Chapter Ten
* * *
Lucy sent Sinclair away to rest. She said she would stay with her aunt until the maid had a chance to stretch her legs or take forty winks. It didn’t matter how long the maid took – Lucy was too restless to sleep.
There had been tension between Broxburn and his cousin at supper, but worse was Mr. Munro’s frank appraisal of her person. She was unaccustomed to being leered at, and he’d made her uncomfortable. At least Broxburn had done what he could to divert his cousin from his blatant impertinence. In spite of the man’s beautifully tailored clothes and nicely barbered hair, he was hardly the polished gentleman he appeared to be.
Aunt Arden roused once, and Lucy gave her a few sips of water. Then she went back to sleep, and Lucy paced.
She wondered how long it would be before Dr. Henderson said Arden was well enough to travel. She hoped it would be soon. It was difficult watching her aunt suffering in a strange bed. Surely her aunt would fare better in her own house.
Lucy had never cared for being away from home. Even during her Seasons in London, with her mother and sisters there, she’d wished to return to Stillwater House in the country. She’d missed her frequent encounters with Joshua and their discussions on antiquities, among other things.
Oh, wouldn’t he be enthralled with Craigmuir Castle! And she could hardly wait to tell him about Glencory and the Viking stronghold she’d seen there.
The clear sky was visible through the window, and Lucy went over to gaze at the stars. They were just the same as the ones she could see at home, and she chided herself for being homesick. In a few months she would return to Berkshire, and all would go back to normal.
She was about to turn away when she noticed a light in the easternmost tower. It wavered slightly, and she could see a shadow.
The ghost. It had to be, for who else would be wandering over there at this hour? Presumably, Lord Broxburn was still in the small parlor with his cousin and Lord Kindale.
Sinclair chose that moment to return, and Lucy retreated to her own room, but only to retrieve her shawl. She wrapped it around her shoulders and went downstairs.
All was dark, but she made her way down to the great hall. She heard voices coming from the dining room, so she left the keep through the main door.
She was not afraid to face the ghost. In fact, she hoped it would happen!
If Aileen’s story of her encounter could be believed, and Lucy had no reason to think otherwise, then she had nothing to fear. The ghost was elusive and did not pose a threat to her. And if she saw the ancient spirit, how she would love to write to her sisters and tell them of the experience.
But not Joshua. He wouldn’t believe her, anyway.
Under the starlit sky, she hurried across the courtyard to the stairs leading to the tower. She reached the top, then walked along the parapet to the door of the tower. Finding it unlocked, she entered. She stood listening for a moment, but no sounds came from within.
She climbed the steps with only the faint light of the stars through the narrow windows to guide her.
For the first time, she considered this might possibly be a foolish errand. She was sure-footed but could not really see the condition of the steps. And if she made it all the way to the top – what then? Was it possible to sneak up on a ghost? Wouldn’t the spirit flitter away if Lucy intruded?
She had to find out.
She stepped carefully, eventually coming to the end of the staircase at the top of the tower. She stepped onto the landing and listened again.
A groan. She was sure she heard it, a low sound that was barely human.
She reached for the latch, lowered it and pushed the door open. It moved silently, on its hinges, and Lucy peered inside.
The room was fairly small, but for the most part resembled any other – she saw a desk and chairs, and there were two bookcases in her line of vision. They were filled not only with books, but objects she could not quite make out in the weak light.
She pushed the door further and saw a pair of eyes staring into hers.
* * *
Ian almost laughed aloud at the expression of abject shock in Lucy’s eyes.
“Who were you expecting?”
Looking utterly charming in an ivory shawl and the same gown she’d worn at supper, she touched her throat and looked about the room.
Ian rose from the sofa, smiling. He was inordinately glad that Malcolm had left half an hour ago. It meant he had Lucy all to himself.
Which was the last thing he should want. It was wholly improper for her to be alone with him. Yet who would ever know, besides the two of them?
Even worse – nothing was going right at Craigmuir. The estate was in a shambles and his father was ill, not to mention a lying, womanizing…It was not an ideal situation into which he ought to bring a bride.
A bride?
He’d considered courting Lady Kathryn Hay, but realized now it would have been a half-hearted effort. She was beautiful as only a Scotswoman could be, with fiery red hair and a blushing complexion.
But he hadn’t felt attracted to her, not the way he was toward Lucy.
All this when he shouldn’t even like her. Besides, she would be gone and out of his sphere once she left for Edinburgh.
Still, he supposed he could go up to town once the work was underway in Craigmuir Way, and wrangle invitations to the same events she attended. He was, after all, Craigmuir’s heir, and no one could prove otherwise.
“It’s s-so late,” she said. “I thought perhaps…the gh-ghost?”
“You’ve come to the right place, then. Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“This is the room where Béatrice and her lover had their clandestine meetings. Where they met their deaths, too.”
She looked around. “But it is so…it looks like my father’s study.”
“I suppose you could call it my artifact room,” he said. He only had one small lamp burning, and he did not light another. He liked the intimacy the low lighting provided.
She looked around, her eyes full of wonder. “Is that an actual suit of armor?”
He nodded. “Go ahead. You can touch it.”
