When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  “To bairns and sons and wives that never stop lovin’ ye,” roared the blacksmith. Both Scots tipped back their heads and drank down the liquor in one swallow. Gideon followed, wondering how many toasts he would be obligated to drink. He didn’t relish a long ride if he was half foxed.

  Calum set the glass on the table. “Lissie, are ye finished? May I give the blessing?”

  “Aye, all is well.” Lissie kissed the woman on the cheek then took the baby and handed him to the MacNaughton.

  “The bairn looks even tinier in those huge paws.” Lissie smiled. Her brandy-colored eyes were warm with affection as she gazed on the large Scot and the tiny babe.

  Holding the bairn in front of him, rocking it slightly, Calum began an old Gaelic blessing. “Gum bi a’ bheatha a’ frasadh ort, a naoinein bhig; an fhallaineachd, an ionracas is an sonas mar thiodhlacan.” He leaned down and kissed the child on the forehead.

  “What did he say?” Gideon asked in a whisper.

  “May your life be fruitful, little bairn. Health, honesty, and happiness be yer gifts.” Tears shown in her eyes as she interpreted.

  “Does he do this for every boy?”

  “Aye,” she answered, “for all the bairns. Each one is a blessing, no matter the sex.”

  Something stirred in Gideon’s chest as he watched her expression. Happy yet sad. Yes, melancholy. But why, if she was carrying a child of her own? He wanted to pull her to him, hold her, and tell her all would be well. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and nodded. Had he ever been privy to such a touching scene? His father had painted the Scots as stern, superstitious, and uneducated. His mother’s family an exception to the rule. It pained Gideon that his father might have been wrong, but the images he’d carried in his mind and those he’d seen since his arrival did not match up.

  When they left the house, Alisabeth ran back to the castle. “I’ll meet ye at the stables,” she called to them over her shoulder and disappeared.

  The men were soon followed by Gavin and the deerhounds at their heels. “Can I ride Black Angus? Granny says he’s big enough to put a saddle on.”

  The head groom, leading out a pair of chestnut horses to hook up to the carriage, scowled at his child. “Dinna be pestering the MacNaughton, son. He could squash ye with one boot if ye get under foot, and I wouldna blame him,” his father warned. “And stop sneakin’ oatcakes to the dogs, or I’ll tell Granny not to let ye in the kitchens. I see yer pocket full of crumbs.”

  The boy ducked his head in apology, pulled the remaining pieces of griddle cake from his britches, and popped them in his mouth. Then he grabbed a brush and began helping his father curry the horses.

  Gideon followed Calum into the stone barn. Since they were alone, it was a good time to bring up the subject on his mind since London. “Can I ask you about my mother’s dreams?”

  His grandfather paused then asked quietly, “The visions?”

  Gideon nodded.

  “She’s always had them, though we keep it to ourselves. People are still afraid of witches, ye ken. It’s one of three abilities passed down for centuries through our ancestors, the Dalais clan.” He turned and looked Gideon straight in the eye. “And ye have the gift of Truth.”

  “Why do you say that? Because I’m a good judge of men? I have an inherent talent to know if they are lying?” He snorted. “Then I believe there are more witches out there than we realize.”

  “Don’t make light of it, lad. Ye’ll realize what’s in yer soul when the time comes. And ye willna be laughing then.” He slapped Gideon on the back. “It’s yer ma’s responsibility to pass on the story to the next generation, to tell ye the Dalais legend. Ye might find it quite interesting.”

  “It shall make a good nighttime adventure, I’m sure.”

  The old man threw a rope over the neck of a glossy bay and led him out of the stall. He tossed another rope to Gideon, who caught it. “Do ye saddle your own mount?”

  Calum stopped, surprise registering on his face. “Of course. Anything goes wrong on a ride, a man should only have himself to blame. Would ye trust another to yer own safety?”

  “I haven’t thought about it, to be honest, but you have a good point. Our grooms have always taken care of it.”

  “Ye do ken how to put on a saddle?” Disgust clouded his grandfather’s eyes. “Tell me Charles showed ye at one point.”

