by Darci Balogh
Dougie shook his head with dismay. "Laird Greg was a wild one, and his wild ways overcame him too young." The old man hung his head and made tsk-tsking sounds.
Shaun's blue eyes held hers for an instant and Tawnyetta saw a flash of anger shoot through them. She didn't understand why he would have such a profound reaction to the tales told by this harmless little old man. Before she finished her thought, Shaun pushed on the iron gate and disappeared. The squeak it made echoed through the garden.
Tawnyetta turned her attention back to Dougie. "That's terrible. I had no idea."
"Aye, it's an awful sad story. But Laird Michael came back to us, thank the heavens. He is a hard worker, smart as a whip, and the best Laird for Claymore Castle."
Dougie continued to regale Tawnyetta with stories of Laird MacBrody. He told her about the late Laird Greg's heavy drinking and wild ways. How he was a fighter, a strong man, and though he had a good heart overall, the elderly man explained that Laird Greg had been impulsive and sometimes the selfish older brother to the young master Michael. Greg and Michael were the only children of the previous Laird and Lady, the aristocratic couple that had hired Dougie to be the head caretaker. Though he had loved both young men since they were born, Laird Michael had always been the kind one. Dougie bragged on Laird Michael's wonderful sense of humor and generous nature.
"It was a heart breaker to be sure when young Michael went off to University to make his own life. There was nothing for him here, just being the younger brother of Laird Greg," Dougie explained.
They were walking arm-in-arm. Dougie had her by the elbow and she had her arm linked in his. Partly because he was being a gentleman, but also she felt better holding on to him as she was worried he might totter over. The mist was burning off and it would be a sunny morning at least. Strolling with Dougie through the beautiful gardens listening to his Scottish brogue as he told her many stories of the family and the young brothers that grew into men here at the castle, Tawnyetta couldn't help but feel like she had gone back in time.
Even though she was enjoying herself, a small thought needled her as they strolled along. Why had Shaun reacted to Dougie's stories with such guarded hostility? Every time she got caught up in flirting with him it seemed that the assistant gardener who had captured her eye slipped into dark moodiness. What did it say about him that his moods shifted so quickly from light to dark? And more than that, what did it say about her that she found him so intriguing?
Chapter Ten
Claymore Castle had no spa.
Ladies preparing for the ball with manicures and pedicures, facials and exfoliation, waxing and mud treatments, were forced to go into Eldin for a spa day.
Two vivacious young redheads, sisters, ran the only spa in town. Sandy and Rochelle were darling, bubbly, round-eyed young women who prided themselves on pampering their guests. Today those guests included not only Tawnyetta and Bridget, but all three Prescott ladies. They bustled all of the women into various areas of the spa so they each received every treatment available. Offering all of the normal expected services, plus tea, red or white wine, fresh-baked shortbread cookies, and the main staple of any good spa, gossip.
Tawnyetta and Bridget sat high up on pedicure chairs, their feet and calves coated with a sea salt cream and wrapped in plastic so the mixture would soak into their skin. Sandy worked on doing their nails while Rochelle took care of the Prescott ladies on the other side of the room. Bea, her sister-in-law, Tabitha, and Mrs. Prescott were getting facials.
"You will have a lovely time at the ball," Sandy informed them. "Claymore Castle throws nothing but the best kind of parties."
"Does it?" Bridget asked, giving Tawnyetta an exuberant smile.
"And Laird Michael, he's such a charmer, and so handsome," Rochelle interjected from across the room where she was placing slices of cucumbers over the Prescott women's closed eyes.
"Is he?" Bea asked from under her cucumbers. "We haven't had the chance to meet him yet."
"Yes," Tabitha said with her thin, whiny voice. "I'm beginning to wonder if that really is polite? For the Lord of the castle to ignore his guests?"
"Well, my best friend, Anne, is one of the maids up there," Sandy said.
"We know Anne," Tawnyetta injected.
"She says that Laird Michael inherited a terrible mess when his brother died. She says he's working all the time on practically everything at the castle just to get it back to normal. To where it was when their father was alive," Sandy told them with a knowing nod.