The minute he said so, he realized he wanted her to touch him. Not the armor.
She walked to the other side of the room, and her awe felt gratifying. “This is magnificent – completely intact. Where did you find it?”
“In an old storage room under the armory.”
“Did you find anything else there?”
She seemed to share the same kind of excitement that rippled through him whenever he discovered another artifact from the past. He pointed to the weapon hanging over the fireplace. “That sword.”
“Is that a claymore?”
“Why, yes,” he said. “I should have known you’d recognize it.” She’d already demonstrated her knowledge of Scottish history.
She nodded and he moved close enough to smell her subtle scent – lilacs – and tried to remember why he should not like her. Why he should not pull the pins from her hair and allow it to fall about her shoulders.
“Is this a clock?” She picked up a leather timepiece that dated from the 1300s.
“Yes. I don’t know whom it belonged to, though,” he said. His hands itched to touch her. “That’s true of most of the artifacts I’ve found.”
“Is that what all these are?” She gestured toward the items he’d placed on the shelves. “Artifacts?”
“That they are.” He gave in to the urge to touch her. Spying a hairpin at the top of her thick mass of hair, he lifted it out.
She reached up as her hair started to fall. “What…?” The word was but a whisper on her breath, and her eyes met his as he slid his hand into the glossy hair at her nape.
“It’s like silk,” he said. He thought he felt her tremble a little.
He might be trembling, himself.
He took the hand she’d raised and lowered it to his shoulder, then dipped his head and touc
hed her mouth with his own.
It was a simple kiss, a mere brushing of lips that was utterly forbidden, utterly delicious. And he wanted more.
He pulled her close and deepened the kiss. She allowed it, allowed their mouths to meld together. And when she gasped a little, he swept his tongue into her mouth.
Nothing had ever felt like this. His body quaked with awareness of her. She was soft and so feminine she made him groan with need.
He cupped her jaw and spread kisses from her ear to her throat, relishing her uneven breathing, and her tight grip on his shoulders. Her head dropped back to give him better access, and he started working on those seductive white buttons of her bodice, pressing his mouth to every inch of skin he exposed. His lips met the swell of her breast above her chemise and his body craved more.
He slipped her gown and chemise off her shoulders as he kissed her mouth. Then his hands slid up to her breasts. She trembled when he cupped their fullness, and he savored the soft moan she made when he touched their peaks with his thumbs. He felt her knees give way and suddenly, she placed her hands over his and looked up at him with confusion. Her lips trembled.
“No, I…” She turned away from him with a sound of distress, pulling her gown and chemise back over her shoulders. She grabbed her shawl and went for the door, stumbling as she hurried away from him. He reached to help her, but she put up a fending hand and fled.
* * *
It was unfathomable how something so incredibly glorious could be so utterly wrong. Lucy was still breathless after her mad dash across the courtyard and up to her room. She was pacing, though it did not help her scrub away thoughts of the pure pleasure she’d felt under Broxburn’s erotic attentions.
Her buttons were still unfastened. She’d wrapped herself in her shawl in her haste to escape the tower and the onslaught of feelings he’d aroused in her. Her mind raced while her body still hummed with pleasure. What was she to think? To do?
Broxburn was not the man she would marry. And yet she’d allowed – no, she’d relished – his kiss, his touch.
It was wholly improper, not to mention disloyal. She’d never kissed Joshua, never even thought about the intimacies they would share after they married. And yet she’d allowed Broxburn to kiss her senseless, to undress her and touch her naked flesh.
Lucy had never realized that her breasts and womb were internally connected, but when he’d touched her nipples, her abdomen had tightened in a manner that was altogether too agreeable. No, agreeable was too weak a word. She’d nearly lost her footing from the pleasure of it.
It was mortifying. Being so completely seduced by a man she didn’t even…
Well, it wasn’t as though she actually disliked him any more. He was certainly handsome enough, though it seemed his dark looks had become a serious threat to her peace of mind. She did not understand how she had suddenly found the man so attractive, when they’d hardly done more than spar with each other.
He’d been good enough to help her family when they’d faced dire circumstances, and it was clear he was shaken and worried by his father’s condition. She could not fault him for that.
Lucy remembered the disheveled couple she’d seen in the clearing and realized the situation with Broxburn had been similar. But the woman had clearly enjoyed it, where Lucy’s feelings were a good deal more confused. Outside of the impropriety of it, she’d been unfaithful to her feelings for Joshua. She’d been so enthralled by Broxburn’s kiss and the heat of his powerful arms around her that she’d forgotten herself, forgotten what she truly wanted.
It would not happen again. Somehow, she was going to avoid the man until her family could leave Craigmuir Castle.
She rang for one of the maids, removed her gown – something at which Lord Broxburn had been entirely too adept – and waited for help getting undressed the rest of the way. She thought of Broxburn unfastening her stays after carrying her to bed, and her heart tripped.
She was mortified. How could she possibly face him again? With any luck, she would not have to.
* * *
The following morning, Lucy had no intention of going anywhere in the castle besides her aunt’s room. She’d spent a miserable night, alternating between sleeplessness when she wasn’t fighting off ridiculous dreams. Her body had seemed to be on fire, but when she threw off the covers, she felt chilled to the bone. Nothing was right.
