Lucy and Her Scottish Laird

by Margo Maguire

  Ian could not help but wonder about her.

  “Will you be able to keep your father from drinking again?” Malcolm asked, interrupting Ian’s morose thoughts.

  Ian shrugged. “I don’t know. Some of the servants might believe I am just being cruel.”

  “Hmm. Some are bound to think that, which means they might try to circumvent your orders.”

  “I’ve put the duke’s valet in charge of his care,” Ian said. He stood and headed for the door. “He will do his best to keep my father from drinking again.”

  “I wish you luck with that, my friend.”

  * * *

  “Shouldn’t you wear something a bit more…festive, my dear?” Lucy’s uncle asked her.

  “I do not think so, Uncle,” Lucy replied. “It is not a formal occasion – or even festive, for that matter. And with my aunt lying injured in her bedroom…”

  Lord Kildrum held up one hand, chuckling. “You win. You look lovely, and you are right. With Arden lying here it is only right that we remain somber.”

  Lucy would hardly call her gown somber, but it was a good deal less festive than the one she’d originally thought of wearing.

  Good Lord, what had she been thinking? That the sapphire blue dress with its capped sleeves, pearl embellishments, and low neckline would surely be enough to entice Broxburn to…To what? Take her back to the ghillie’s cottage and have his way with her?

  She shivered, but not from any chill. Some strange malaise descended upon her, with odd feelings that were entirely unfamiliar and unwelcome. “Perhaps it would be best if I remained here with my aunt.”

  “Oh, no,” Kildrum said. “That would be ungracious. Take your shawl, and let us go down. We will make a short evening of it.”

  Lucy did as her uncle said, and she accompanied him to the great hall, wearing a modest dark red day dress with very simple lace trimming at her wrists and neck. Her nerves were hopelessly frayed, and the excited smile Lady Kathryn bestowed upon her did not help.

  “Miss Stillwater! Lord Kildrum! We are so very glad to see you!” Kathryn gushed.

  “And you,” Lucy said, just as Broxburn entered the hall with Lord Kindale right beside him.

  “Ladies,” Broxburn said, “Lord Auchengrey. I hope you have settled in.”

  “Yes, very nicely, Broxburn,” Kathryn’s father said.

  Kathryn slipped her hand through the crook of Lucy’s elbow, but Lucy hardly noticed. Her full attention was on her host, Ian, Lord Broxburn. He and Kindale towered over the older men, and while Kindale smiled, his eyes shining with amusement, Broxburn seemed preoccupied. Lucy wondered if his father’s condition had worsened or if something else bothered him.

  The butler stepped into the hall. “Dinner is served, my lord.”

  Ian escorted Lady Auchengrey into the dining room, while Kindale took Kathryn’s arm, and Lucy went in with her uncle. Lord Auchengrey brought up the rear. It should have been a relief when Lucy was seated as far from Broxburn as was possible, but rationality did not appear to be the order of the day. She did not want to notice anything about the man, yet his voice was deep and rich, as smooth as velvet, and seemed to penetrate her as truly as his…

  Somehow, she managed to refrain from fanning herself with her hand. She could only think of the heat of his lips and the press of his body against hers. She could not stop thinking about the tugging in her loins when he touched her breasts and her—

  “You must all forgive me,” he said, “but we do not serve wine at Craigmuir. In fact, there are no spirits whatsoever in the castle.”

  His words did not surprise Lucy, because she knew of the situation with his father. But Auchengrey let out a low breath that sounded to Lucy like disapproval, and Lady Auchengrey placed a hand upon her breast. “Oh, and I was so looking forward to a glass of sherry later.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” Broxburn said. “Unless you brought a bottle, we will have to make due with a bonny mulled cider, or tea, if you prefer.”

  “I am quite fond of cider,” Lucy said in order to break the tense moment, “much more than wine.”

