When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

“You cook?”

  Alisabeth blushed when Lord Stanfeld gave her his full attention. It was odd to have the notice of another male that was not somehow related. “I bake bread, pies, biscuits and such. Ian and Calum enjoy their sweets, and the baking soothes my soul when my worries catch up with me. If only it soothed Enid’s soul when I took over her kitchen. I thought she’d run me out with a broom when I prepared the dough for today.”

  “A cook would run you out of your own kitchen? I wouldn’t allow staff to be so high in the instep.”

  “Our social class system isna recognized in the same fashion as in England. For example, when we have a cèilidh, which I’m certain we will,” Lady Stanfeld said, looking pointedly at her father, “all the villagers and anyone working on the grounds will be invited.”

  Alisabeth watched his expression go from shock to curiosity to amusement.

  “So there’s no standing on ceremony when it comes to a party. What about marriage?”

  “That’s a wee bit different. Rather than titles, we tend to associate a good match with a clan.” Calum smiled affectionately at her. “Lissie here was part of an agreement between my father and her grandfather during troubled times between our clans. The two chieftains decided that if our grandchildren were betrothed, it would keep the peace for at least five generations.”

  She felt his gaze and gave him a sideways look. His mouth was open. Closed. Open. Closed again with a snort. He didn’t seem the type who would be at a loss for words, and she stifled a giggle.

  “Are the daughters of titled men allowed to choose their own husbands then?” she asked. “I didna think arranged marriages were so rare in England, my lord.”

  He had recovered and now studied her with interest. “Most girls do as their fathers command. They have a choice within certain boundaries. It is more about an appropriate match than love, of course. My sisters, for example, would not marry a man without title or money. They can choose a prospective husband and as long as his bloodlines, and in some cases his bank account, are acceptable then all is well.”

  “The rule of thumb, they say, is marry up but never down.” Lady Stanfeld shook her head. “One of the few rules Charles ignored because he chose me.”

  “I take offense to that, daughter. He moved up in my estimation when he asked for your hand.”

  “And that is all that matters, Da.” She covered one side of her mouth and whispered loudly across the table. “Then there is my youngest, Helen, who ran off with the Irish bastard of a duke.”

  Alisabeth gasped, warming to the countess. She had a feeling they could be fast friends. “What did your husband do?”

  “Ranted and raved and threatened to disown her. He even came up with a plan to sail to Ireland, kidnap her, and keep her hostage until she saw reason.”

  “What changed his mind?”

  “Reminding him that Da could have done the same to me, and it wouldna have mattered.” Lady Stanfeld stood and walked over to place a kiss on Calum’s cheek. “I am done to a cow’s thumb. A nap is in order if I am to stay awake through supper this evening.”

  Glynis called for the housemaid. “Davonna, Lord and Lady Stanfeld are ready to be shown to their rooms. Please inform her lady’s maid and have one of the girls start the water for their baths. I’m sure they’ll need to wash a layer or two of dust off.”

  “Do ye ken what would make me truly happy?” the countess asked her sister. “Let me borrow some of yer clothes. These English gowns are pretty but much too thin for our weather. I’ve forgotten how chilled one can get in the mountains, even at the end of the summer.”

  The MacNaughtons beamed collectively, and Alisabeth realized this was the countess’ way of letting them know she still respected the Highland ways. Glynis spoke first, a catch in her voice, “I’ve kept yer plaid and I’ll bring ye a few skirts and bodices along with it after yer nap.”

  Lord Stanfeld rose and bowed. “I cannot express what a pleasure it is to finally be here. I am looking forward to learning more about the place where my mother grew up.”

  They left the room and no one spoke until the echo of footsteps faded. “Well Lissie, what did ye think of our Maeve and her son?”

  She swallowed, wondering what Calum would say if he knew what thoughts she’d pushed from her mind. Stalling, she fed the dogs bits of crust while she searched for the correct words. “The countess is bonny and kind and truly one of ye, no matter where she’s lived these past thirty years. And her son…”

  “My grandson is a damn Englishman who needs to be reminded of his better half.” He considered her a long while. “And we have verra little time to do it.”

