by Amy Jarecki
Akira took a seat opposite Geordie on the opposing bench. “Unfortunately, I lost the ten-shilling piece when the highwaymen attacked.”
“Attacked?” Ma drew her hand over her heart. “What on earth…?”
“Believe me, those men will never harm another soul.” Geordie’s eyes flashed to Akira, and he dug in his sporran. “That reminds me. I found this on the trail when we were looking for you.”
“What?” Ma asked.
Geordie placed the ten-shilling piece on the table.
Everyone gasped—even Akira. “Thank heavens.”
“Can I hold it?” asked Kynda, snatching the coin and raising it up as if it were solid gold.
Akira caught Geordie’s eye and mouthed “Thank you.”
“Stow it in the jar straightaway,” said Ma. “We cannot afford to lose that kind of coin. It will feed the lot of us for a year.”
Good Lord, a ten-shilling piece was insignificant change to Geordie, but it would serve to support these poor lassies for that long? His entire life seemed like a lavish string of unending excesses.
Annis placed a ewer and five wooden cups on the table. “Watered wine,” she said, batting her eyelashes.
“Scota, serve up the pottage.” Ma reached for a cup, poured, and pushed the drink in front of Geordie. “Akira, you’ve been silent long enough, lass. Now tell us what you’ve been up to with this handsome duke.”
She regarded him with a wary stare, but only for a moment. He let it pass. Now wasn’t the time to disclose his hand.
He sat mesmerized while Akira launched into their story. She had a good memory and recounted things even he had forgotten. He’d never realized how well she articulated her words, especially for a lass who’d grown up in poverty. The candle in the center of the table cast a glow, making her face flicker with gold like an angel.
Ma tapped him with her elbow. There he sat, a duke, being tapped in the ribs by a woman who’d asserted herself as matron of the cottage. He didn’t dare rebuke her. When he blinked, she arched her brows and gestured to the bowl of pottage sitting before him. He’d been so enthralled with the story, he hadn’t taken much notice when Scota placed it on the table.
He picked up the wooden spoon and shoveled in a bite. Good God, the stuff was flavorless paste without a sprinkle of salt—or any other seasoning for that matter. He stirred the mush, searching for a bit of meat. There was none to be found.
Everyone else ate heartily, as if it were manna.
Akira rattled off most of their story, leaving out the intimate bits, of course. But Geordie knit his brows when she ended without telling them of his offer to move the family to Huntly. For crying out loud, that was the most important part.
Ma rested her spoon beside her empty bowl. “When must you return home, Your Grace?”
“A few days, I suppose.” He looked to Akira for her response, but she didn’t utter a word.
“Can you come back on the morrow?” Ma patted his hand. “With my daughter home and ten shillings in the pot, we can boil a chicken.”
Geordie would do anything to return, but boiled chicken? For a celebration? “Perhaps you will permit me to take Miss Akira to the market on the morrow and allow me to supply the meal?”
Laini drew her hand to her chest. “Heavens, that isn’t necessary.”
“Aye, but I’d like to, very much. Think of it as a thank-you.”
“Can I go, too, Ma?” asked Annis. “I want to purchase some cloth.”
“No,” Akira said. “I need to talk to the duke alone.”
“Alone?” Ma asked, sounding alarmed.
“Heaven’s stars, Akira. You’ve been alone with him for ages,” Scota whined.
Ma held up her palm. “Akira may go to the market with His Grace as long as her sisters act as chaperones. I’ll not have anyone in Dunkeld speaking ill of my daughter.”
Geordie climbed off the bench and took Ma’s hand in his palm. “Then it shall be so, and all of the lassies will select silk and ribbon for new gowns.”
The shieling erupted with youthful squeals of delight and an abundance of clapping.
Ignoring Akira’s sisters, he bent over Laini’s hand and plied it with a kiss, praying he’d done something that evening to earn favor with the mother of the woman he loved.
“My heavens!” Laini beamed, a blush spreading across her time-kissed cheeks. Akira had indeed inherited her beauty from this woman. “’Tis settled. All my lassies will attend market day on the morrow.”
