An Allusive Love (A MacNaughton Castle Romance Book 2)

by Aubrey Wynne

  “Fine,” groused Calum. “I hope shortbread is on the menu for Monday.”

  Both Peigi and Glynnis were known for their love of the sweet treat.

  “No reason to be a crabbit.” Peigi gave him a tight smile at the mention of shortbread. She poked at the golden-baked stone on her plate. “Think of poor Ian, on his way back to Glasgow without Lissie.”

  Calum snorted. “What of poor Lachlan? He arrives next week and expects Enid’s meals after a month away.”

  “Let’s give the rest of these, um, these…” Glynnis’s brows drew together.

  “Petrified dumplings?” offered Brodie.

  Glynnis wagged a hand in the air. “Just give them to the hounds.”

  Brownie and Black Angus each caught a biscuit mid-air. They settled down, the hard treat between paws, and gnawed at it like a bone.

  “Weel, someone finds it tasty,” Brodie observed.

  “Aye, it’s no’ a waste, then.” Calum pointed at his grandson, his tone imperious. “Ye will be here for every meal. No excuses, no emergencies. Or I’ll make ye eat what’s left when ye come home. Cold.”

  Brodie grinned. “Ye’re right. I canna make my family suffer alone when it’s my fault.”

  “I, for one, am thankful Brodie came up with the idea. Did ye see the earnest look in her eye? She was worried,” confessed Glynnis. “My daughter rarely worries about anything.”

  “Except losing,” argued Brodie. His mother hadn’t seen the smirk on the pixie’s face when she skipped out of the room. He might have underestimated his opponent.

  *

  Kirstine heard Brownie’s howl before she saw Brigid. Charlie began a low whine, his tail thumping furiously. “We have visitors, eh?” She opened the door to let him run ahead.

  The deerhounds wrestled in the yard as Brigid waved from the lane. Kirstine watched her hike up the light wool skirt and jog the rest of the way.

  “I hope I’m no’ interrupting anything.” She followed Kirstine into the house. “I’ve run out of the salve ye gave me for Twiddle. The goat with a gash on his back leg.”

  “Let me see if I have some ready or if I need to make more. Would ye like some tea?”

  Brigid nodded.

  She put the kettle on and inspected the pantry at the back of the kitchen. Pulling down a brown crock, she took off the lid. “Ye can have what’s left, and I’ll send more with Brodie when I finish the next batch.”

  “If he’s still talking to me.”

  “Because he’s angry with ye or because ye’ve poisoned him?” Kirstine had listened to an entire hour of Brodie’s moaning. She was certain he’d be the next martyr of Scotland.

  “He’s told ye of our bargain, then?”

  “Aye. If ye last a week without Enid skelping ye or killing off yer family, Brodie will buy the mare ye’ve been hankering for. Sounds like he didna think that one through.” Kirstine’s eyes narrowed as a revelation came to her. “Brigid MacNaughton can do whatever she sets her mind to, but she can’t master a stove after almost a week?”

  “Have ye seen Lachlan?” Brigid asked, evading the question. “He’s different, distracted.”

  “He may have a lot on his mind.”

  “I believe it’s female.” She grinned. “He daydreams, then jerks into consciousness, and turns red as a rooster’s comb. As if he was embarrassed at his own thoughts.”

  “I ken how he feels.” Kirstine blushed. “Brodie is in my head night and day.”

  “Are ye ready to be betrothed?” Brigid’s tone implied she had a secret.

  “When yer brother’s ready. I’ve had a braw summer so far.” The smile on her friend’s face was almost triumphant. “Is there something ye want to tell me?”

  Brigid shook her head, scarlet tresses flashing. “I’m just in the mood for a cèilidh, that’s all. And I ken sometimes my brother needs a wee push.”

  Kirstine sucked in a breath, a rare anger flaring in her chest. “If he needs a push, then I dinna want the proposal. Do ye understand?”

  “I didna mean anything by it.” Brigid sighed. “Aye, I promise no’ to interfere anymore.”

  “Anymo—”

  “Did Brodie tell ye about the venison collops?”

  Kirstine shook her head. “I’ve no’ seen him today.”