  Gideon hung his shirt, waistcoat, and breeches across a chair and stepped into the tub. A fire blazed and he wondered again at the chill so early in autumn. What would it be like in the winter?

  He let out a soft groan of contentment as the hot water seeped into his tired muscles. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, the image of Alisabeth’s face greeted him. She was a rare beauty. And the marriage had been arranged. Had she loved him? Had Ian loved her? He knew without doubt she mourned his loss, could read that easily. Still, there must be some special bond between her and the MacNaughtons since she was still here. Unless… Good God, he was a codpole. It made perfect sense. She was with child.

  He cursed softly. The attraction to her had been immediate and unusual. It hadn’t been just a physical desire that flooded him but something more… She was a conundrum, and he’d always liked puzzles. He’d figure it out—figure her out. Alisabeth, no he preferred Lissie, would be an easily solved mystery.

  His mother, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated. The transformation already was remarkable. The joy in her expression, the softening of the deep lines that had appeared around her eyes and mouth over the last year, the energy that had returned to her body and spirit. Yes, this would be a rejuvenating trip for Mama. The doctor could not have prescribed a better antidote.

  The water had cooled and he reluctantly stood, reaching for the pitchers on the floor to rinse his hair and body. He’d left the towel by the chair and walked across the braided rug, leaving a trail of small puddles behind him. As he wiped himself off, he peered out the windows. Below, Lissie collected herbs from the back garden. Those two hounds now sprawled under an elder tree, watching her as she moved through the rows. He recognized sage and larkspur as she added the former to her basket, bending to give him a view of her handsome backside.

  A small boy with bouncing red curls skidded into the garden, causing the dogs to bark and thump their long shaggy tails. Lissie wagged a finger at him in warning, he supposed. It didn’t work. The child threw his arms around her legs, sending the basket into the air. She struggled to catch it, lost her balance, and went sprawling into a patch of chamomile. The young boy threw himself on top of her, squealing with delight and inviting the dogs to join in the fray. Her hands covered her face then her stomach as she tried to protect herself first from canine kisses and then from small tickling fingers.

  “Brownie, Angus, sit.” The muffled words floated through the closed window. “Gavin, off me now, ye little banshee.”

  Much to his surprise, the dogs obeyed though their tails continued to thump, and Brownie, the female, began to howl. The young boy, Gavin, rolled off his mistress and reached out a small grubby hand to help her up. She said something to him, which made him grin, and they both retrieved the herbs that had spilled from the woven basket. Lissie tousled the boy’s hair then froze. Slowly, she raised her head and their eyes met.

  Her tawny orbs were bright even from this distance. He smiled, hoping she didn’t think he was eavesdropping. Her eyes grew wide. Concerned, Gideon pushed open one leaded pane to ask if there was a problem. The fresh air hit his bare chest and he froze. Tarnation! Horrified, he looked down at the droplets clinging to his dark chest hair and clenched the towel in his fingers. The windowsill covered his lower half but only began at the hips. When he looked back toward the gar
den, Lissie was herding the boy and the dogs along the path. Before she disappeared around the elder tree, she peeked over her shoulder and gave him a mischievous grin. He grinned back.

  The alluring Alisabeth: baker, gardener, caretaker of dogs and hooligan children, widow. She’d stoked his curiosity. Did she stay out of duty to the chieftan and the possibility of carrying an heir? Or did she long to be with her own kin but forced to remain here because of the unborn child? Gideon knew Ian was to inherit a portion of the MacNaughton lands and a share in the mill. The girl would be swimming in lard if it were a boy. Otherwise, it would go to his cousins Lachlan and Brodie. Yet he didn’t get the impression that wealth was important to her. He’d get to know her better before he made a sound judgment. But if Lissie was as guileless as she was enchanting, he would make sure she was taken care even if she had a daughter.

  Chapter 5

  “I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle.”