* * *
Of course, everyone had to see Geordie to his horse, and Akira was forced to bid him good-night with her sisters all flapping their mouths and drooling over the duke as if he were a prince—which he practically was. But to Akira, he was Geordie, the man who’d been seriously shot in the thigh, a man who had needed her help, a man who had endured a great deal of pain to see to her safety, and the only man with whom she had ever fallen in love.
Her heart twisted. Love. Why did she have to love him more than he loved her? How on earth could she say good-bye to him? Never see him again? She wanted to drop to her knees and weep.
Coming home was bittersweet. At least it was a good sign when, after he walked into the wee cottage, he didn’t turn tail and gallop his stallion for Huntly. Hopefully she’d given him enough warning, though she didn’t miss the shock written on his face when he stepped inside her shabby home. The clutter seemed worse than she remembered, but what did one expect from five females who shared a one-room shieling?
Thank heavens he’d been gracious to Ma. After he left, she spoke of nothing but how mannerly the duke was and that she’d never in her life met an earl, let alone a duke, and there he sat and ate pottage like he was a commoner.
Akira reckoned the fact he had managed to eat the bland gruel her mother served up owed to his good nature. She lay abed staring at the shadows until her sisters drifted off to sleep. She’d been waiting all evening to talk to Ma without her sisters’ interruptions, especially Annis’s. At sixteen, Annis could be the most meddlesome, most irritating person in all of Dunkeld.
When, finally, all the excited banter about Geordie’s visit passed and only deep breathing filled the air in the box bed, Akira slipped her feet to the cool dirt floor, wrapped a plaid around her shoulders, and tiptoed to Ma’s pallet. She held a twig to the fire, then lit the bedside candle with it. “Are you awake?”
“Mm.” Ma patted the floor beside her. “I was wondering if you’d want to talk.”
“Aye.” Akira sat and tucked her legs under like she’d done so many times in that wee shieling. It used to be home, but now she’d been away for so long, experienced so much of the world, it didn’t seem so homey anymore. It was cluttered and crowded, smoky and dirty.
Ma gripped Akira’s hand between her palms. “You’re in love with him, are you not?”
“How did you know?”
“The way you look at him with longing in your eyes. He looks at you the same as well.”
Akira hid her face in her palms and shook her head. “I do not ken what to think anymore.”
“Why?” Ma pursed her lips, with a furrow forming in her brow. “Do not tell me he’s married. Merciful fairies, I should have known. Most great men are married by his age.”
“He was married—the duchess divorced him and now she lives in a convent in Flanders.”
The furrow grew deeper. “Divorce? How preposterous.”
“Oh no, ’tis true. I even met the duchess, because she was at Huntly Castle when we arrived. She thought Alexander—I mean the duke’s son—would have to assume the dukedom as heir because no one kent what had happened to His Grace.”
“I see.” Ma patted Akira’s hand. “You’ve had quite an adventure. But I want to ken what is really troubling you, lass—you’ve been away with a duke of all people for sennights. And now you cannot sleep. My mind has run the gamut of horrors. Quickly, tell me now afore I have one of my spells.”
Looking down, Akira sighed deeply. �
��’Tis too humiliating to utter.”
“Has he violated you?” Ma hit her fist against her palm. “Why, I’ll have the—”
“No.” Akira pressed steepled fingers to her lips. “He did not violate me.”
Ma closed her mouth and squinted. “There’s something more. Something you’re not telling me.”
“It was innocent, Ma. He said he wanted to take care of me—of all of us—but I misunderstood.”
“Did you?” Ma looked in Akira’s eyes and gasped. “You did!”
Holy Moses, her mother could read her mind. She never could hide anything from her. She’d hoped to leave that part out.
Curses.
Now she had no choice but to bare her soul. “I thought when he said he wanted to take care of me he was proposing marriage.” Tears stung Akira’s eyes. “B-b-but he asked me to be his m-m-mistress.” She again hid her face in her hands. Oh, the shame of her admission. Would Ma throw her out into the gutter? Would she take the switch to her back?