  Broxburn actually smiled for the first time since Lucy had met him. And that’s when the dimple in his cheeks deepened and Lucy’s heart actually tripped in her chest. Her physical reaction to the man startled – and alarmed – her. She purposefully turned to Kindale, hoping to quell her sizzling awareness of the marquess. “I thought you said you were leaving for Edinburgh today, my lord.”

  “Aye. A wee change in plans, Miss Stillwater. I will go on the morrow.”

  Her little interchange with Kindale did not help. She could actually feel Broxburn’s gaze upon her. “I-I am glad we will have a chance to visit a bit before you go.”

  He nodded. “And I.”

  “Your cousin does not join us tonight, Broxburn?” Lord Auchengrey asked.

  “No. He was called away suddenly.”

  Lucy remembered seeing Mr. Munro from her window, leaving the castle grounds. She was not unhappy to see him go, however. He made her more than a little uneasy.

  “How do your parents fare this evening, Broxburn?” Lady Auchengrey asked.

  “I am sorry to say there has been no change in their health,” Broxburn replied. Lucy had to admire the smooth answer, giving away nothing of the duke’s true condition. It would not do for Broxburn’s father to be known in society as the Drunken Duke, or some such nonsense.

  Footmen served the meal under Lockhart’s watchful eyes as the conversation turned to Lucy’s aunt, and their intended departure for Edinburgh on the morrow.

  “Papa, we will be staying at the Edinburgh house for several days before going on to Aberdeenshire, will we not?” Kathryn asked.

  Her father nodded, though he looked perplexed. Lucy realized that Broxburn’s ill parents posed a conundrum for Auchengrey and his wife. Stopping at Craigmuir Castle to stay while traveling was one thing. But they could not very well continue their visit – and any sort of courtship – while the duke and duchess were ill. And it was unlikely Broxburn – the object of their matrimonial aspirations – could go to Edinburgh while his parents were unwell. It seemed quite clear that Auchengrey would have to make his intentions known before they left for Edinburgh the next day.

  “We shall visit you at your uncle’s house in New Town,” Kathryn said to Lucy.

  Kathryn’s declaration startled Lucy. “Oh, I…That would be lovely.”

  Although Lucy was not so sure about that. Kathryn’s overtures of friendship were tiring. She was a good deal more exuberant than anyone Lucy had ever known, though perhaps that was not unusual for young Scottish ladies. Lucy was quite unused to it, and she had the start of a headache by the time supper ended and she escaped to her room.

  She was beyond relieved when her uncle told her they would leave Craigmuir Castle the following morning, right after breakfast.

  Aileen was in the bedroom, turning down the bed. She was quiet and looked uncharacteristically somber.

  “Do you have a headache, too?” Lucy asked.

  “Perhaps a wee bit, Miss,” the maid replied.

  “I hope it passes quickly, Aileen,” Lucy said. Aileen was usually all smiles and happy chatter.

  The maid nodded without saying anything.

  “Just unfasten my stays and you can go. You look like you could use some rest.”

  Aileen gave Lucy the help she needed and left the room. Lucy washed her face and cleaned her teeth, and mused over the evening’s conversations.

  She climbed into bed feeling more than a little bit irritated by the thought of Lord Broxburn and Lady Kathryn together. And she felt that way in spite of the fact that she was in love with Joshua. She fell asleep picturing Broxburn and Kathryn standing together at the altar of St. Mary’s Church in Reading – even though they’d probably never been anywhere near Berkshire.

  Her dreams were not of this world, however. Images of Lucy’s church faded and Lady Béatrice called to her.

  Lucy sat u
p in bed, unsure whether Béatrice’s voice had been real or part of her dream. It had seemed quite real.

  She got out of bed and looked out her window. The moon was high, so it must be midnight at least. There was no light in the tower window, and the rest of the courtyard was quiet, too.

  She must have imagined the voice she’d heard. It was strange because it had seemed so real, so—

  “Ma dame…”

  This time, Lucy was sure she heard it. She turned to look toward the voice and saw something…an apparition.

