by Meara Platt
In the next moment, there was another knock at the door and Mrs. MacNaught strode in with a large tray in hand. Right behind her were more footmen carrying a tub and buckets of steaming water.
Jenny’s stomach growled as she stared at the tray the housekeeper put down on the ornate writing table beside the rattling windows. She’d cobbled together a delicious array of stew, piping hot bread, apples, honey, and a pot of tea. “This looks wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. MacNaught.”
The woman had kind eyes despite the no-nonsense purse of her lips and stiff spine. “Well, ye poor thing. Ye’ll catch yer death if we dinna get yer insides warmed.”
Before she had a chance to respond, another two footmen strode in with a cradle for Johnny, and following them was a maid with linens and baby blankets in hand. As soon as the footmen set it beside the large, four-poster bed, the maid began to make up the cradle. Within the blink of an eye, it was ready for the sleeping boy.
Mairi gently placed him in it and tucked him under the covers. “Does he always nap?”
Jenny nodded. “A solid two hours every afternoon. Mrs. MacNaught, were you here when His Grace and his brothers were young? Was little Johnny’s father as sound a sleeper as his son?”
The housekeeper emitted a bark of laughter. “Aye, he was. Now that ye mention it. Not His Grace, though. He was a handful as a child.” She arched a wry eyebrow. “And just as ornery now that he’s all grown up. But he’s a good-hearted man.”
Jenny glanced around at her surroundings. She imagined the view from the arched windows would be quite magnificent once the sea calmed and the sun came out. “He’s been most generous with me and his little nephew. To give us all this when he doesn’t know us. It is very kind of him.”
“Nonsense, m’lady. Ye’re family. But a word of advice...”
Jenny tamped down her concern when she felt the air suddenly become thick with tension. “What is it Mrs. MacNaught?”
“Ye must never lie to him. Not ever. Not even if ye think it’s harmless and wish to spare his feelings. He is good and kind in every way, but he demands the truth. Always.”
Jenny clenched her fists to hide her panic, but kept them discreetly hidden within the folds of her gown. “Always?” she repeated lamely, hoping to sound calm.
“Aye.” She eyed Jenny, her gaze boring through her like a finely honed lance. “Och, lass. If he asks ye a question ye’re too embarrassed to answer, just tell him so. Be honest with the man and ye’ll get on well.”
“Of course.” She gave a curt nod. “I’m sure he and I will get on splendidly.” Like a house afire. Blazing fires of hell afire. “I am not in the habit of lying.”
Which was the truth.
But she was going to lie through her teeth when the duke began his barrage of questions. Little Johnny was the duke’s nephew. He was John Lyon’s son. But he was not her son. She was the best friend of John Lyon’s wife, who also happened to be called Jenny.
Bradford and Bramwell. The two Jennies, that’s how they were known within the vaunted halls of Oxford University where their fathers had been professors of history together for over a decade. John Lyon had been studying there when he’d met and married her best friend, Jenny Bradford. And now the pair had run off to who knows where, leaving their son in her care.
What a mess this was turning out to be. But she loved little Johnny and was going to do all in her power to keep him safe. After all, the lad had been entrusted to her - well, more dumped in her lap - and she took her responsibilities seriously.
Besides, she needed to get lost for a while.
Was there a better place to hide than Castle Lyon?
She walked over to the sleeping child and looked down at his little form as he lay peacefully under his covers. How odd that John and his son should have hair so light in color and such fair complexions while the duke had black hair and his skin was tanned. He was unlike most Scots who were rather pale in comparison. Obviously, he was used to laboring outdoors on his estate. He was big, too. Strong. Who could overlook his fine muscles? Indeed, she’d never seen a handsomer man in her life.
He had smoke-gray eyes that could pierce one’s soul.
How was she going to get through his questions without lying to him? He would see right through her with those gorgeous eyes and the keen intelligence behind them.
The housekeeper gave a nod of approval. “Ye look like a sweet, honest lass to me. Forgive me if I gave ye a moment’s worry.”
