duke, one had to pay obeisance to the host and he wasn’t about to shirk in that.
Besides, Clyde was the best of his sort.
And given Clyde’s nature, he wouldn’t be caught in discourse for hours over a whole sheep, tea, and surprisingly flowery conversation. . . Which he did enjoy in Egypt. But the English? Except but a few people, their conversations were as flowery as a nettle bush.
The Scots? He thought he was going to like the Scots a good deal.
As he headed into what could only be called the keep, he looked about at the myriad array of servants.
A host of footman descended in green livery, ready to take in his things.
The poor lot were stunned to discover that he had three trunks. One remarkably small, containing his clothes, and the other two rather large, containing the books he simply couldn’t travel without.
After all, one never knew when they were going to need to consult Herodotus, Euclid, or Marcus Augustus. Or. . . Well. . . To be frank, and even though he had most of it memorized, Shakespeare. His musts were a variety of literature, science, and history.
Turning slowly, he took in the keep.
It was exceptionally large with a garden and a small orchard. Much of what had certainly been drilling ground for soldiers at one time had been turned into an oasis of greenery.
There was even a fountain and small pond about it.
The lushness was impossible to miss.
Wealth had visited the Clydes and they lived accordingly.
Battlements soared overhead and he looked forward to walking the curtain wall. The view of the loch and glen would be magnificent.
He headed for the ancient, stone stairs.
The butler awaited him. Damian was prepared to go to his room and take a moment’s pause.
“Peterboro!”
He whipped his head to the voice.
Blakemore rushed down the daunting and impressive set of stairs, carved of stone and marble.
The buttresses overhead soared with the banners of the various chiefs under The Duke of Clyde.
The entrance hall really was something straight out of Le Morte d’Arthur.
“I’m off for a swim,” Blakemore announced, clapping him on the back. “Join me.”
After days in the coach with naught but a porcelain bowl to bathe in, his newly accrued Eastern sensibilities induced him to take a deep breath of anticipation and delight.
It was a peculiar thing that the men of the East took such a great pride in their bathing rituals. The English, quite simply, did not.
It had taken him some time to grow accustomed again to the varied scents of densely packed humans. Even humans in silks.
The idea was absolutely too perfect to dismiss.
“Lead on,” he agreed.
The butler didn’t blink an eye but rather said, “Yer things shall be arranged in yer room, my lord. Dinner is at eight o’clock.”
“Thank you. . .?”
“MacFarland,” the butler supplied.
“Thank you, MacFarland.” He stopped. “But leave the books. My sacred treasure and all that. I’m very jealous of them.”
“As ye wish, my lord,” McFarland agreed, his face as unreadable as stone.
Blakemore threw a linen towel at him. “I saw your coach coming down the road, if one can call it that. Now, let us go.”
“Shouldn’t I pay my respects to Clyde?” As much as he longed to vault to the water, he couldn’t be rude. Not when he’d come here to be pleasant. A shockingly new but necessary thing for him.
“He’s out,” Blakemore informed blithely. “As is his sister. Some sort of issue with the tenants.”
Gratefully, Damian joined Blakemore. They headed back the way he had come and over the ancient, stone bridge.
A swim would, indeed, be just the thing. And it would prepare him to see her. Yes, a good dose of cold, salt water would be just the thing. Given that he desired her with a fire that had taken spark just days ago and now blazed ever new. . . And she seemed to not give one whit for his physical possibilities.
Andromeda went arm in arm with her newest and quite surprisingly dearest friend, Meredith, the Countess of Mooreland.
They’d met in the strangest of ways, with herself providing a sort of sage advice on marriage and a certain sort of protection from the man who had come from England to assist her. Said man had been exceptionally suspicious. Angus had thought so, too, hence his protection of Meredith, as well.
Yet, said man was now Meredith’s husband and the two were entirely and almost nauseatingly in love.
That, in truth, was quite saying something. For in her estimation, John had had a cold hardness about him which she had been certain would remain glacial for all time.
To her delight, she’d been proven wrong. John had not only fallen in love but also had come up to snuff and made Meredith very happy.
Now she had the good fortune to call both of them neighbor.
How many other people could do that? After all, when one owned thousands of acres, one’s nearest neighbor could, in fact, be glens away.
The Moorelands were remarkably close.
Within a morning’s walk, point of fact.
“So, you’ve found a man.”
“What a thing to say!” Andromeda exclaimed.
“Now, don’t be missish. It doesn’t suit you,” teased Meredith, her apple cheeks were a beautiful pink in the wind. “You have such a low opinion of men in general that I am astonished.”
“I am suspicious of them as a whole, that is all,” Andromeda defended, drinking in the glory of the late afternoon light. “And for good reason.”
“True. Though I have found good fortune.” Meredith’s eyes glinted with merriment. “I do not see why you should not also.”
“Stop yer tongue,” Andromeda said tartly. “He is to be my friend.”
“Your friend?” Meredith blinked, clearly pretending not to comprehend the word.
She nodded firmly, refusing to be drawn in. “He can teach me a great deal about antiquities.”