  It seemed there had been some confusion between red wine meant for the gravy and red vinegar Enid had set aside for cleaning. By the time Brigid had discovered the mix-up, the platter of collops had been served. Brigid arrived in the dining room as Calum dipped a medallion of venison into the dark gravy and waved it at her. She tried to warn him, but it had been too late.

  The fork hadn’t left her grandfather’s mouth before his eyes almost popped out. Choking and spluttering ensued, followed by cries of concern from her grandmother and mother. When Calum held up his palms to hold off the females and indicate he was fine, Brodie had taken a bite. The chaos began again.

  “So a bit of vinegar caused such an uproar?”

  “Weel, I also added double of what was needed.”

  “Tell me that was an accident.”

  Brigid nodded and placed her hand on her heart. “I swear I misread the recipe. I would never have ruined Grandda’s favorite meal.”

  “At least the hounds are getting some fine scraps.”

  “Och, no’ even the beasties would touch it. A terrible waste of good meat,” she admitted cheerfully. “Now, I’m off to doctor a goat.”

  Kirstine considered Brigid’s demeanor as she watched the duo disappear over a hill. Her hand absently scratched behind Charlie’s ears. “What’s her secret, eh?”

  Had Brodie confided in his sister? Was he gathering his courage? Her heart pounded at the image of Brodie on one knee, asking her to be his forever. She clutched her stomach to stop the wings suddenly in flight. Her mother’s words came back to her.

  If he hasna made his intentions clear by the end of the summer, ye need to put him behind ye.

  But he would. Brigid wanted to reassure her, hint that all would end well. She threw her hands in the air and spun around, yelling to the charred beams overhead.

  “For the love of saints and Brodie MacNaughton!”

  Her dream was coming true.

  Chapter Eleven

  Teasing, Taunts, and Troths

  Late July 1819

  Brodie gave himself a mental pat on the back and rolled to his side, watching the dawn break through his open chamber window. He’d made good progress in their courtship. When he paid attention, he realized how easily he could take over a conversation. He didn’t mean to, but something Kirstine said would remind him of an event or opinion, and he’d share it. Lately, he’d ask her a question and bite the inside of his tongue to remind himself to let her speak. His reward had been a treasure of information.

  Kirsty’s favorite color was blue, like his eyes. She loved any kind of berry, but especially the early strawberries of June. When she wore her everyday clothes, her manner was matter-of-fact. The Kirsty he’d always known. When she dressed in her London fashions, her attitude was saucier. Flirtatious. In her role as healer, he’d seen her tend to an old woman’s fever and set the broken arm of a rambunctious village lad. Her manner had been gentle yet firm, efficiency mixed with compassion. He marveled at the many facets of this childhood friend who had grown into such an accomplished woman.

  Yet her kisses were always the same, regardless of her attire or mood or task at hand.

  Kirsty’s plump lips smiled at him from behind his lids. Last night had been particularly heated. Under the moon, his plaid spread over the soft meadow grass, he’d come close to losing control. She’d been so soft, so willing, so his.

  He rolled back flat, again, and chuckled at the tented bedsheet. If just the image of her pliant body affected him this way, he would lose his mind when they finally bedded.

  Each time they were together, he discovered some new tidbit or a nuance in her tone he hadn’t heard before. He had come to love her in an entirel
y different way, feelings that were strange and wonderful at the same time. The vague yearning, for what he’d never been quite sure, had vanished. Passion and a joyful anticipation now filled that empty corner of his heart. It was a heady feeling, this being in love. It blended well with his natural exuberance.

  After three months, he had no desire to look at another woman. The sight of Kirsty walking toward him across a meadow, or gazing up at him with those chocolate orbs, still made his pulse race and his member stiffen with desire. Instead of dampening, his need grew. Every day. The possibility of losing her sent him into a panic. Another man touching her made him berserk.

  Thump! Thump!

  “Are ye awake? The day is wasting, ye bumblehead. I have a pony waiting for me in Dunderave.”

  “Aye, ye blethering female. I’ll be down shortly.”

  *

  Brigid chattered the entire ride to Dunderave, riding behind Lachlan so she could ride her new purchase home. Brodie took mental note of where herds of sheep and cattle grazed. They stopped at a stream to let the horses drink and take a brief respite. It was a favorite watering hole for the family when they visited the village. A picturesque dell surrounded by lush pasture and a backdrop of snow-capped gray and green mountains dotted with pine.