And it still wasn’t right when she entered her aunt’s bedroom, well after daybreak.
“Why, Lucy,” her uncle said. “Are you ill?”
She cleared her throat and licked her lips. “No, Uncle. Why?”
“Oh. Well, you, uh…”
“I-I did not sleep well.” She did not know what else to say, nor did she want her uncle looking too deeply into her eyes. She went to her aunt’s bedside, and her heart sank when she realized Arden seemed no better than she’d been the night before.
She took her aunt’s hand in her own and spoke softly to her, wishing her free of pain and praying for her full recovery. Lucy might be anxious to leave Craigmuir Castle, but not at the cost of her aunt’s health.
“Did she sleep all night?” Lucy asked Sinclair.
“Mostly, yes,” the maid answered. “When she woke in pain, we gave her more laudanum.”
Lucy pressed her lips together. A dull ache gathered between her brows as the reality of staying at least another day at Craigmuir set in. She looked up at her soft-hearted uncle, who dabbed tears from his eyes.
“I am sure she will recover fully, Uncle,” Lucy said, patting Archie’s hand. She put aside her own worries, determined to give him the support he needed while she stayed clear of the man who’d seduced her— No, he’d nearly seduced her. There could be no repetition of last night’s events in the tower room. She realized she’d been a fool to venture out there in the first place. She recognized that now, though the allure of seeing a ghost still persisted.
And she hated to admit that there was some allure in the thought of seeing Broxburn again.
“Archie?”
Lucy saw that her aunt was awake, so she got up and moved aside so that Archie had space to sit on the bed beside her.
“Arden, my pet. You are awake.”
Arden furrowed her brow. “Wh-where are we?”
“We are at Craigmuir Castle, my dear,” Archie said. “We came here after the accident.”
Arden said naught, but Lucy decided her puzzled frown could not be any deeper. Her aunt did not remember what had brought them there.
Archie spoke softly to his wife, explaining what had happened, and trying to prod her memory. He took her uninjured hand in his and spoke affectionately, with patience, and Lucy could actually feel the warmth of their regard for each other.
Her aunt might be a brash, outspoken matron, but it was clear that Archie loved her with all his heart.
Lucy found herself thinking of Lord Broxburn’s seduction again and immediately shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. Her reaction to him was solely because he’d taken her off guard. She hadn’t expected…
No, that was not true. In letting down her hair and slipping his fingers through it, he’d given her ample warning that he was going to steal a kiss.
And yet their kiss had been so much more than an insignificant theft. It had led to the most incredible—
“Lucy,” Arden said.
Lucy knelt down again. “Aunt Arden?”
Arden turned her head toward her, wincing. “Lucy. You…my girl, you were unharmed?”
Lucy nodded. “Only a small bump on the head.”
Arden closed her eyes and sighed. “I am so very tired.”
“I know, Aunt. You received the worst of it.”
Arden’s eyes remained closed, and Lucy wondered if she’d fallen asleep again. But then her aunt said, “Tea. If I could just have a sip.”
“Of course!” Lucy got to her feet and poured some lukewarm tea into a cup.
“Can you raise your head, Aunt?”
/> “A little.”
Lord Kildrum got out of the way as Lucy and Sinclair helped Arden to lift up and drink a small amount.
“Ah. That’s good.”
“Are you in much pain, Aunt Arden?”
“Well, aside from the tattoo beating in my head and the claymore tearing apart my arm, not much.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” Lucy replied. Obviously, Arden was in pain. “Would you like a dose of laudanum?”
“What I would like is to go home.”
Lucy looked at her uncle. Pleadingly, she feared.
“As soon as Dr. Henderson says you can be moved, we will go home, Arden.”
“I am ready, Archie,” she said. “I need no permission from any physician.”
“I would prefer to wait, pet,” Archie said, the picture of patience. “I will not risk your health only to arrive in Edinburgh a day or two sooner.”
“Bah. I’ll be as right as rain once I am in my own bed.”
Lucy decided to slip out of the room and let her aunt and uncle deal with the question of when they would travel. If only there were some way to convince Dr. Henderson to give them his blessing to leave, but Lucy decided he was not the type to be influenced by pleading.
She pulled the door closed quietly, and when she turned, found herself face to face with the man she’d hoped to avoid.
“Little Sassenach,” he said. He paused, looking into her eyes, causing Lucy to tremble a little. “I just came to look in on your aunt.”
He was clean-shaven today, and even though his hair was combed back, it was still wavy and unruly. His eyes were clear, his gaze direct, and when he looked at her mouth, she felt as though there was a string tugging from his eyes to her womb.
“Oh, yes,” Lucy said, chagrined by her breathless reply. She cleared her throat. “My aunt is awake now.”
“That is very good news, then.”
She nodded, feeling tongue-tied. He was standing quite close now, and Lucy could almost feel his breath upon her cheek. Her traitorous body wanted more.
“Dr. Henderson will be here soon,” he said.
She nodded. “She wants to go home.”
Lucy and Her Scottish Laird Page 9