  “The only physical tasks my father instructed me in was hunting, fishing, and shooting. Everything else came from a tutor.” He shrugged. “However, I practically lived in the stables as a boy and was always under foot. Much like young Gavin there. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

  Relief showed on Calum’s face before an ornery smile curved his mouth. “Weel, that’s fortunate. In that case, ye can get Lissie’s mare readied also. And no sidesaddle—she’s a Highland lass to the hilt and willna ride lopsided.”

  That stopped him cold. Such a fetching girl rode astride? Did she wear breeches or just hike up her dress? He grinned. Scotland was growing on him.

  Alisabeth picked up her deep blue skirts and ran through the garden, delighted that Maeve had invited her to join them. The nightmares still haunted her, and each day she wore herself out, hoping to fall into a dreamless sleep. A ride on her favorite mare, instead of a bumpy conveyance, would be just the thing. A day next to the handsome-as-sin Lord Stanfeld was icing on the cake. It wasn’t right, her conscience poked at her, but the man did take her mind off her troubles. It was harmless enough to enjoy a peek here or there. A younger image of Calum, she now understood why Peigi’s eyes still sparkled when she looked at her husband. If Peigi was remembering him as a young man…

  She slowed to a walk just before coming in sight of the barn. Show Lord Stanfeld that Scottish ladies are as refined and graceful as the English, she thought. Well, certainly as graceful.

  Her mare, Faerie, stood patiently, her white coat and yellow mane glistening in the sun. Calum must have seen to the horse for her, as the men stood ready to mount. Lord Stanfeld wore those snug breeches that molded to his muscular legs. His sienna brown riding jacket emphasized the broad shoulders. She placed a hand on her stomach as something inside jumped. Why did he have such an effect on her? This queasy excitement was a new feeling, and one she’d never had with Ian.

  “Just in time, lass,” called Calum, mounting his bay gelding. “The carriage should be around with the girls any time now.”

  Lord Stanfeld held Faerie’s reins. “Would you like assistance up, my lady?”

  She bit her lip to hold off the laughter at “my lady.” What would he say if he saw her grab the mane and leap onto a horse bareback? Faint dead away, most likely. Refinement. Remember refinement. “Why yes, I thank ye.”

  He cupped his hand and bent slightly. The muscles strained against his jacket as he waited. Her stomach fluttered again. Under her skirt, she wiped the bottom of her soft leather shoe against her stocking then placed it in his palm. It wouldn’t due to get his expensive gloves dirty. With a gentle push, Alisabeth settled into the saddle and straightened her skirt.

  She watched as he reached for his reins and mane, placed a boot in his stirrup, and mounted his huge black gelding in one fluid motion. The beast was twice the size of her mare, alert but calm. Lord Stanfeld was at ease in the saddle, and his confidence conveyed to the animal beneath. The horse snorted and pawed the dirt, but it quickly ceased with a slight tug on the bit and pressure to his girth. Lissie was impressed.

  The carriage approached, a driver in the clan plaid clicking to the pair of chestnuts as they came around the drive. The vehicle was painted in the MacNaughton colors with the main body a dark green, blue trim, and their crest with the red circular keep painted on the door. Peigi opened the shutter and stuck her head out. “Last one there eats scraps!” The driver cracked his whip and the team lunged forward at a canter.

  Chapter 6

  “On the road from the City of Skepticism, I had to pass through the Valley of Ambig
uity.”

  —Adam Smith

  Calum guffawed. “That woman of mine doesna give up. Never have I seen a more competitive female. Or one with such a fine appetite.” He winked at Lissie. “Nothing worse than a female who picks at her food, pretending to be ladylike when she’s starvin’ like the forest critters after a long winter.”

  The threesome caught up with the vehicle and settled into an easy pace. Calum put his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The hounds came bounding behind them.

  “Lord Stanfeld, are those scars on your horse’s withers?” Alisabeth frowned. This could change her opinion of the earl. Yet the animal didn’t seem abused.

  “I’m afraid so, though they’re fading. I bought him at an auction, the owner saying he was too addlebrained to be broke.” He shook his head. “I’ve found that an animal with intelligence is often considered mulish. He responds well to a light hand and fair treatment. In fact, he’s become one of my favorite mounts.”