"His brother died?" Bridget asked with some surprise.
Sandy nodded solemnly. "Yes, a terrible accident. He was driving after having a wee bit too much to drink and drove his car off of a high road. Smashed it to bits. When they found him he was already dead. It was an awful shock to everyone."
Rochelle made a clucking sound with her tongue. "It wasn't a shock to everyone," she stressed the word everyone. "We all knew Laird Greg lived dangerously. The whole town knew. It wasn't a surprise to some that his wild ways ended badly."
"That's true," Sandy agreed.
Mrs. Prescott spoke up from under her face mask, "It's a shame when someone is handed everything in life and they fritter it away."
Tawnyetta didn't want the gossip fest to go too sour. Mrs. Prescott was the kind of person who could say something judgmental and suck all the fun out of the room.
"But Laird Michael is different, isn't he?" she asked Sandy.
Sandy's round eyes grew rounder, "Aye, yes. And he's a handsome one as well. Laird Greg was handsome in his own way, but Laird Michael." She sighed, not able to finish her thought completely she was so overcome at the thought of Laird Michael.
Bridget's eyes sparkled.
Rochelle piped up, "I danced with him once."
"Laird Michael?" Bridget asked.
Rochelle nodded with enthusiasm, "Yes." She sighed. "He is dreamy. It was at the Daffodil Festival when he was home visiting, the year before his brother died."
"Will you all be coming to the ball as well?" Tawnyetta asked, curious as to how the social structure in this little town worked.
"Not this one," Sandy explained. "This is a private affair. The castle does have public affairs, dances and festivals and the like, that everyone attends."
Tawnyetta and Bridget shared a look. The classist setup offended their American sensibilities.
Sandy read their expressions and shook her head at them, "Oh, don't you worry. It's not an offense. After all, if everyone was invited to the private ball, who would serve the drinks and the food? It's a good job for those that have it."
"I suppose that's true," Bridget said.
Tabitha snorted. Tawnyetta glanced at the Prescotts and couldn't read their expressions under all of the face mask goop. Bea wasn't a snob, but Tawnyetta could sense snobbery oozing off of the other two.
Sandy continued chatting, unfazed by any attitude coming from Tabitha and Mrs. Prescott. "Anne and Shaun, that's her boyfriend who works in the gardens, have been able to save up plenty of money from working the parties at the castle. Enough that they're planning a huge party for their own wedding."
Tawnyetta was wrapped up with being annoyed at Tabitha and her mother. So much so that what Sandy had just said didn't register right away. Then Bea asked Rochelle if her face mask was supposed to sting. While Rochelle came to Bea's rescue there was a few moments lag in the conversation. Enough time for Sandy's comment to sink in.
Humiliation and anger rushed through Tawnyetta. Heat pumped into her stomach and chest. Had she heard correctly?
Bridget and Sandy chatted about the hot pink nail polish Bridget had picked out. Tawnyetta watched their mouths moving, but was having a hard time focusing on the words.
"I'm sorry," she interrupted. Bridget and Sandy stopped talking and looked at her. "Did you say Anne was dating Shaun? The Gardener?"
Sandy nodded. "Yes, though I think he's more than just the gardener. He has other duties as well, running errands and such.
" Sandy dipped the tiny brush into the hot pink bottle of polish and pulled it out. A big fat droplet held on the end and she expertly smoothed the color onto Bridget's waiting nail. "Anne thinks that he has a fine future there, because the head caretaker is very, very old. There's no reason Shaun can't take his place when he retires."
The heavy chemical smell of fresh nail polish filled the air. Tawnyetta felt sick. Had it gotten warmer in here? She wanted to take off the light sweater she'd worn to stave off the morning rain, but her fingernails were still wet. She wanted to go outside and stand in the drizzle to cool off, but her feet were still wrapped in plastic. She was in a mani-pedi trap.
"Are you all right?" Bridget asked.
Tawnyetta realized that both Bridget and Sandy were looking at her peculiarly. She didn't know how long they'd been watching as she overreacted to the town gossip.
"I'm fine," she answered.