She returned the housekeeper’s smile. “It eases my mind to know that if his questions get too personal, I can tell him to stuff it. Very politely, of course, and only after I thank him for providing all of this for us.” She gave a sweep of her hand toward all the duke had ordered to be set out for them. The cradle for Johnny. The food and bath for her. If she could not fit into any of the offered gowns, she would borrow a shawl from his mother’s wardrobe to toss over her shoulders.
A warm feeling curled in her belly. This castle, as daunting as it appeared, felt like home to her.
But she was going to fib monstrously to the duke for these next few weeks...or less, if she wasn’t careful and her fraud was found out.
Indeed, she had to be careful about many things. To keep her lies to a minimum. To not fall in love with this place, because this beautiful, stone fortress would never be her home.
More important, the outrageously handsome duke who owned it would never be hers to hold in her heart. She had to remember this and keep her distance from him.
Cheyne paced in his study like a lion trapped in a cage. It was a fitting description of how he felt. An agitated beast. After all, he was descended from the original Lord Lyon, Scottish King of Arms. He was a Lyon of Mar. The Lyon of Mar.
He glanced at the massive fireplace and the shield bearing the family crest hanging above the mantel, a lion rampant on a field of blue. Feros vincit. Strength conquers. Iron strength. But who was he to conquer? This lass? This Jenny who came to him in the midst of a raging storm with a bairn in her arms?
What was it about her that put him so on edge?
Perhaps it was his brother’s letter. The lass had given it to him with the seal untouched. Did she know its contents? She must have been looking over his brother’s shoulder when he wrote it. Then again, perhaps not. She would have been ashamed to hand it to him if she knew what he’d written.
Cheyne, you’ll be proud of me. I am now a happily married man and father. What a lark! Let this letter serve as introduction to my wife, formerly Miss Jennifer Bradford, and our son, John. He is named after me, of course. You’ll have a laugh when I tell you he is legitimate, conceived after our marriage, although I’m sure it was a close thing, and only because Jenny’s priggish, watchful friend (who reminds me of you) would not leave me alone with her. Needless to say, I could not keep my hands off my Jenny. You know how it is. One look at her eyes (not really her eyes, but I cannot put in writing where I was looking), those sparkling orbs the blue of Loch Linnhe, and I was lost. We’re married almost two years now. I’m proud to say I took her unspoiled into the marriage bed. You were right about that. It felt good to know she held herself pure just for her husband (me). You’ll also be stunned to know that I am still in love with her. Sorry that I have to leave Jenny and our child in your care, but I think she might be in the family way again. Since I’ve run up a few debts in Oxford (don’t lecture me about living within my allowance), I think she will be safest tucked away at Castle Lyon with you. I’ll come for her and little Johnny by Christmastide. Look after them for me until then. Don’t scare her with that scowl of yours. Be good to her. Your irksome brother, John.
What idiot would write such a letter about the woman he loves?
And what if Jenny was with child again?
Bollocks! What was he to do with a child and a woman who may or may not be in...that delicate condition?
A light knock at his door drew him out of his thoughts. “Enter,” he growled, then muttered a quiet oath when he rea
lized it could only be Jenny now joining him and he’d probably frightened the wits out of her.
Och, it is her.
She entered and quietly closed the door behind her. Only then did she turn to face him. It did not escape his notice that when he stared back, one hand immediately fluttered to her belly and the other fluttered to rest over her heart. “I can return another time if this is inconvenient for you. But you said to come down once I was...um, fit for company.”
She cast him a hesitant smile, but he could see by the light heave of her chest that she was anything but calm. “Not that I am truly fit company,” she continued, glancing at her feet. They were covered by the dark blue gown she wore, a garment that was obviously too long for her. “I borrowed this from your mother’s wardrobe. I hope you don’t mind. Mrs. MacNaught said it would be all right. All my own gowns are wet. The rain soaked through my trunk. Thankfully, my books were spared. I was careful to wrap them in oilcloth before starting on the journey.”