  —Jane Austen

  Gideon donned a clean white shirt, gold waistcoat, and dark brown riding jacket with matching breeches and gleaming black boots. Combing his hair straight back then parting it on the side, he checked his reflection in the mirror. A shave would be nice but he didn’t want to take the time before breakfast. Many of the men had beards so a little growth on his jaws wouldn’t be out of place. It was a bit rebellious, he thought sheepishly. Only his third day in Scotland and already he was shucking English convention.

  Like his father, he’d always been fastidious with his appearance. A man must demand respect from the very first glance, or it will be an uphill battle, the late earl had reprimanded when he’d found his young son in a slovenly state. Yet it was a different way of life here. Even his clothes made him stand out in this part of the country.

  The men wore the short or belted plaid in the MacNaughton colors of red, dark green, and blue. Calum had tried to get one on Gideon but embarrassment prevented him. Nothing but a linen shirt beneath the yards of material! He couldn’t bring himself to bare his knees. Then there was the complicated task of donning it. He’d end up wrapped like an Egyptian mummy instead of resembling a Highlander. The ridiculous reticule at the waist also didn’t appeal to him. Yet everyone seemed to accept his presence, despite his mother’s warnings that Highlanders had long memories and many still did not trust the English.

  Today he would accompany his grandfather into Dunderave and issue the invitation for the upcoming cèilidh. It struck him odd that his grandfather didn’t send a representative to do such a menial chore. But his mother wanted to go, so perhaps they had decided to make a day of it.

  He entered the dining room and stopped, scanning the room for Alisabeth. She had not come to supper the first night. Not that he blamed her after his window display. Yesterday she had been scarce, tending to the blacksmith’s wife, who was having a child. Why on earth they didn’t have a midwife or physician was beyond his comprehension.

  The deerhounds sniffed at his feet. He held out his hand when he found the female’s soft brown eyes looking at him. For the first time, she licked him.

  “Aye, there’s good a girl,” crooned Calum. “She’s beginning to trust ye. They’re like us, ye ken, and need time.”

  Gideon looked sideways at the larger gray male. He held out his hand, palm up. Angus curled a lip, his hazel eyes narrowed. “Some of us need more time than others.”

  “Give him a bite of this, and he’ll come ‘round soon enough.”

  The smoky voice quickened his pulse as his eyes drifted over Lissie. A plaid shawl gave color to her black clothes, draped over her shoulders with a circular clasp attaching it at the chest. In the center of the silver pin was an engraved tower, representing the original Naught Castle. Her thick dark waves were swept up in a loose bun, tendrils curling against her slender neck. She picked up a rasher from the sideboard and brought it to him. “No male can resist the smell of fried pork in the morning.”

  He laughed, took the thin slice of meat, and heard his stomach growl.

  “And ye are no exception.” She giggled and walked back to the array of food. Over her shoulder, she added, “Squat down and place it on your palm, or ye’ll lose at least one finger.”

  He followed her advice, determined not to let a demmed dog intimidate him. The ham worked. Angus poked his head forward and sniffed at his palm several times then snatched the meat. When Gideon proceeded to the sideboard, the hound followed him.

  “Now ye have a friend for life,” said Glynis from the polished oak table.

  He turned to greet his aunt but words escaped him. Next to her sat his mother, dressed in a similar fashion as her sister. Both in mourning colors made from a wool and linen blend, Aunt Glynis’s skirt was black with a deep blue bodice, his mother’s brown with a dark violet bodice. Mama’s hair was pulled back in a tight knot, no curls or jewelry adorning her face or crown. She looked like a housemaid rather than the Countess of Stanfeld.

  “Ye don’t approve?” His mother chuckled. “Perhaps I should have warned ye, but I’m enjoying the shock on your face. I wish I could sketch your expression right now.”

  “I-er…” He avoided her gaze and filled his plate with rasher and eggs, beans and black pudding, and scooped some porridge into a bowl. His father had hated the blood sausage and “Scottish mush,” but these were two breakfast items Maeve had insisted on every morning. He heard more scratching in Father’s black books as he registered his son’s full plate and his wife’s dress.