Sandy frowned. "Let me get you a drink. You look a wee peaked." She pronounced 'peaked' in two distinct syllables.
"I'm feeling a little warm," Tawnyetta said. "I'd like to go outside for a minute and get some fresh air." She looked down at her half done pedicure.
"Of course," Sandy responded right away. She twisted the cap firmly back on the hot pink nail polish and jumped up, quickly unwrapping the plastic from Tawnyetta's feet and legs. With a firm but gentle touch, Sandy rubbed the remnants of the thick body cream into Tawnyetta's calves, ankles, and toes.
"You look pale," Bridget told her, a small knot forming between her eyebrows as she watched Tawnyetta with concern.
"Too much wine, maybe." Tawnyetta shrugged it off.
Sandy grabbed Tawnyetta's sandals and slipped them on her feet. "There you go!"
"Thank you," Tawnyetta said as she stepped down off of the chair and made her way to the front door.
"Don't touch anything, your nails are still wet," Sandy warned.
Tawnyetta nodded in understanding. Keeping her fingers splayed out she used both palms to push down on the door handle and her hip to apply pressure so it would swing open far enough she could slip through.
Outside, a cool, refreshing spray hit her face. Grey clouds had settled over the area and a continual fine rain fell. More than drizzle, less than drops.
She kept her back to the spa window, not wanting everyone to watch her face as she processed what she had found out about Shaun. On the narrow street, a few pedestrians made their way along the brick sidewalks. Tawnyetta took a deep breath of the cool, damp air and let it out slowly, closing her eyes as a mild breeze sent a fresh spritz of misty rain across her skin.
Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. Every time she thought about Sandy's comment, about the fact that Shaun was not only dating someone else but engaged to them, her stone heart sank a little lower. Another breath through her nose. The cool air filtered into her lungs and fought back the hot anger in her chest.
Why did she care so much? How could it possibly matter to her that the gardener, the guy that went around taking apart fountains and hammering stone walls, had a fiancé?
Bridget's laughter muffled through the window. Glancing back through the window to look at her best friend having an animated conversation with Sandy, Tawnyetta knew the answer. After all of the humiliation and heartbreak Bridget had so recently experienced with her cheating fiancé, Tawnyetta was shocked and angry that they had encountered yet another cheating fiancé while on their Not a Honeymoon.
"Unbelievable," she mumbled to herself.
She shook her head as if she could discard the entire situation from her mind and fling it far away. What a jerk. What a colossal jerk. He had openly flirted with her, giving her that smoldering, sexy look. And the whole time his sweet, innocent fiancé was upstairs serving her and Bridget tea and making their bed. The whole situation was infuriating.
"I'm not taking part in that," she said out loud.
A young couple walking past the spa gave her a questioning look. Tawnyetta closed her mouth and offered them a tight smile. This wasn't the place to cause a scene and she didn't want to get Bridget all upset again, so Tawnyetta decided she would keep her mouth shut.
But the next time Shaun even looked in her direction she vowed to give him a piece of her mind.
Chapter Eleven
The castle held several sitting rooms, the smallest of which was known as the blue parlor. Small was a relative term, however, as the blue parlor was bigger than the entire first floor of Tawnyetta's childhood home. Stuffed full of uncomfortable ornate seating, sluggish dark blue drapes, large oil paintings of nobility standing in awkward poses, and a life sized, white marble statue of an angry young woman posed in the corner, this room had a strange vibe.
Half dressed, the conspicuous statue was draped in folds of marble fabric that barely covered her breasts. She was a beautiful woman with curls piled on top of her head and a clutch of arrows strapped to her back as well as one in her hand. In her other hand she held a bow. She was positioned with her back to the room, showing off her curvy bottom. But her head was turned in such a way that she looked as if she was peering back over her shoulder seeking prey. Her expression was not the normal demure look you found on many half naked statues of women. She looked fierce.
Tawnyetta couldn't decide if she liked the statue or not, but she was certain that the room in general brought her no pleasure. They had chosen to wait here because of the blue parlor's placement at the front of the castle. From its windows you had a perfect view of the front drive.