“Your books?” He was surprised, not expecting the little selkie to be an educated woman.
“Um, yes. They were my father’s, but he gave them to me when...he gave them to me. They’re dry, but nothing else was spared, not even little Johnny’s clothes. Mrs. MacNaught was thoughtful enough to bring down some of your boyhood swaddling blankets...I...oh...”
Her voice simply died off.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him.
He supposed it was because he was frowning so intently at her. Blue eyes, his brother had said. This girl’s eyes were as green as the Irish Sea. “Have a seat, Jenny.”
He motioned to a tufted leather chair beside his oak desk. The desk itself was piled high with work-a-day papers he had meant to attend to until her arrival put an end to his daily routine. “Please,” he said more gently, realizing his request to sit sounded more like an order to march to the gallows. “Would you care for tea?”
She sank into the chair and shook her head. “No, thank you. Mrs. MacNaught took excellent care of me. I had everything I needed upstairs.”
“Good, then we can get straight down to business.”
She nodded. “I know you were not expecting us. We must be an imposition. If you need me to pay my way, I’ll gladly do it. I can work for my keep. I’m good with sums, although I don’t see why you would trust me, a stranger, with your ledgers. But I can do it if requested. I am also an amateur herbalist. I’m sure you have plants and roots that I can make into healing balms and salves.”
He arched an eyebrow. “For animals as well?”
She nodded. “I’ll get started as soon as you wish.” She glanced out the window. It was still raining.
He chuckled. “I am not an ogre, despite what my brother may have told ye. I have no intention of asking ye to pay your way, Jenny.” Lord! Did she believe he was a cheap and dastardly skinflint? “Nor do I expect ye to prepare healing concoctions unless ye are bored and wish for something to occupy your time. I’d certainly never send ye out into a dangerous storm. Ye look light as a feather and would be swept out to sea on the blustering wind.”
He walked to her side and stood over her with his arms crossed over his chest. “Let’s be clear about yer role here, lass. Ye are my guest. I shall never require ye to lift a finger while ye remain under my roof. Do ye ken?”
She remained silent.
He leaned closer, but took care to keep his voice gentle. “Ye’re under my protection now. In my charge. My care. My responsibility. If ye’re hungry, I’ll feed ye. If ye’re cold, I’ll warm ye.” He coughed. “That is, I’ll have yer fire warmed.”
She blushed to the tips of her ears, but cast him an endearing smile. “I understood what you meant.”
“Good.”
“Your Grace, I did not mean to insult you. It’s just that your brother often spoke of you as frugal. And demanding. A bit of a task master.” She sighed. “And a bit of an...ogre.”
“What else did he say?”
“He may have mentioned you were a thick-headed curmudgeon.”
He snorted. “What other insults did he see fit to hurl my way?”
“That about sums it up,”she said with a grimace. “But he did say I would like you. So perhaps he thinks the same of me.”
“Curmudgeonly? Tightfisted and tyrannical?” He shook his head and laughed. “Ye don’t strike me as any of those.”
“Nor do you. Although you are a bit daunting, for certain. But so far...”
“So far, what?” He did not know why he cared about her answer. She had green eyes. His brother had said they were blue. Who was this woman and what was her game?
Or was this his brother’s way of taunting him?
He was not above doing such a foolish thing.
“I cannot say just yet. I don’t know you well enough. John spoke of you often with affection. He loves you, probably worshiped you when he was younger, and yet he also has a lot of anger toward you.”
Her words surprised Cheyne, for they were very true to the mark.
“I expect you are used to getting your way in all things,” she said when he remained silent, obviously leaving her flustered. “But that is the prerogative of a duke, is it not? You’ve been most generous with me and little Johnny. I am sincerely grateful to you for that. Your Grace, I know it wasn’t right of John to ship us off to you unannounced. We have no intention of getting in your way. If you prefer to have us settle on the nursery floor, I only ask that you give us one night in your mother’s bedchamber.”
“One night?”
