by Dayna Quince
Ah, so I’m not the only one losing my heart to this Scotsman.
“What shall we name him, little bonny Isla?” Lachy asked.
“Cocoa bubbles.”
Everyone laughed, except little Isla.
“Why cocoa bubbles?” Prim asked.
“His coat looks like cocoa bubbles when you stir it too fast!”
The little girl giggled as Lachy picked her up and tossed her in the air.
“Cocoa bubbles it is,” he said as he grinned at Prim.
“Put me down! Me belly feels silly.”
So does mine.
Prim grinned back at Lachy, not at all feeling like her feet were firmly attached to the ground. Seeing him so comfortable with a small child in his arms, well, it did things to her. Her head was filling with all sorts of wild ideas. She turned back to her horse and remounted to calm herself down.
“I must share the news of our newest little cow and his marvelous name with my family. Good day to you all.”
Prim waved and turned her horse toward the castle. She had to get away, sort through these new feelings, and figure out what they all meant. Three days of Lachy Dennehy had addled her wits.
She rushed back to the castle, hurried through the stable, and left her horse with the stableman. Then she darted inside through the kitchens. There she caught sight of Heather, leaning against a wall with her hand to her stomach.
Prim froze, her riding boots skidding on the carpet. She instantly pivoted toward her sister. “Are you all right? Is the baby coming?”
Her sister grimaced. “I don’t think so. Lately, I feel as though this babe is made of rocks that tumble around my insides.”
Prim put her hand to Heather’s stomach. “He’ll be strong, like his brother.”
Heather shook her head. “Please don’t scare me. Thomas turned his bed into a pirate ship this morning, tying his sheet into a sail. Nanny Tulip nearly fainted at the sight. Then he used shoe black to paint a patch over his eye, and also gave himself a moustache and a beard.”
Prim bent over in laughter, able to picture exactly what her sister described. “Oh, dear. Poor Nanny Tulip.”
“’Tis a wonder she hasn’t up and quit her post. I shall have to offer her another night off to keep her sanity intact. Thankfully Lilly is so easy, in comparison.”
“She’ll grow into her wildness, just as Thomas did.”
“Bite your tongue,” Heather said, pushing off the wall and taking Prim’s offered arm.
Together they climbed the stairs to the nursery, where the children played.
“I have news to share.”
Prim sat on the floor with her niece and nephew. Thomas was an exact replica of his father, with dark hair and deep, navy eyes. Lilly had fallen somewhere in between, with light brown hair and her mother’s pale gray eyes. Prim predicted she would be quite the beauty when she grew up.
Both children waited eagerly for their aunt’s news. Prim noticed that Thomas’s face was still adorably smudged with remnants of shoe black.
He smiled, pressing his tongue to the gap where his front top tooth had once been. “What is it, Aunty Prim?”
“A calf was born yesterday from the dairy herd, and he’s been named cocoa bubbles.”
Thomas laughed, but Lilly frowned.
“Why cocoa bubbles?” she asked.
“Well, that’s what Miss Wilson, the daughter of a new worker at the dairy, named him. She recently moved here with her family.”
Lilly shook her head. “I don’t think I like cows.”
“Wait until you see the little calf. He will change your mind,” Prim assured her, tousling her curls.
Lilly squirmed away and went to her mother, who rocked in the chair. Then she climbed into her lap. Prim watched Heather snuggle her daughter, suddenly remembering Lachy with the little girl, and how effortlessly he’d charmed her.
With a pang of envy, Prim pictured herself in that chair, holding her own child, one with dark hair and eyes, like her father. Then she shook her head and glanced away. How can I be thinking such things? Lachy was no more prepared for marriage than she was. And she knew something about marriage preparedness. She’d spent two years training herself to be Peverel’s wife, imagining what their shared life might be like. Never could she have predicted how wasteful that imagining had been.
But she also couldn’t picture that life as clearly as she could with Lachy. It was almost too easy to picture him across from her at breakfast, or perhaps across a pillow as the morning sun woke them. They would take walks along the heath, or take the cart to Aberdeen for business. And then they’d have a child, a perfect mixture of them both, riding on Lachy’s shoulders, or hanging on the fence watching him work.
A future far too lovely and pure to be real. Nothing worked out that easily, no matter how one wished for it to be. Prim sighed, disgruntled with the turn of her thoughts, and wishing she could go to him. Nothing would sooth her fears about the future more than being in his arms, where time stopped passing, and the world shrank to just the two of them.
Tonight, when the house grew quiet, and everyone had parted ways for the evening, Prim would venture to his cottage and have her fill of him.
She entered the drawing room, her gaze immediately finding the mantel clock. She’d been counting the minutes until she could sneak away, her nerves stretched in delicious anticipation with every second that passed. She didn’t pay attention to the other occupants, however, just absently greeting them while studiously focused on the clock.
Then Erick stepped in front of her, and she frowned.
“Prim, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
Hiding her impatience, she pasted on a pleasant smile and let her brother-in-law lead her to the circle of gentlemen by the decanter. A zing of pleasure shoot through her as Lachy turned to face her. He had been speaking to Weirick, the Duke of Selbourne, and her newest brother-in-law.