"Aren't you excited?" Bridget asked, interrupting Tawnyetta's contemplation of the statue.
"Sure, I'm excited." That wasn't totally true. Tawnyetta was looking forward to their ball gowns arriving for their fitting. However, she wasn't exactly feeling excited. Her mood had been soured by her realization that Shaun was a cheater. But she couldn't tell Bridget about any of that, so as far as Bridget was concerned she had to stay excited.
"You're just staring at that statue," Bridget said.
"Am I?" Tawnyetta was standing close to the statue scrutinizing her realistically carved eyes. They hinted of revenge and danger.
Bridget, on the other hand, stood at the window watching the drive anxiously, waiting for the delivery van.
"I don't think staring at the road is going to make the dresses arrive any faster Bridge," Tawnyetta teased.
"You're right," Bridget tore herself away from the window and chose one of the uncomfortable blue couches to sit on. She patted the spot next to her and Tawnyetta joined her. From that position they both took in the gaudy decor of the room.
"This room is ugly," Bridget said.
"It really is."
"I wonder why? I mean, the rest of the rooms we've seen have been quite nice."
"Maybe they needed a place to store all of the ugly things," Tawnyetta suggested
Bridget laughed. "Probably! It's weird that all of the ugly things would be blue, though."
This time Tawnyetta laughed.
Bridget let out a heavy sigh. "I'm hungry. I'm going to go get a snack." Tawnyetta moved to get up as well. "No," Bridget said as she gestured for Tawnyetta to sit back down. "You stay here and watch for the dresses. I'll bring something back for you."
"We could ring for Stewart or the maids to bring us something," Tawnyetta suggested.
Bridget shook her head 'no'. "I want to stretch my legs. Besides I can't quite get used to having servants."
Tawnyetta had to agree. It was nice having everything taken care of, but she didn't like the feeling of doing absolutely nothing productive all day long either.
As she waited she tried to keep her eye on the drive as closely as Bridget had, but it didn't take long for that to become boring. To avoid dozing off she stood up and wandered around the room. Looking more closely at the large oil paintings of nobility she wondered what their lives were like so long ago and why they had to wear such ridiculous aristocratic outfits. Their clothing looked hot and restrictive. She stared into their beady little
eyes and wondered if these were all ancestors of Laird Michael. If so, she wasn't sure how he could have turned out as attractive as everybody said he was.
She returned to the statue. Perhaps this woman was a legend or a goddess of some kind, like the goddess of war. She ran her finger along the smooth, cool, stone bow trying to remember the name of the Greek goddess of war.
"Do you like her?" A deep familiar voice asked from the other side of the room.
Tawnyetta whirled around, startled at the interruption. Her stomach flipped at the sight of Shaun smiling at her.
He was not dressed in his normal work clothes. In fact, he was dressed up in comparison to how she was used to seeing him. In a pair of black jeans and a tailored white business shirt he didn't look much like a gardener at all. His short beard was freshly clipped, his dark hair combed and in place. Even cleaned up like this he possessed a kind of animal magnetism with his square jaw, mischievous smile, wide shoulders, and well formed muscled chest. A memory of his chest, sweaty and flexing, as they danced with sabers in the weapons room popped into her mind.
She was immediately disgusted at herself for thinking about how attractive he was and decided to turn that anger towards the person who rightfully deserved it–Shaun. Tawnyetta narrowed her eyes and glared at him.
He walked towards her. His movements were casual and bordered on seductive. That sexy half smile on his face and the way he watched her with his ocean blue eyes sent her stomach into a series of flips. Heart pounding, she cursed herself for these feelings. That's probably how all of these types of men got away with cheating, by being so damned attractive.
"It's Artemis, the goddess of the hunt."
"I knew that," she spat the words at him, irritated that she had not known.
He had already crossed the room and stopped just a few feet away from her. He wore cologne. It smelled nice. Really nice. Wasn't cologne a bit overkill for a gardener? Tawnyetta looked away from him as she rolled her eyes, not really concerned if he noticed. He was using the statue as a reason to get as close as possible to her no doubt. She dropped her hand from the marble bow and turned on him. She wanted to face him square on.