“Yes. You see, my gowns have been spread all about the room in order to dry them out. I don’t think there will be space in the nursery to hang them up to dry.”
“Ah.” He kept his arms crossed over his chest as they spoke, hoping they hid the angry curl of his fists. He did not like to feel off balance and this lass with her big, green eyes and gentle smile had him reeling.
She cleared her throat and continued. “By the way, her room is beautiful. Quite the prettiest I’ve beheld in a long while.” She seemed about to go off on a wistful thought, but shook her head and cast him another hesitant smile. “We can move out of there tomorrow. First thing in the morning, if you wish.”
“I don’t want you up in the nursery.”
“You don’t?”
“No, Jenny. You’re the one who suggested it, not I.”
“Um...” She licked her lips. “Well, you have only to ask and I shall oblige. That is, if you decide you would prefer us on the upper floor. Little Johnny has a strong pair of lungs and he is not always easily quieted. So all you have to do is ask.”
“Ask?” He knew he sounded surly, but his heart was thumping because she’d run her tongue over her lips, and now he could not take his gaze off her mouth. “I don’t ask. I command.”
She blushed again, staining her pretty cheeks pink. “Yes, of course. You command and it shall be immediately done. You are the lord of the manor here. Not only of the manor, but throughout the realm of Mar. John told me of his impressive family lineage.”
“John told me of ye as well. More than he ought to have mentioned.”
Had she blanched just then? Or was it a trick of the lightning that sparked outside the window at just that moment? She jumped at the clap of thunder as it erupted seconds later overhead. “Oh, dear. I had better see if Johnny is all right.”
He put a hand on her shoulder to nudge her back in her chair when she turned toward the door to make her escape. “Stay, Jenny. Isn’t Mairi with the lad?”
She nodded.
“Then he’ll be fine.” He drew his hand away as though singed by fire, for that’s what the innocent touch of her slight and slender shoulder did to him.
Burned him to the core.
Which is why he chose not to challenge her yet.
He could have asked her about her blue eyes. Blue. And yet the girl staring back at him had eyes of the color of the sea. Yes, she was a selkie swept to Castle Lyon in a storm.
; She frowned at him. “Forgive me if I’ve offended you, Your Grace.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She shook her head in obvious confusion.
Well, he was confused as well.
Why are your eyes green?
And why wouldn’t he ask the question? Why not confront her as the fraud he suspected she was?
He rested his hip against the edge of his desk. “Call me Lyon when we are alone, lass.” Something he dared not be with her if his pounding heart was any indication of the effect she had on him. More infuriating, she wasn’t even trying to tempt him.
He had to admit, she looked a lot better after having a bath and taking in some sustenance. But she still looked exhausted and he couldn’t quite tell the color of her hair. It was wet from its recent washing, a thick, seemingly dark gold mass plaited in a fat braid down her back. Her ears stuck out and her nose came to a little point at the end.
Her mouth was broad and curved slightly downward at the corners.
Her eyes - never mind their color - were big and round.
These features should not have fit together to form a beautiful face. Yet, they did.
The lass was perfect.
Even in his cynical opinion.
She cast him a heartbreakingly fragile smile. “John said he used to call you Lyon. I’m honored that I am permitted to call you that. Are you certain you don’t mind? It feels...personal.”
He shrugged. “Then call me Cheyne if you prefer.”
“Oh, no! That ought to be your wife’s privilege.”
He shrugged again. “As you wish. Did John mention what I called him?”
“Yes,” She laughed lightly. “Thorn. Because he was always the thorn in your lion’s paw. Lyon. Lion. I understood the jest. He said your brother, Lucas, was Mouse because he was the only one who could ever calm you when you were in a rage.”
“I was never in a rage.” If anything, he was too often accused of being cold as ice, always under control and never expressing his feelings.
How did she know about these names?
Only John could have told her.
However, all it proved was that she knew his brother, and that his brother trusted her. Whether it was a mistake for John to put his trust in this lass was yet to be determined.
