It was hard to fathom. Ian took his father’s hand and thought about what it had been like all these years to live a lie. The duchess must have despised him for making her live the lie, too, and possibly for the situation – whatever it was – between her husband and Ian’s mother. Did any of it matter to Ian?
He thought about it and decided it did not. He was his own man, regardless of his father’s actions. He was no monk, but he was judicious in taking a bedmate and made a point of siring no bastards. When he wed, he would never force his wife to perpetuate a falsehood of this magnitude. He would never need to.
Gazing at his father’s inert form, Ian relaxed to some degree, knowing he had at least one less worry now. The estate was solvent. With the treasure Lucy had found, the Craigmuir dukedom was in good stead. Perhaps he should send MacAdams to Edinburgh with Lucy’s discovery to determine the best way to dispose of the treasure. Surely there were honest bankers or auctioneers who would be able to find buyers for the gold pieces and the jewels.
He could hardly believe his financial worries were over.
“My lord.”
Ian looked up at Crenshaw, who was staring intently at the duke. Craigmuir wasn’t breathing.
Ian held his own breath. This was it, then. The moment Ian had dreaded, but had suspected would come soon. He went numb for a moment, anticipating the worst, but suddenly Craigmuir took a deep breath and groaned. His breathing resumed a normal, though shallow, rhythm again.
As the hours passed, it became difficult to watch his sire’s decline. When he could stand it no longer, Ian left his father under Crenshaw’s watchful eyes, only to end up pacing the floor outside the duke’s bedchamber. He took only a few short breaks to sleep and eat the food Mrs. MacRae forced upon him.
He thought about Lucy, of course, and wondered how quickly the fortune hunters Malcolm had predicted would find her. His stomach turned at the possibility that Duncan would use his connection with Ian to get close to her. His cousin was a snake, and no woman should be subject to his chicanery.
At least the damned buzzard was not his brother. Bad enough they were related at all.
Bad enough that Duncan was likely in Edinburgh. Ian should have warned Lucy about him, and he would, as soon as he could leave Craigmuir Castle. He realized now what a mistake it had been to let Lucy leave without speaking to her, without…Without declaring his intentions.
God knew he wanted her. Perhaps if he courted her properly, he could win her from Joshua Parris.
He’d always believed he would marry for practical reasons, but Lucy Stillwater was anything but practical. She own his soul.
Ferguson returned from Selkirk with his father’s corrected will, and Ian told him of the treasure he’d discovered in the library.
Ferguson scratched his head. “You say Miss Stillwater found it?”
Ian thought about what to tell Ferguson and decided the truth would be best, as strange as it seemed. He explained the sequence of events.
“I’ve seen it,” Ferguson said.
“What? The ghost?”
The man nodded. “Aye. I think so.”
“I suppose I have, too,” Ian said with a sigh, “though never as clearly as Miss Stillwater.”
“It’s never more than a hint of light – sort of a bluish haze – hovering about the corners.”
Ian nodded. That’s exactly what he’d seen, too.
“Well, this is good news, in any event,” Ferguson said as they headed down to the library. “We have some breathing space now.”
“That we do.”
Ferguson whistled under his breath when Ian showed him the treasure. “MacAdams will know what to do with this,” he said. “We’ll need to turn it into ready cash.”
“Aye.”
“My lord, you should consider saving some of the jewelry,” Ferguson said. “They are family heirlooms.”
“Quite right, Ferguson.” The thought had occurred to Ian as soon as he’d seen it. And there were a few things Lucy certainly would like to have if he could change her mind about Parris.
He left Ferguson in the library. Returning to his father’s chamber, he found Dr. Henderson already there, examining the duke. When he was finished, he turned to Ian. “Let us go out and talk, my lord.”
They stood together outside the duke’s chamber, and Ian spoke first. “What do you think, Henderson?”
“Of course you know your father’s condition is grim,” Henderson said. “The longer he remains unconscious, the worse his chances of survival.”