  It was a braw day, the sun glinting silver on the rushing water. They dismounted and Brigid promptly peeled off her shoes and stockings. Lachlan laughed as she wiggled her toes in the creek’s grassy edge. Brodie offered salted beef to his siblings, but Lachlan was still full from breakfast and his sister was too excited to eat. Instead, she wandered onto the moss-covered stones that dotted the brook and dipped her toes in the cool water.

  “Careful,” called Lachlan. “I’ll no’ have a sopping rider behind me. If ye fall, ye’ll ride with yer crabbit brother.”

  “I’m in a fine temper,” argued Brodie.

  “Not after ye pay for that pony.”

  Brigid snorted, slipped, and caught her balance with both arms spread wide. Her striped pale-yellow skirt dragged across the stone, the hem wet and stained green. She reached behind her and wrapped her copper curls in a knot, fanning her neck.

  “It’s warmer than I thought,” she said. “I’ll go barefoot until we get closer to the village.”

  “Heathen,” teased Lachlan.

  “Harlot,” added Brodie.

  They reached the village by early afternoon. Dry stone buildings and thatched cottages lined the main street. At one end was a blacksmith and small dry goods and specialty store, at the other was the kirk where Reverend Robertson held Sunday services.

  They made their way to the store, stopping at certain points to say hello, or goodbye in Lachlan’s case. The owner of the dry goods shop came out to meet them and grinned at Brigid as she slid off the horse without assistance.

  “She’s all ready for ye. My boy has her coat sparkling like the midnight sky with a full moon.” He held out his hand, his shirt sleeve rolled up over a powerful forearm, and shook Lachlan’s and then Brodie’s. With two fingers to his mouth, he gave a piercing whistle. A high-pitched neigh answered from the back of the building.

  “Oooh,” moaned Brigid, balancing her weight on one then the other foot.

  “Contain yerself, sweet sister,” Brodie said with a chuckle, “here she comes.”

  He had to admit the horse was a beauty. Glossy black except for a twist of white on the forehead, its mane and tail fluttered in the light breeze as it pranced on the end of the rope. Like most Highland ponies, the mare was short but sturdy with muscled hindquarters, a sleek neck, and kind, intelligent eyes.

  Brigid approached slowly, murmuring softly in Gaelic, and the animal calmed. She took the rope and continued her soothing words, rubbing its soft nose. “Just so ye ken, I’d have spent a month in the kitchen with Enid for this beastie.”

  “So she says after the fact,” said Lachlan. The humor faded from his face as something caught his attention over Brodie’s shoulder.

  Brodie turned to see who was behind him. Ross Craigg with his daughter, Nessie. When the girl caught their look, Craigg reached up and pulled the small hairs at the back of her neck. She cringed and eased her head back to avoid the pain.

  A knot formed in Brodie’s stomach. His fist clenched and unclenched as he fought for control. With a quick glance at his brother, he saw Lachlan fighting for the same control.

  “If ye even glance their way, lass, ye’ll pay for it,” Craigg warned his daughter, loud enough for the MacNaughtons to hear. “Ye’ll associate with fold when I tell ye, or I’ll lock ye up until ye’re too old to care.”

  “He’s lucky I’ll be in Glasgow the rest of the summer,” muttered Lachlan, a vein popping out in his neck.

  “That’s right, ye traitorous cur,” called Craigg. “Go to the Highlands and kiss those Lowlander and English arses.”

  Brodie seized his brother’s arm as Lachlan lunged toward the man. “It’s no’ worth it. He’s baiting ye like a bear.”

  Lachlan growled. “But it would feel so good to have his jaw crunch under my fist.”

  “The lass will be the one to pay the price. Dinna give him a reason to take his anger out on Nessie.” Brodie knew Ross Craig didn’t have the courage to plant a facer on another man, who would return the favor in kind. He’d soothe his ego by reminding his women how much strength his punch had.

  “That’s why ye need to be the next chief. Ye think ahead of the consequences before ye act.” Lachlan smacked his fist against his other palm. “I, on the other hand, act and then kick my own backside.”

  “Shall we go? I want to see how she gallops.” Brigid’s disgusted gaze burned a hole in Craigg’s retreating back. “The mon will get what he deserves some day.”