  She nodded. “So you saved him from a worse fate. Ye are fond of animals, my lord?”

  “I must admit I have an affinity with horses. I’ve been riding since the age of three, or so I’m told. As for other animals, we’ve always had packs of foxhounds for the hunt, but Father did not approve of them in the house.” He shrugged. “And I insist you call me Gideon. It doesn’t seem right when I’ve been granted permission to call you by your given name.”

  Lissie smiled when she saw him eyeing her boots in the stirrups. “Do all ladies in England ride sidesaddle, my-er, Gideon?”

  “Many don’t ride at all, but yes, those that do prefer the side saddle. Do you not find it exerting, being astride?”

  “On the contrary, it’s much easier to maintain balance when jumping. I canna imagine sailing across a stream with one leg cocked up in front of me.”

  Calum chuckled. “Ye should see the lass without a saddle. Now that’s a sight.”

  Gideon looked at her with renewed interest. “Indeed? I would enjoy seeing you ride bareback.” His lips twitched and she wondered what images ran through his mind. “The Highlands are more like another world than a place just across the border. Life isn’t so…restrictive.”

  “Do ye like the change?” It was Alisabeth’s turn to study him. “Or do ye long for the constraints that keep yer English world orderly and familiar?”

  “Ha! There’s my plain spoken lass.” Calum gathered his reins. “Let’s see who gets to that crop of trees first. Ready?” He leaned over his horse’s muscled neck. “Go!”

  Alisabeth let out a squeal as she dug her heels into Faerie’s sides. Gideon barely touched his gelding, and the horse took off like a fox chased by hounds. He easily won and all three were panting when they halted at the pines.

  “Ye ride well, my lord,” she admitted as she caught her breath. “Calum doesna like to lose.”

  Gideon shook his head. “I must say, I’m surprised, Grandfather. You’re more fit than most of the gentlemen at Hyde Park. That was quite a lengthy gallop.”

  “And that’s meant to be a compliment?” He reached over and slapped his grandson on the back. “Those dandies wouldna last a week here. I’d make sure of it.”

  The carriage rumbled up behind them, and the women got out to stretch their legs and take care of necessities. Calum whistled again and the dogs jumped off the back of the carriage. Gideon thought of the tigers, or rear coachmen, often employed in England.

  “So Scottish tigers have fur and tails. I imagine they settle for scraps instead of a wage?”

  “And much more dependable,” added Glynis. “If we were set upon, those scraggly dogs would die for us. A paid hand may run to save his own skin. If only they’d get the knack of opening a door.”

  They spread out a blanket and opened the basket. Maeve passed a small mutton pie to Gideon, who turned it over and gave it a sniff. His mother giggled and nibbled at her own. He watched her and did the same, followed by a healthy bite. “This is delicious,” he mumbled as he chewed. “Are there more?”

  Peigi handed him another then pulled out a blade and cut hunks of cheese and bread. The deerhounds stayed at the edge of the picnic, snatching scraps tossed their way. Two skins of wine were passed around and Alisabeth lay back, closing her eyes. Ian would have enjoyed this day. And with that one thought, her heart hurt again. No crying, ye silly ninny. It’s a bonny day and he’d be cross if ye didna enjoy it, she told herself.

  As they packed up, Gideon offered to water the horses. Maeve waved a hand at both Lissie and her son. “Why dinna ye both take the horses down to the brook. There’s a bonny view.”

  The water gurgled and splattered, rushing over mossy boulders, tadpoles shooting this way and that. The horses lowered their heads, slurping at the cold water. Alisabeth shielded her eyes then handed him her horse’s lead rope. She stepped out onto a flat stone and pointed out the holly and hazel that grew on the fertile slopes to the east.

  “The beauty of this land surprises me. I had expected the landscape to be rugged, but not this unique combination of lush green and jagged rock.” He transferred both ropes to one hand and held the other out as she turned to jump back onto the grass. “Let me help you. It looks slick—”

  At that moment, her boot slipped from under her. He grabbed her arm with strong fingers and pulled her toward him, her body slamming into his. Lissie’s fingers grasped at his tailcoat as she struggled to regain her balance. The butterflies in her stomach flittered dangerously as the lean, hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her. The top of her head reached just under his chin. His chest rose and fell, his breath stirring her hair. She lifted her head just as he was looking down. Their faces were so close, she could have kissed his chin.