Ian knew that was true. His father had swallowed only a few drops of water in two days. One did not need to be a medical man to know that was a dire situation. “He hasn’t much time, then.”
“No.”
“Do you think he is in any pain?”
Henderson shook his head. “It is doubtful.”
There was little else to say, so Henderson left the castle, and Ian returned to his father’s bedroom. He and Crenshaw took turns with Nial, keeping a vigil at the duke’s bedside, giving him sips of water when he was even slightly conscious.
Lucy had been gone for days while Ian’s father managed to cling to life, giving him hope that the duke might survive this. As much as he would have liked to follow her to Edinburgh, Ian knew his duty. His father had done more for him than any other man might do. He owed it to the duke to see him through this.
Ian liked to spend the nights in his father’s room, in the quiet hours when everyone else was abed. It was late one night when he went in to relieve the duke’s valet. “Go and get some rest, Crenshaw,” he said. “I will tap on your door if I need you.”
Crenshaw left and Ian took his seat next to the bed. Only one candle was burning, but it was enough. He wasn’t watching as much as listening – to every one of his father’s breaths.
Chapter Nineteen
* * *
Ian’s thoughts drifted to Lucy, as they always did when he wasn’t actively pondering something else. She’d been gone long enough for any number of suitors to have made themselves known to her.
Frustration gnawed at the edges of his being, but he knew he had to remain patient.
He tried to imagine any reason why Lucy’s beau in Berkshire would allow her to leave for months. Unless he had not declared his intentions. Ian had let her go, too. Perhaps the Berkshire man also had matters to deal with that were beyond his control.
The candle flickered and Ian wondered where the draft had come from. Then he saw it – a filmy blue light that took on the shape of a woman. Ian stood, and took a step back. He didn’t know quite what to do. Then she opened her arms in a welcoming gesture and bowed slightly.
Ian hesitated, then returned the courtesy, continuing to watch as the ghost – Béatrice, presumably – turned to his father. Her image seemed to ebb and flow with light and darkness, though Ian could see clearly the details of her face and form. She wore a thin coronet like the one he’d seen in the treasure box. Around her neck appeared to be a chain with a pendant hanging from it, and there was a jeweled ring on her finger.
She moved toward his father, hovering over him as she placed a filmy hand above his forehead. She looked up at Ian with a mournful expression, and as sadness seemed to overtake her, another hazy figure joined her, becoming more visible every second.
Ian’s breath caught. The second spirit was a mirror image of the duke. Ian studied the man’s face in all its weird transparency. It was obvious that he was the duke’s father – or rather, his many times great-grandfather. It could not be otherwise. He wore chain mail, but his head was uncovered, making his face quite visible. The likeness was uncanny, down to the deep crease in Sir Alex’s left cheek, exactly like the one in Craigmuir’s. In Ian’s.
Ian approached the bed, and the spirits’ figures began to glow. Béatrice gave a nod and their light dimmed, fading as though they’d never existed. Ian rubbed his eyes. Perhaps they hadn’t. Perhaps he’d imagined it.
But he knew he hadn’t. He’
d just seen his medieval ancestors. Lucy Stillwater had seen at least one of them, and so had Ferguson. Ian now knew without a doubt that he was not the only one descended from an illegitimate line. So was his father, and most of his grandfathers before him.
Illegitimate or not, the Craigmuir dukes had been excellent stewards of the land, and each generation – up until this one – had done well by its tenants. Ian could now do the same. It did not matter that he was a bastard, and he could stop fretting over it. No one but his father knew it, and no one else would learn of it. His parentage was irrelevant.
Ian did not know how long he sat pondering what he’d just seen before he heard a rasping voice. “Water.”
Ian quickly went to Crenshaw’s door and tapped. He returned to his father’s bedside and poured some water into a glass. Then he heard it again.
“Water,” his father said.
Crenshaw came into the bedroom and came to Ian’s assistance, raising the duke up to drink.