  “I hope I’m around to watch,” Lachlan griped.

  “Let’s change the subject for the ride home. Ye still need to tell us about the accountant,” hinted Brodie.

  “I said there’s nothing to discuss.” Lachlan turned his scowl on Brodie.

  “When a mon insists there’s nothing to talk about, it usually means there’s plenty he’s not saying.”

  *

  Ross Craig coiled a lock of dark hair around his finger and twisted his thumb and knuckle. He chuckled when Nessie’s thin neck jerked backward. “I saw ye gawking at them, the lust in yer eyes.”

  She shook her head frantically. “I only glanced over when they spoke to us.”

  “First ye embarrass me on Beltane, disappearing into the woods like a common trollop. Then ye run off with that piece of cow dung, and MacDunn has to bring ye back. I expect the eejit wanted me to thank him for the return of my ungrateful daughter.” He grunted, a mirthless cackle.

  Ross bristled at the memory of MacDunn pounding at his door just before dawn. He’d never had a clue the little wench had planned to elope. It had taken both men to drag the hysterical girl inside, kicking and screaming. The disgust in MacDunn’s eyes had cheered Ross.

  “Ye see what I put up with? The ungrateful whore.” But when he turned to his neighbor, hand outstretched in a rare show of thanks, he realized the antipathy was not aimed at his daughter.

  “Ye’ll no’ blame me for this, Craigg,” MacDunn had said and turned his back on the goodwill gesture. “If I’d no’ given my word to Calum, she’d be my daughter by tomorrow.” Giving Nessie a pathetic look of apology, he had stormed from the cottage.

  There would be little chance of a repeat adventure. Nessie had been put on a short lead after that. If she was to be a bedwarmer, it would be a man of his own choosing. One who could improve his standing, make him financially solvent.

  “I’d find ye no matter how far ye ran,” Craigg reminded the girl now as they came to the edge of town. “Did ye truly think ye’d make it to Gretna Green?”

  Nessie shook her head and climbed onto the wagon, eyes focused on the road in front of her. Her face had gone pale. He snapped the reins and the old gelding pitched forward, head down and neck bowed as it slowly pulled the heavy wago
n forward. Then he added the whip for good measure. It eased the anger burning in his chest.

  “I can walk, Da. We have a heavy load today.” She turned to jump down, but he caught a handful of hair and yanked her back.

  “Do ye need another reminder of who is in charge?”

  She shook her head again, frightened eyes darting at his face and quickly away. Her arms wrapped around her belly, then quickly fell back to her side, and gripped the bench.

  Craigg studied her. “Ye’re no’ hiding anything from me, are ye, daughter?” He softened his tone, running his knuckles gently over her cheek. “I dinna like surprises.”

  Nessie kept her eyes on the pony. “No, Da, no surprises.”

  “If ye ever try to leave again without my permission, I’ll kill ye. Ye’re my property, and I’ll do with ye what I want. And if ye do have one in the basket, it’ll no’ survive long.” The tightness eased as he badgered the chit. “No bairn of those sniveling MacDunns will live under my roof.”

  A tear fell down Nessie’s cheek. He reached over, caught it with his thumb, and put it to his tongue. “Revenge is mighty tasty,” he whispered in her ear. “Time will tell if ye’re lying to me, lass. Time will tell.”

  *

  Brodie had done his best on the ride home, but Lachlan remained tightlipped about the lovely English accountant in Glasgow. A sign it was serious. Their mother hadn’t fared any better and would barrage Ian with questions when he arrived.

  “How long will the swap be this time?” asked Glynnis. The family had gathered in the sitting room for an intimate farewell. Lachlan would leave in the morning for Glasgow, and Ian would return to the Highlands until a trusted manager was found for the textile mill. “Will Ian stay two months as he did before?”

  Lissie’s head jerked up at the question. She stood at the hearth and studied the framed miniature portraits of family lining the mantel. Her finger traced Ian’s painted likeness. Brodie’s heart ached for her, being separated from her husband for such long periods of time.

  Lachlan shrugged. “Ian mentioned a trip to Manchester before coming home. He wants to purchase more power looms. Should put him here after the middle of August, I’d say.”