“No.” The disappointment reflected in Ma’s eyes hurt more than twenty lashings.
“He said he could not marry me, because the bishop and Queen Anne will not allow it. He offered for us to stay in the dower house in Huntly. And I will not lie, Ma. ’Tis the grandest house I’ve ever seen aside from Geordie’s castle. ’Tis furnished in the French style with silk tapestries on the wall and more rooms than I could count. He said the lassies could learn to read and write and ride horses. We could live like royalty.”
“But you refused him?”
Akira nodded, wiping her eyes. “I did.”
Ma shook her fist, thudding it against her chest. “Blast that duke, taking advantage of my daughter. I kent I should have forced you to stay home that night when you rode off to save his miserable life.”
Grasping her mother’s hand, Akira held it over her heart. “But I ken he’s a good man. He’s shown me kindness in every way. I just…I just…”
“What is it, my sweeting?”
“I worry about ten years from now.” She shook her head as a lump stuck in her throat. “He’s admitted to having mistresses before. What if he grows weary of me?”
“Of you?” Ma’s frown sank into the deeply etched lines at the corners of her mouth. “Then he’s an even greater fool than I first thought.”
“What should I do?”
Ma rubbed her fingers over the bauble she wore around her neck—said it was a charm to help divine the future, though it was merely a shiny stone, passed down from her mother. “He’s worried about the bishop’s approval? He wants a Christian wedding?”
Akira looked puzzled. “Well, aye.”
“This is grave news. I wish your father were here to confront the man.” Ma reached under her pallet and pulled out a wee flask. “You do love him?”
“Aye, more than anything.”
“Well, have a wee sip of this and ask the Gypsy fairies to provide an answer to your quandary.”
“What is it?”
“A bit o’ whisky—and a wee drop of belladonna to put you in a deep sleep.” Ma winked. “’Tis potent and mustn’t be used often.”
Aware belladonna wasn’t only potent but potentially deadly, Akira hesitated. “Is it safe?”
“Aye, but I use it only when deeply troubled. And whisky is dear, my sweeting.”
“Very dear.” Good gracious, Akira had never seen whisky in the cottage except when Uncle Bruno called. She sipped and handed the flask back to Ma.
“I reckon I’ll need a sip as well if I’m to face a naughty duke come morning.” Ma took quite a healthy swig.
Akira’s stomach twisted like it was clamped in a smithy’s vise. “You’re not going to be unkind to him, are you?”
Ma shoved the cork back into the flask. “Of course not, but seeing as he’s plowed a field where he has no liberties, ’tis within my rights to understand his intentions.”
Akira’s head swam—Ma’s concoction was powerful medicine indeed, and how often did she imbibe such a remedy? Blinking, Akira forced herself to keep her wits about her for a bit longer. “Perhaps confronting the duke is not a good idea.”
Like a seasoned matron, Ma batted her hand through the air. “Never you mind. The fairies will work their magic. They always do.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Geordie arrived at the shieling midmorning—a respectable hour for an excursion with four maids. Before he could knock on the doorjamb, Akira pulled aside the plaid. Smoke billowed into his face. Coughing, he waved his hand to clear it.
“Thank heavens you’ve arrived. The lassies are about to jump out of their skin, and Ma’s ready to have one of her spells.” She took his hand and drew him to one side, turning her lips to his ear. “And Ma wants a word.”
He grinned—adoring Akira’s overwrought expression. “Does she?”
“Aye, alone.”
The lassies all filed out of the shieling with rapt grins on their faces. “Good morn, Your Grace,” they all said at once.
Laini hobbled to the doorway. “Go on now and collect the matron’s eggs whilst I have a word with the duke.”
Blanching, Akira gave him a wee shake of her head. “Not to worry.”
Geordie smiled and patted her shoulder. He’d never met a mother who could get the better of him. And being asked to have a word was a good sign.
With a resolute sigh, his rose grasped his shoulder and squeezed. “I wish you luck.”
“Come here now, Your Grace, and stop dawdling.”
He arched a single eyebrow at the woman. “I beg your pardon, madam, but I never dawdle.”