* * *
Lucy had been at Kildrum House in St. Andrew’s Square for twelve days and had received no messages from her family. Not a letter or even a short note. She knew her uncle had sent a missive to her father before leaving Craigmuir Castle to inform him of their move to Edinburgh, and it seemed strange that there’d been no response.
Her aunt was still in bed most of the time, although Sinclair did help her get up and walk with her about the mansion once or twice every day. And her personal physician said her condition was improving. Which was all good news. But she really wanted news from Berkshire. If only—
“Lucy, my dear, I fear we are boring you to death here,” Uncle Archie said. “We must get you out and about – meeting other young people such as yourself. Your aunt tells me I am being remiss in my duty.”
“Oh, no, Uncle,” Lucy replied. “I am content.” Though she was not. She had embroidered until her fingertips were raw and her vision blurred. Her muscles ached to do more than just sit in the drawing room knitting or sewing, or even reading.
She’d had no idea she would miss Craigmuir Castle so much. And its lord.
But she would not think about him. She only felt miserable and confused when she thought of that kiss in the library before she left the castle. While she’d been responding to him in the most primal way possible, he’d merely been thanking her for finding the hidden treasure.
Well, he ought to have thanked Béatrice. That was another thing she did not understand. Why had Béatrice appeared to her and not Broxburn, who was the obvious choice, being her own descendant and heir to the dukedom?
“We shall attend Lady Elliott’s soiree tonight,” Archie said. “You and I.”
“Oh, but—”
“Do not worry, my dear. ’Tis no trouble at all. I look forward to it and I am sure you will enjoy meeting some young people, too. After all, your aunt and I promised your father we would introduce you to some promising young bachelors.”
Lucy sighed. Of course she would like to get out, but she would have preferred to take a long, brisk walk on the paths outside Craigmuir Castle. Or, no – she meant she would like to walk the paths near her home in Berkshire. She knew every field, every track and every turnstile near her home, as well as all the neighbors. Of course that was where she would prefer to walk.
Though she had to admit she’d felt very much at home walking the paths and visiting the ancient places at Craigmuir. She’d never seen a grotto or a cottage like the one near the castle. Lucy just knew it was filled with treasures she hadn’t even seen. And the gatehouse. If she hadn’t been so distracted…
A small shiver slid up her spine when she thought of the distractions Lord Broxburn had caused. Every kiss, every caress had been more powerful than the last, and Lucy had spent the last twelve days thinking about each one.
She had to stop. When her time here was up, she would return to Berkshire and her family, and forget about Lord Broxburn and his haunted castle. There were no young men in Edinburgh that would interest her, no matter how “promising” they were.
She dressed for the evening, and had to admit it felt wonderful to be bathed and pampered by Sinclair, who helped her dress in her sister Caroline’s beautiful sapphire gown with cream lace trim on the bodice and collar. Sinclair said the color set off her eyes perfectly. Lucy hoped so. She might not enjoy having to spend these months away from home, but she wanted her uncle to be proud of her.
She liked the idea of telling Joshua all about her travels when she returned to Berkshire. She was going to make herself the most interesting young lady he’d ever met. So interesting he would not be able to think of anyone but her. Not Miss Jane Parker, and not Eleanor. No one else.
They went to Lady Elliott’s house, a beautiful mansion in the Royal Crescent. Lucy had been worried that Edinburgh would be as overwhelming as London had been, but she found it was not so. The city was smaller, of course, and the people seemed much friendlier than those she’d met during the two London Seasons she’d managed to suffer through.
Lord and Lady Elliott’s daughter, Lady Claire, welcomed her warmly to their home and introduced her to several other young ladies who’d come to the soiree with their parents. She also met quite a few young men – bachelors, she assumed. Some were handsome, some were funny. A few were both handsome and amusing.
None of them reminded her of Broxburn. None had the rough edge of danger about him nor did they make her want to run her fingers through…Dear heavens, what was she thinking? She had known for most of her life that Joshua was the only one for her. Not some well-polished Scotsman. And certainly not a rugged laird from East Lothian.