  The crystal blue eyes darkened and his gaze lowered. Lissie’s breath caught in her throat, her body frozen. Saints and sinners, he’s going to kiss me. One of the horses pulled on its lead to reach a clump of grass. Gideon turned his head for a brief moment. Just enough time to step back and put distance between them. “Thank ye for saving me from a fall. It’s a warm day, but I wouldna have liked being sodden the rest of the ride.”

  He bowed, a playful grin on his face, but his eyes were serious and dark with an emotion she didn’t understand yet shared. With a hand to her stomach, Alisabeth picked up the stray rope and led the horse back to the clearing.

  The sun cast its warm rays upon the party and the rest of the trip passed quickly. From the carriage, Peigi told Gideon her favorite Scottish lore. Calum explained how the landscape had changed from crofting to livestock during the Highland Clearances. The crofters had forfeited their land to the rich, who had combined the small parcels into large grazing pastures. Sheep now dotted the rocky green hills instead of grain.

  “This is why weaving is so vital to us. Our wool is sent to the factory in Glasgow, where it’s cheaper to have it turned into cloth. We still have some that work in their home, to provide us with our tartans and plaids, but the majority is done in the weaving shed with 18 water looms.” The old man looked up at the sky. “I had chosen a different site for the mill but yer father insisted on Glasgow with the influx of Irish immigrants, many of them weavers. Water was another of his mandates so we built along the Clyde. He said power looms would replace handlooms some day. The earl had a sense for business, I’ll give him that.”

  Lady Stanfeld told several stories of when she was a girl, and Lissie realized Gideon was hearing them for the first time. It struck her odd that his mother would not have shared childhood memories with her son.

  “Didna yer mother tell ye stories when ye were a boy?” she asked.

  “No, my father didn’t like her to talk about her childhood. I know it sounds harsh, but he didn’t want our heads filled with fantasy and legends.” He sighed. “I’m learning his decisions weren’t always in our best interest.”

  “She must have truly loved him to give so up so much. I dinna ken if I could do that.”

  He was thoughtful before he answered.
“Yes, she loved him deeply—stayed in full mourning for a year. Said it was to respect his English rules, but I think it took that long for her to grieve.”

  “I can understand that.”

  Gideon reached over and laid his hand over hers. “My apologies. That was thoughtless of me.”

  “We all are grieving so I am in good company.”

  “I’m sure the babe is a comfort.”

  Confused, she pulled up the reins. “What babe?”

  “I thought you”—his face grew red—“were with child?”

  A second stab to her heart. She shook her head, unable to form the words.

  He rubbed a palm over his face. “Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you more pain. I assumed that was why you had stayed with my grandparents.”

  “Don’t blame yerself. I’m just a wee sensitive. It was a disappointment not only for me but the clan. And I stayed because… Glynis wasna ready to be alone, and I hadna decided what to do.” She wiped at the tear that slipped out the corner of one eye.

  “That explains the look on your face this morning when Grandfather held the baby.”

  His intuitiveness surprised her. He had more of the MacNaughton blood in him than he thought. “Being with Ian is the only future I’ve ever known. It was snatched from me so suddenly, I’m still…”

  “Struggling to find your place?” He nodded in understanding. “Why not go home?”

  “My family would welcome me, to be sure. Yet it seems as if I’d be walking backwards into the past rather than forward into the future.” She shrugged. “Sounds foolish, I know.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. Your world spun upside down in an instant. While I feel an emptiness from his loss, it doesn’t change my life. But you are a strong woman. You’ll find the answers.”

  They continued in companionable silence, while she pondered this unexpected empathy in Gideon Stanfeld. By early afternoon, they reached Dunderave. More dry stone houses and thatched roofs lined the main street. At one end of the village was a blacksmith and small dry goods and specialty store, at the other was a kirk, or church. A crowd had gathered and the minister, Reverend Robertson, stepped forward to greet them. “It is good to see ye, Calum. We heard Maeve found her way home again.”