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  The ghostly figure was hardly more than a smoky blue wisp in the air, but it quickly took the form of a beautiful young woman with long, flowing hair and a bejeweled coronet upon her head. Her gown looked heavy and rich, with sleeves that flowed down to the floor.

  “Suis moi,” she said. Her voice sounded to Lucy like the wind blowing through the wheat fields at home. She could barely make out the words, though they sounded French. Not that she’d ever been good at understanding or speaking the language, but when the spirit beckoned to her, it seemed clear she wanted Lucy to follow.

  The elusive being seemed to drift through Lucy’s door. Lucy grabbed her shawl and went out of the room, planning to follow it. Her. Whatever it was.

  She looked both ways down the corridor and saw the odd wisp of bluish light at the far end, near the stairs. Lucy ran to catch up, watching in silence as the filmy form floated down the staircase. She followed it into the great hall until it turned a corner.

  Lucy rushed down the passageway after it, but ran into someone at the door to the library. Not the ghost, but someone alive. Very alive, and quite sturdy.

  Broxburn.

  He caught her by the arms to steady her. “Lucy!”

  Lucy stifled a scream, but couldn’t hold back a small cry of distress.

  “What’s happened?” he asked. “Are you— Is your aunt—”

  “No! It was…” Would he think she was mad if she told him about seeing Béatrice? He was the one who’d told her about the ghost, so maybe he would understand.

  He took her into the library and shut the door, then lit a lamp on the desk while Lucy stood quietly in her shift and shawl and nothing else. Even her feet were bare.

  “I saw something,” she said when he turned to face her.

  “Something?”

  “The ghost.” She said it calmly, although she felt anything but calm. She’d seen a wisp of Béatrice in the library, but the pale blue light faded. Only a waning fire in the fireplace and the pale light from the lamp lit the room.

  “You saw it?”

  “Her. Lady Béatrice.”

  Lucy could not have been more aware of her state of undress as he approached her. She curled her toes against the cool floor, and when he placed his hands on her shoulders, her face and chest heated as though they would melt off her bones.

  “You saw the ghost?”

  She gave a slow nod, her eyes captured by his intense gaze.

  “And she led you here?” he said in a hushed voice.

  “You do not think I’m delirious?”

  “No. Anything but delirious.” He moved closer, and Lucy could feel the strength of his body through her thin shift. She felt the beat of his heart against her breasts. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers.

  It was a prelude to the real kiss, a deep, penetrating melding of mouths and lips that set Lucy’s nerves on fire. The room melted away, and there was only Broxburn, his hard body and his warm, soft lips against hers. Lucy’s pulse quickened and her womb clenched low in her belly.

  She was aware of nothing but the sensations surging through her, urging her to press even closer, to relish the sensation of his hands sliding down her back, the opening of his mouth over hers. His tongue swept in, and Lucy felt herself quiver in response.

  He shifted, and all manner of yearnings took possession of her. She wanted – no, needed – to feel him pressed against her breasts, cradled against her thighs. She had not felt anything so…so all consuming since those few moments in the cottage.

  He found the tips of her breasts with his fingertips and rubbed lightly, sending waves of arousal through her. She heard herself moan, and without warning, Broxburn moved back abruptly, leaving her dazed. Perplexed.

  Ashamed.

  He appeared completely boggled, as though he could not believe he’d kissed her – touched her – again. He muttered a word she’d heard her brothers use only on rare occasions. And then he rubbed a hand across his face – in puzzlement or perhaps frustration.

  “Sassenach.”

  She made a dash for the door before he could say anything else, and quickly made her way back to the staircase. She felt thoroughly embarrassed. She was at fault, wandering about his home wearing naught but her shift and a shawl. He might not have behaved as a gentleman, but she hadn’t been a lady, either.

  She hurried up the steps and down the corridor to her room, stopping just as the door to her aunt’s room opened and Sinclair stepped out with a lamp in her hand.

  “Oh, Miss Stillwater!” Sinclair whispered. “I was just coming to get you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your aunt. I think she is running a fever.”