“I think we should plan an outing for this week,” Claire said to the small group Lucy had joined. “We could go up to the castle and picnic there.”
“Oh, yes,” Lady Alice Weatherby said merrily. “The weather has been so fine. You have not been up there yet, have you, Miss Stillwater?”
“Not yet.” Lucy shook her head. “Although my uncle promised to take me.”
“Lord Kildrum shall escort us, then,” Lady Flora said with a laugh. “He is always such a good sport.”
Of course he was. He’d been married and devoted to Arden for more than forty years. Lucy was sure it could not have been easy, but Archie had kept his good humor in spite of his wife.
“I hope you will include us in your outing,” one of the young men said, including his companion in his request.
“I will ask my uncle and we will set a day for it,” Lucy said, her spirits feeling lighter than any time since leaving home. Though the young ladies were no substitutes for her sisters, Lucy felt they could become friends, and the months between now and Christmas did not seem quite so daunting.
Claire moved Lucy away from the others. “You were at Craigmuir Castle for a few days, were you not?”
“Yes, right after our accident.”
“Well, Lady Kathryn Hay called yesterday…She said Broxburn was there. At the castle.”
Lucy nodded.
“I don’t believe Kathryn is…She did not seem to favor Broxburn,” Claire said. “Did she?”
“No, I suppose not,” Lucy said. She recalled Kathryn’s disinterest in the marquess and the way she’d used Lucy to distance herself from him. Either she didn’t like him, or she was not yet ready to marry. Perhaps she was enamored of another.
“Oh, how I wish I could have been the one stranded at Craigmuir with Lord Broxburn. Oh, I nearly swooned when I met him last spring.”
Lucy’s face heated uncomfortably. No doubt Broxburn had been attracted to her, too. For Lady Claire was quite pretty if one liked spritely blondes with small turned-up noses and thick, burnished lashes over sparkling green eyes.
“He was here in Edinburgh, then?” Lucy finally said when she realized a response was expected.
“Oh, yes,” Claire responded. “He has a house in Queen Street, though I believe he has not spent much time there of late.”
She seemed rather disappointed in Broxb
urn’s absence, which caused Lucy to bristle, even though she knew it was ridiculous. There was no good reason to feel rankled by Claire’s interest in her countryman.
Just as she resolved to think no more of the marquess, she caught sight of a tall, dark-haired man talking with her uncle. His back was toward her, but her breath caught in her throat and her pulse began to race as she recognized him.
In a flash of thought, she imagined his hands pulling her close and his mouth coming down on hers. Her body flared with arousal as the memory of his scent surrounded her, his hands on her shoulders, her breasts…He turned around so she could see his face, and—
It was Duncan Munro, Broxburn’s cousin.
“Kathryn said the duke is quite ill,” Claire said. “Did you see him? The duke?”
“I beg your pardon? I’m sorry, I was distracted…” To say the least.
“Broxburn’s father. Kathryn said he was quite ill.”
“Oh, yes,” Lucy managed to reply, turning away from Munro and her uncle. “I only saw him once.” She should not have said that. Now there would be questions.
Luckily, Lady Alice Weatherby joined them at that moment, interrupting Lucy’s conversation with Claire. “I’m trying to escape Lord Erskine. Talk to me while we walk toward Lady Carsie. She will rescue me.”
Lucy had a vague recollection of Erskine from Glencory. He had not impressed her, and if she remembered correctly, her aunt had told her to steer clear of him as he was a brazen fortune-hunter. She wanted to stay away from Duncan Munro, too. With his abrupt departure from Craigmuir Castle, she had a feeling something was not right.
A few moments later, Lucy’s uncle came to take her home. “I do believe it is time to go,” Archie said. “Are you ready, Lucy?”
“Yes, Uncle,” Lucy replied. “But I promised the other ladies we would have a picnic up at the castle one day this week. Will you take us?”
“Of course,” he said in his good-natured way. They settled on the day after tomorrow, and then Archie took her outside and handed her up the steps to his carriage.
Lucy and Her Scottish Laird Page 17
