Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  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 one 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.

  “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 we
ll.” 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 Six

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

  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?”