“I’m sure you’ve heard me mention my business partner, Major Dennehy. Major, the youngest, and last, Miss Everly.”
“How do you do?” he said, his mahogany eyes lit with amusement.
Prim gathered her scattered wits and tried to appear unaffected by his presence. He’d taken her hand, and heat shot straight through her arm to her chest, spreading up to her neck and face. She cleared her throat. “Very well, major, and you?”
He kissed the air above her knuckles and let her hand go. “I am well, Miss Everly. Thank you.”
Their formal speech made her want to giggle. It was absurd, considering just yesterday he’d had his hand on her breast. Her core temperature shot up another degree just at the memory of their fevered embraces.
“Now that the dairy is operational, I thought a celebratory dinner was needed,” Erick said. “Shall we move to the dining room?
They moved in mass, the married couples escorting each other, and Lachy offering his arm to her mother. Prim followed behind, so frazzled by this unexpected opportunity that her hair itched.
They took their seats, and she remained quiet as the gentlemen controlled the conversation. Prim tried to not gawk at Lachy, but it was difficult. He fit in here, even among the unconventional dukes of her family. He might consider himself common stock, nothing more than a soldier, but he was more than that. He was intelligent, kind, and witty. He carried his own air of authority, and wasn’t cowed by the higher-ranking men around him.
Not that, Erick or Weirick, for that matter, ever wielded their rank in such a way. Prim looked fondly on Erick, the man who had rescued them from certain poverty by masking his identity as the Duke of Ablehill. He was the kindest man she knew. Switching her gaze to Weirick, she bit back a smile. He was a frightening-looking man, with scars stretching across the back of his head and his large body, built from his years as a prize fighter. But at present, he was spooning Violet soup.
And now Prim, the jilted bride, was embarking on a secret affair. They were an odd assortment of aristocrats, but they were happy.
How strange that a single word held so much meaning. Almost as much as the word love.
Both words had been a bit confusing to Prim, having never experienced them herself firsthand, but now she understood everything. Three afternoons in Lachy’s arms had altered her forever.
Happiness was not a vague thing anymore; now, it was real inside her, borne from the touch of his hand as he ran his thumb over her lip, or the way he focused so intently on her face, as if she was more precious and beautiful than a rare gem.
Do I make him feel the same?
She swallowed, her gaze drifting back to him as her heart expanded.
Will these feelings of happiness lead to true love? Am I already falling for him?
It’s only been three days, she reminded herself.
After two years with Peverel, she’d never come close to feeling anything like this. But three days with Lachy, and she was ready to give her whole heart to him.
When had that happened?
He caught her staring, and Prim quickly glanced away, focusing on her food. A flush crept over her, however, and she sipped her wine to steady her nerves.
What would my family say if they knew? Would they accept Lachy easily?
It was one thing to invite him to their table or strike up a bargain, but loving him meant bringing him into their family fold. Prim had suspected all along that her family hadn’t cared for Peverel, but they’d supported the match because it was what Prim had said she’d wanted.
Would they do the same for Lachy?
Her anxious woolgathering would be all for nothing until she knew what he wanted. She was curious if he could see a future with her as rosy as she did. Perhaps he was only indulging himself with a willing woman. Perhaps, as he’d said days before, it was all for lust, and there was no room for love between them.
But Prim didn’t believe that. She wanted it all: the lust, the love, and the rest of their lives.
She would have to jump with both feet to find out, and also put her heart at risk.
Being jilted had been terrible, but somehow, the idea of Lachy rejecting her love seemed a fate far worse than death.
Either way, she was going to offer her heart.
Lachy accepted a drink from Ablehill, surprised by how comfortable he felt sitting here with two dukes—two strange dukes. Ablehill had always come off more grounded than the previous duke—or any aristocrat Lachy had ever met, but the Duke of Selbourne was a real oddity. He had all the grandiose lineage of being a born-and-bred aristocrat, and yet he looked like the sort one would come across in a dark alley—only his clothes were impeccable. He still seemed like he’d knife a man in the gut and take his coin, however.
When he’d removed his hat as he’d entered Ablehill’s private study, Lachy had been caught off guard by the scars on the back of Selbourne’s head and neck. His closely shaven head gleamed in the light of the fire as he squatted and lit a cigar. Lachy accepted a cigar and sat, puffing as he absorbed these two men in their inner lair. But as comfortable as he was, sitting in a wingback leather chair more expensive than his entire wardrobe, he was sure something was off.
To his mind, there was something calculated about the whole evening.
There could only be two reasons for this, and it either involved Prim, or Lachy’s inquiry into the sale of the castle. He wasn’t sure which to be more concerned about. No, it was definitely Prim. Ablehill was the sort to laugh off something about a castle, but not the seduction of his sister. Blood or not, he doted on her as if he’d raised her himself. Lachy had witnessed his affection toward her tonight.
The hairs on his neck stood on end as he considered both gentlemen, and wondered who would be the interrogator between the two of them. Selbourne looked the type to enjoy torture, so it would probably be Ablehill who would begin with questions.
Lachy took a sip of his drink and waited.