“Aye, well, I reckon that’s exactly what you’re doing out there ogling my daughter. Come. I need a word.”
He chuckled and bowed his head to his rose, then did Ma’s bidding and stepped inside the shieling. “How can I serve you this fine morn, madam?”
“Your highborn manners are wasted on me, Your Grace,” the older woman said in a rather brusque tone. She leaned on her crutch and frowned. “It seems my daughter has saved your hide more than once.”
An odd way to start a conversation, but no matter, I’ll not admonish her—yet. “Aye.” Geordie nodded. “I am indebted to Miss Akira.”
“Hmm.” Laini squinted like she mightn’t trust him. “She told me you asked her to be your mistress—to live in some fancy house up north. She said you invited me and the lassies as well.”
Hell, the woman spat the word mistress as if it were as vile as the word whore. Regardless, Geordie faced her, keeping his face devoid of expression, though he moved his fists to his hips. “I did.”
“Tell me, Duke of Gordon, do you love my daughter?”
That he could answer without hesitation. “More than anything.”
“And you are divorced from your duchess?”
“Aye.”
“I’m having difficulty understanding this.” Pursing her lips, Laini shook her head, making the gold hoops in her ears wobble. “You freely admit to being in love with my daughter, yet you’ve invited her to be your mistress and not your wife.”
Geordie dropped his gaze to his square-toed shoes. “’Tis complicated.”
“I see nothing complicated about it. You are asking my daughter to compromise her values. Is this because she is of Romany descent? Do you see her as inferior because of her heritage?”
His hands slid down to his sides. “Lord, no. I see Akira as a gift from God. She is an angel in my eyes.”
Laini hobbled a bit closer. “Then why do you refuse to marry her?”
“As I said, ’tis complicated. I must seek approval from the bishop in Aberdeen and then from Queen Anne. The first is rather a problem and the latter is nothing but futile. The queen will do anything to see to my unhappiness. I have been marked as a supporter of King James—and my marriage to a commoner…”
“Ah ha!” Laini shook her finger right under his nose. “You do see Akira as inferior.”
Bloody hell, if the woman had been a man, he wo
uld have snatched that defiant finger and bent it back until it snapped. Instead, he cleared his throat and met her gaze with a stern stare of his own. “That is not what I said.”
The woman jutted her face up toward his, puffing her chest. “But as I see it, you refuse to consider marriage because of her station in life. You haven’t even asked if there might be an alternative right in front of your noble nose—an alternative provided by Akira’s very own roots, her heritage, the customs she holds most dear.”
His jaw twitched. “I’m listening.”
Laini leaned both hands on her crutch. “Are you man enough to act, once I show you the way?”
Crossing his arms, he stood erect and looked down at the matron. What did she know about the politics of the gentry? And if she had a solution, why didn’t she just spit it out? ’Twas time to gain the upper hand. “If you know how I can pledge eternal love to Akira, tell me now, for I grow tired of your cryptic banter, even if you are the mother of the woman I love.”
Laini reached up and twisted his ear. “Do not be disrespectful of your elders, Your Grace. I do not care if you’re a duke or a pauper. I am queen of this cottage. Apologize now, or I’ll call the lassies inside right this minute and forbid Akira from ever seeing you again.”
“Ow.” Geordie bent with the tug of the woman’s fingers. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”
“Good.” Releasing his ear, she brushed her hand on her skirt. “Now listen here, ye young whelp, I will show you the way to eternal happiness, but first you must prove your merit to me afore I give my consent.”
“Ah.” Dumbfounded, Geordie regarded the crone, leaning on her crutch, eyeing him like she was the queen of the fairies. He swiped a hand across his mouth. He’d march through Hades to win Akira for good. He eyed the matron back. Ah hell, this scrap of a woman couldn’t pose him much of a challenge. “Tell me what you wish and it shall be done. A host of new gowns? A ruby brooch?”
“No, ye joob.” Laini gave him a firm whack on the shoulder. “You must prove your love for my daughter. You must show me the depths of your devotion—and you’ll nay do it with spreading your coin around like a squanderer.”
