Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  A bell clanged and a woman called from the entrance. “Refreshments are served.”

  His gaze locked on the most exquisite girl. Her hair was dark but not black. More of a burnt umber. A white scarf covered her head, but it did nothing to contain the thick waves that fell around her small waist and rounded hips. Honey-brown eyes watched him curiously, and a shy smile curved her full pink lips. She wore mourning clothes but rather than dim her beauty, the dark color enhanced her creamy skin. The word enchanting sprang to his mind.

  A servant? A local villager’s daughter? Such a striking girl—she did appear young—added to the castle’s charm. Gideon had a sudden urge to know more about her. A local beauty could certainly help pass the time.

  Chapter Four

  “Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.”

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  “Thank ye, Lissie.” Calum turned to the group. “Ye heard the lass, inside with the lot of ye.”

  They stepped into the dark entryway and proceeded into a large receiving room. Taking the narrow stairs to the first floor, their heels clicked on the ancient stones and the women’s skirts rustled against the steps as they ascended to the dining room. The table had been set with warm bread, cheese, smoked salmon, fresh berries, and stewed apples.

  “We thought ye may be hungry after yer journey,” said the young woman, Lissie. “Would ye like tea, ale, or wine?”

  Gideon could not take his eyes off her. Her husky voice settled over him, followed by a wave of heat. He changed his mind. She was gentle bred not a serving girl or kitchen maid. He pulled out a chair for his mother and grandmother. Peigi patted the seat next to her.

  “Please an old woman and sit yer handsome face here.”

  Calum guffawed and took his place at the head of the table. The two hounds, one a sandy red and the other a dark blue-gray, lay at his feet, one on each side. The darker one lifted its head as his master absently scratched his shaggy rough coat. “Gideon could be me forty years ago. I imagine that rankled Charles a wee bit.” He pulled out a chair for Aunt Glynis and Lissie. So his second guess was correct.

  “He preferred to think I took after his mother’s family. And Mama indulged him,” Gideon added as he studied the room. While the outside had been left to the elements, inside the castle had been renovated with paneling, large rugs, and painted ceilings. The wealth was evident in tasteful antiques or sculptures placed on shelves or tables. The platters and silver shone with polished care, and the smell of fresh baked goods tickled his nose. For all the cold gray on the outside, the tower house was inviting and comfortable.

  “I must apologize to ye for my lack of manners. This is my daughter-in-law,” said his aunt. “This is Alisabeth, Ian’s wife…widow…” She sighed as her eyes closed for a brief moment then smiled. “She’s been my saving grace these past weeks. I dinna ken what I’d do without her.”

  The woman blushed and lowered her eyes. “We’ve been a great comfort to each other.”

  Disappointment then guilt surged in his chest as Gideon realized this stunning creature had been his cousin’s wife. She was grief-stricken, and he was concentrating on that delectable mouth. Good god, man, he thought. My apologies, Ian, I didn’t know.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. May I offer my sincere condolences?”

  The sadness in those amber eyes pierced his soul. She was so young to experience such a burden. He searched for words that might ease her sorrow but was at a loss. Instead he said what was in his heart. “Ian was a fine man, and he will be greatly missed.”

  Her gaze fell upon him and he had the urge to stroke her cheek and tell her all would be well. “Please, we dinna stand on ceremony here. Call me Alisabeth or Lissie. And I thank ye for the kind words.”

  Their eyes met and held, and then she smiled. Warmth rushed through his body again—or God forbid, was it a blush? This time satisfaction filled him instead of regret.

  He’d pleased her and it made him glad.

  ***

  Alisabeth stood at the door, unable to interrupt the intimate family reunion. If Ian had been alive, he’d have pulled her into the gathering. But he was not. She recognized Lady Stanfeld as she stepped from the carriage, the same deep blue eyes as Glynis and Calum, the striking auburn hair Peigi once had, and the smile that marked every MacNaughton. As the voices rose, she slipped back into the castle and made sure the refreshments were set out.

  The kitchen had sent up fresh bread, cheese, and baked apples. The scent of sugar and cinnamon filled the hall. She took a deep breath, feeling the confidence seep back into her bones as she issued orders and fell into a familiar role. Satisfied all was in order, she returned to the courtyard.

  Alisabeth heard a whistle as she reached the door. In the fleeting silence, a man straightened, and her heart stopped. A lock of coal black hair fell across his forehead, and he pushed it back with long fingers. Below a straight nose and high cheek bones, flexed a strong jaw. His waistcoat stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. Tan breeches hugged muscled thighs and calves that disappeared into mud-spattered leather boots. A foreign heat spread through her limbs, and she grabbed the bell rope used to call the children, and pulled until it clanged.

  “Refreshments are served.”

  Vivid sapphire eyes locked with hers and knocked the breath from her lungs. Embarrassment warmed her skin, but she did not look away from his handsome face or try to stop the small smile forming on her lips. Her stomach fluttered as it had when she was a child, jumping from the high rocks into the loch. As the group moved into the cool dim interior, Alisabeth could smell his spicy scent. Orange mixed with salt, probably from his sweat during the long ride. It created a unique musky smell that tickled her senses as Lord Stanfeld passed by her.

  She could see the dust in the lines of his neck and fisted her hands, so she didn’t reach up to wipe away the grime and brush the hair from under his collar. With a slight trembling, she wiped the perspiration from her palms onto her skirt. Saints and sinners, she scolded herself. Stop fussin’ over yer husband’s cousin.

  Yet her body did not listen. When Glynis introduced them, his rich baritone sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. His genuine words about Ian warmed her and were appreciated. Such conflicting reactions made Alisabeth want to run from the room. Jump on her mare, race through the fields, and hide in her private spot by the water where she could sort through the confusion that filled her head.

  “Once I am rested,” Lady Stanfeld was saying to Glynis, “I’d like to take a walk and see what has changed.”

  “Not much, I warn ye. The stables have expanded with living quarters above.” Aunt Glynis winked at Gideon and teased her older sister. “Do ye still ride or have the years caught up with ye?”

  “I’ll race ye to the glen, dear sister. Let me pick out a horse, and we’ll take a gallop this week. Gideon, are ye interested?”

  “Do I have to race or can I follow behind and watch?”

  “Suit yerself. But the loser will forfeit their shortbread Lissie is making for Sunday.” Glynis frowned. “Maybe ye can convince her to stay out of the kitchens.”

  Calum held up his hand. “Not until she makes the shortbread. I tell ye, lad,”—he nodded at his grandson—“a scoop of fresh strawberry preserves on one of those biscuits, and ye’ll be in heaven. Or mighty close.”

  “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 ha
ve 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 garden, 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 Lac
hlan 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 Five

  “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.