Meredith’s lush lips twitched. “Antiquities.”
Andromeda smiled. “Antiquities are very interesting, I’ll have ye ken.”
Meredith nodded, her rich blond curls dancing with exaggerated seriousness. After a moment, Meredith replied, “Certainly. Certainly. And he’s as plain as a church mouse, no doubt. Nothing to inspire there, I’m sure.”
Andromeda cleared her throat, for it tightened at the thought of Peterboro’s undeniable masculine beauty and the strange feelings it evoked deep within her. “I couldna make such a claim, no.”
Meredith laughed. It was a hearty sound that danced on the refreshingly cold breeze whipping in from the sea.
“Now, none of that,” Andromeda chastised playfully.
Meredith arched a brow, not believing her for an instant.
“He tried to kiss me,” Andromeda confessed.
“And?” Meredith prompted with surprising glee.
She bit her lip. “I shook his hand.”
“You—”
“Shook his hand,” she repeated in a rueful whisper.
Meredith groaned. “Andromeda. . .”
“No.” Andromeda squared her shoulders, refusing to feel regret. Regret that she had not tasted his lips upon hers or felt his hard body pressed against her softer one. “I have resolved that there shall be nothing between us.”
“If you say so.”
“I do!” she declared, steeling herself against her unmistakable hunger for him. She could not face such a relationship. She could not face the pain of complete rejection and disappointment again. “I’m determined. I do no’ care to marry again. My marriage was the devil and I do no’ care for affairs. I enjoy a merry life on my own, but my mother. . . Well, she knew a little too much about both and she wasna happy for it.”
Meredith touched her arm. “I’m sure he shall make a fine friend. But if he wished to kiss you. . .”
“Oh, he understood,” she rushed. “He took my hand right away and shook it quite honorably. I think he needs funds for his work.”
Gaping, Meredith sputtered, “But his brother is a duke!”
“Aye. Isna it odd?” They climbed over the large rocks at the edge of the ben. “I dinna think he cares for his family.”
“I can understand that.” Laughed Meredith.
“More than most, I should imagine,” Andromeda observed without judgement.
“I’m lucky to have some family I do care for. But. . .” Meredith shivered.
Not even a year ago, Meredith had been at the mercy of her austere and sanctimonious uncle who was a vicar. It had been an unpleasant life, to say the least, at least as far as Andromeda understood from the stories she’d heard.
Meredith didn’t discuss it. Complaining didn’t truly seem to be something she was interested in.
As they crested the heather-covered hill, the sea loch came into view.
It stretched for miles out to the North Sea. The scent was sheer heaven.
Andromeda closed her eyes and savored the feeling. Was there anything better? Anything more blissful?
She doubted it very much.
Perhaps. . . Perhaps seeing ancient worlds uncovered. But that was not to be for her. So, this would have to do.
Meredith peeped with amusement.
Snapping her eyes open at a strange sound, Andromeda eyed her friend. She wondered what could possibly cause such a noise.
“I do believe we have come upon an outing au naturel.” Meredith giggled.
Without thinking twice, Andromeda swung her gaze to where Meredith was transfixed.
When she looked downward, she spotted two male bodies swimming like fish, their skin slightly pale beneath the water.
The sun turned the surface into thousands of diamonds. And yet, the reflection of its rays could not hide the figures of the men below.
Gorgeous. Stunning figures.
And without needing the power of further discernment, she knew immediately who one of those men was.
Lord Peterboro.
He swam as if he had been born to it.
Powerful arms glided in and out of the water. He sped along the loch without a care in the world.
Perfection. He was sheer perfection, and her fingers curled into fists. For she felt an unshakable urge to drag her fingers and palms the length and breadth of him.
She couldn’t breathe.
In all her life, she’d never been so captivated by the grace and power as by that man at one with the water.
Had she just wondered if there was bliss beside the Highland wind?
This. This had to be it.
Lord Peterboro was bliss.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Merry whispered.
Wordlessly, she nodded.
“You look as if you’ve seen a god.”
“Maybe I have,” she replied, unable to move as she gazed her fill.
“Scandalous!” Meredith crowed. “No one is handsomer than my John, but I grant you they are rather lovely.”
“He looks like Mars. Or Neptune. He canna possibly be of this earth.”
“You’ve grown fanciful,” Meredith teased. “Are you certain you wish only to be his friend?”
She bit down on her lip. Yes. It was all she hoped for. Yet, here she was, her body burning with hunger for him. Completely alive. Completely awake. She wanted him body and soul in that moment. For no man had so inspired her mind and her desire so thoroughly and simultaneously.
“What am I to do?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, dear friend.” Meredith hugged Andromeda to her side. “I wish I could guide you. But I have been burned by temptation’s fire once upon a time. I do not recommend it. There are often unintended results. But many women do seem to be able to succumb without consequence.”
She nodded. Burning. She already burned. But she would not allow herself to be consumed in fire. No, surely the promise of his mind and all that it offered was far superior to that of his body.
Surely.