“I received an interesting bit of information from my solicitor today, major. Perhaps you may be able to enlighten me?”
Straight to the point. Good.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“It seems a barrister has been assigned to look into the castle’s sale to the Earl of Cassel at the behest of the Dennehy Clan.”
Lachy studied the duke, searching for a telling sign. The man appeared at ease, but his gaze held Lachy’s with the intensity of a hawk.
Lachy set his drink down with measured calm. “Indeed? I did not think the inquiry would come to your attention. The elders of my clan seek to know the details of the sale. Something to ease their concerns.”
“What concerns could they have?” Selbourne asked.
Lachy shrugged. “They are still angry about the sale. Bitter old men with nothing better to occupy their time but to lament about their regrets.”
“Major Dennehy is the clan’s laird,” Ablehill explained to Selbourne.
Selbourne raised both brows. “Is he, now? Well, that explains it, then.”
A chill went down Lachy’s spine. “Explains what?”
“This castle should belong to you and your people,” Selbourne said.
Then he grinned at Lachy behind his tumbler and took a swig of whiskey.
Lachy shifted in his seat. “So it would seem, to the elders.”
“But what of you?”
Ablehill circled around his desk and opened a draw, his expression inscrutable.
Lachy flicked the ash of his cigar into the tray and tried to think of something to say to alleviate the tension. “I’m just trying to please the old men.”
Ablehill looked up and held up a sheet of paper. “Are you certain that is all?”
“Don’t dance around it, Ablehill. Show him what you showed me,” Selbourne said.
His eyes shined with amusement, his mouth curving in a wicked and mischievous smile.
Lachy swallowed. Thank God this wasn’t about Prim. He could only imagine the creative ways Selbourne would choose to murder him for touching her.
He steeled his nerves and met Ablehill’s gaze. “All I’ve done is request information. Is there something you know that I am not aware of?”
Ablehill held the letter, but he seemed hesitant to hand it over. “Perhaps I should show you something first?”
“Whatever you wish, Your Grace.”
Selbourne snorted. “Don’t bend so easy, major. There’s no fun in that.”
Lachy ignored him, keeping his attention on Ablehill. Whatever the man showed him, Lachy had to make sure nothing disrupted their arrangement with the dairy. It was the key to his clan’s resurrection, and nothing could stand in the way of its success.
“Come, then,” Ablehill bid him. “We must go to the gallery overlooking the hall.”
Lachy followed, cautious of Selbourne at his back as he followed Ablehill to another part of the castle. He’d never been farther than the stable yard until now, and the place he’d grown up hearing about from his father during his childhood seemed more legend than real. Nothing about this place felt like it should belong to him. It was not his home, not any more than the tenant cottage he occupied was. Its grandiose atmosphere overwhelmed him, along with the towering ceilings, and the intricate carvings along the walls and railings.
He was nothing but a common clansman. How could any of this have been destined to be mine?
“I grew up here, you know.” Ablehill said, as the climbed the stairs to the gallery. “I never knew just who these people were, but now I think I have an idea.”
They came upon a long hall with a railing that overlooked the grand hall below. On the wall opposite the railing, rows of paintings hung. Ablehill struck a match and lit a lantern on the hall table and then held it up.
Lachy didn’t see anything particularly interesting until he looked closer. He examined the painting closest to him, noting his clan’s tartan plaid. A peculiar wave of heat washed through him as he walked the row of paintings, the dress and accessories displaying the passage of time. He paused
before a man that was strangely familiar. At the portrait next to him, Lachy nearly cursed aloud.
He would swear it was himself, though a bit younger, barely a man.
“Is that your father?” Selbourne asked.
Lachy swallowed, a mixture of sorrow and anger tightening his chest. He nodded.
“I never realized until now that all the portraits in this castle, except for those of my mother and father, are of your ancestors, major.”
“They look like kings,” Selbourne said, as he examined some of the earlier portraits. “This must stretch back for centuries.”
“Centuries of history right here in this castle.”
Lachy walked back to the older portraits, and Ablehill shed light on them. They did look like kings, proud lairds who ruled their clans with honor.
Where had his grandfather gone wrong? Why had the clan withered so much between then and now?
Lachy pivoted away from the portraits, leaning on the railing. All he’d known from his earliest memories had been strife. A hungry belly, and a mean father who spent what little money he earned on gin.
“There’s something else,” Ablehill said.
Lachy didn’t want to follow, but he did so anyway. He didn’t want these men knowing how small he felt at present, how lame he stood in comparison to his ancestors.
They climbed the back stairs, entering another hall and a small parlor. This room was feminine, with lace curtains and little pillows on the sofas. It reminded him of Prim, soft and gentle, accented with beautiful quirks.
Ablehill held the lantern up to the picture above the mantle.
“As a boy, I thought this was my mother, but Mrs. Ferguson said it was not so. I believe it is your mother, major.”
Lachy froze, afraid to look at the picture, but unable to stop himself. The woman in the portrait had long ebony hair and a soft smile. Lachy knew he resembled his father, but he saw himself in her somehow, and it rattled him. His foggy memories had falsely created an image of her, and now he could see they had been wrong.