  “Weel, are ye ready to meet the local folk?” asked Peigi. “It will be a long day, mind ye. Perhaps ye’d like to ride yer horse in case the visiting gets a bit long. There will be several families that willna let Maeve go without a chat.”

  He bent and gave his mother a kiss on her cheek before seating himself across the table. He considered the possibility as Alisabeth watched him with interest. Perhaps… “Is anyone else riding? I prefer my mount to a carriage but hate to ride alone on a family trip.”

  “I wouldna mind. It’s such a lovely day and winter will be here soon,” Alisabeth offered. “If ye dinna mind the company. Calum often saddles up too.”

  “Now I’m torn between sitting with these beautiful lasses or enjoying a fine conversation with my grandson and Lissie.” He scratched Angus’s ear while he studied Lissie’s hopeful face with a half smile. “If I ride, I can take the hounds. The exercise will be good for them.”

  “It’s settled then,” said Gideon, the morning already brightening. “How long is the journey?”

  “Only an hour or so by wagon,” answered Glynis. “But we’re taking the long way to show you some of the country.”

  “And more than a few stories along the way, if I ken my da,” added his mother.

  Calum chuckled. “Why are we wasting time at the table then?” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. “Archibald, send word to get the carriage hooked up. Gavin, tell yer nanna in the kitchen we’ll be needin’ the basket in an hour. And dinna forget the mutton pies left over from last night’s supper.”

  Gideon hid his amusement as he wondered how his butler Sanders would react to the master yelling orders across the hall. Probably die from apoplexy.

  The older women returned to their rooms, discussing this family or another. Peigi mentioned a name and they all began chattering at once, their voices trailing away as they climbed the stairwell.

  Alisabeth announced she needed to check on the blacksmith’s wife, who had delivered a son the night before.

  “Do ye mind if I follow along? Douglas has been praising yer ministrations since dawn.” Calum whistled to his dogs and they padded behind. “Gideon, would ye like to hold a newborn bairn? There’s nothing quite like it to make a man feel humble.”

  Though he had no experience with babies, in fact hadn’t given them much thought until his sisters were married, the encouraging look in Lissie’s eyes decided for him. “Why not? It will give me good practice for Etta’s baby. I’ll have my own o
ne day, I suppose.”

  They left the castle, proceeded through the garden, and turned in the opposite direction of the stables. Several stone houses with thatched roofs stood in a row, each with a small garden plot behind. “I provide housing for the families who work for me. This is Douglas’s fifth bairn but his first son. He’s been crowing like a rooster.”

  Lissie knocked at the door then opened it a crack. “May we come in? The MacNaughton has come with his blessings.” There was a shuffling of feet and then a huge burly man with wild red curls and a short-cropped beard filled the door frame.

  “Calum! Welcome, welcome.” Douglas slapped the chieftain on the back and pulled him to a long table in the center of the room.

  Gideon realized with a start that he’d never been in a cottage of the lower class. Yet his grandfather made himself comfortable at the table as if he was a familiar visitor. As if there were no class differences between them. The floor was packed dirt and there was only one main space on the ground floor. Several windows let in weak light. At the far end of the room was a small bed—by Gideon’s standard—with a dark-haired woman in her twenties and a baby with bright red fuzz sprouting from its head. Opposite them was a fireplace with an iron kettle hanging above a small fire.

  As he adjusted to the dim interior, he saw the walls were made of dry stone. He’d heard of this, and seen some from a distance after crossing the border, but had not inspected any close up. The stones were stacked without any mortar to bind them, and shelves were somehow attached between the layers. A ladder stood at the opposite end of the bed, leading to a loft where he assumed the offspring must sleep. Due to the upstairs, only half of the home enjoyed the full height of the ceiling.

  Douglas pulled three glasses from the wooden shelf that also held silver Sheffield plates. There were no bowls but the plates were deep enough to hold a stew or porridge. He retrieved a bottle and poured a dram of whiskey for each of them, a proud grin on his face.