  * * *

  Ian spent a restless night tossing about in his bed, hardly able to sleep for thinking of Lucy Stillwater. He could not remember any woman he’d wanted more, but he was not so foolish as to believe Lucy had wanted him just as much. She was an innocent who had likely never experienced even a kiss, much less the seduction that, even now, his body yearned for. Her responses had made him weak at the knees, though he was certain he’d have managed the strength to lift her into his arms and carry her to the sofa if his conscience had not stopped him.

  He drifted in and out of sleep all night, and when morning came, he battled the same ferocious arousal that had plagued him all night. He managed to crawl out of bed and get ready to face the day, which was bound to be challenging.

  When he arrived at his father’s door, he found several servants standing outside, listening to the shouts emanating from within.

  Ian sent them all on their way except for one – Nial, the footman, whose help might be needed inside.

  He opened the door and saw the most disturbing sight of his life. His father was crawling around the bed on his hands and knees. He was sweating profusely and calling out nonsense words.

  “He has been this way for hours, my lord,” his valet said.

  “Did you send someone for the doctor?”

  “Aye. He should arrive at any moment.”

  Puzzled, Ian watched his father’s behavior. “What do you suppose is wrong with him?”

  Almost in answer to Ian’s question, the duke howled. Like a wolf.

  Ian took a step back.

  “’Tis the drink, my lord. Without it, he is mad,” the valet said.

  “Was he like this all night?” he asked.

  Crenshaw shook his head. “He started acting this way – frantic, like – a couple of hours ago. He was merely shaking and trembling before that.”

  Ian turned to Nial, the footman. “Stay here with Crenshaw and assist him if necessary while I go and see Lord Auchengrey off.”

  He wanted the earl and his family gone. If word of his father’s demented behavior got out in society, there could be dire consequences.

  Worse, he did not want Lucy finding out and thinking he was descended from lunatics. She’d seen the duke’s erratic behavior before, but it hadn’t been anything like this. Did his father actually believe he was an animal?

  Ian encountered Malcolm on his way down to the great hall. “Are you leaving?”

  Malcolm nodded. “I thought I’d ride to Edinburgh alongside the Auchengrey carriage. How is your father today, Ian?”

  Ian hesitated only for a moment. Malcolm was his oldest and closest friend, and Ian knew he would not carry tales of Craigmuir’s incompetence to Edinburgh. “He
is somewhat worse, I fear. He’s completely irrational now.”

  Malcolm’s expression darkened. “What’s to be done?”

  “Henderson is on his way. I hope he will know what to do.”

  “Ian, if you want me to stay—”

  “No, but thanks. I daresay there’s nothing either of us can do.”

  They went down to the great hall, where Lockhart was overseeing the packing of Auchengrey’s carriage.

  “Where is the earl?” Ian asked.

  “The family has breakfasted and will be down shortly, my lord,” Lockhart replied.

  “And Henderson?” he queried, rather than asking about Miss Stillwater’s whereabouts. He had to focus on his father now, because it was quite clear he was deteriorating quickly. Ian wondered if Crenshaw was right, or if the duke had gotten hold of some whiskey.

  “I am watching for the doctor now, sir.”

  “The Kildrum carriages are not out there, Lockhart,” Ian said, noting the obvious. “I thought they also planned to leave this morning.”

  “They did, my lord. But Lady Kildrum developed a fever during the night and her husband wishes her to stay until Dr. Henderson can have a look.”

  Ian clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace. He’d wanted Lucy to stay longer, but he knew this turn of events would worry her. Not only that, but…what did he think could happen between them? He was not about to seduce a baron’s innocent daughter, a woman in love with another man. He should not even be thinking it.

  And yet—

  “Ah, Lord Broxburn. Kindale,” Auchengrey said as he entered the great hall with his wife and daughter. The older man frowned when he saw Ian’s face. “I hope naught is amiss.”

  “Unfortunately, my father’s condition worsened overnight,” Ian said. “We are waiting for his physician.”

  “Where is Miss Stillwater?” Lady Kathryn asked. “She was not at breakfast.”