by Arnette Lamb
He was correct, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “You’re a heartless Elliot troll, and stop glaring at me. You look just like your grandfather.”
“Ah, the Elliot tragedy again. I’d forgotten that you’ve been a guest at Glenstone Manor.”
“A visit I regret.”
“Tell me this. Were you suffering from another romantic disappointment when you met Henry?”
She stepped around a dented pail. “Bruised pride did not drive me into your brother’s arms.”
He plopped down on a keg of nails. “Henry says you kissed him only once. All of the other times he admits to wooing you.”
All of the other times? He made her sound forward, and her time with Henry a courtship. Her first impulse was to challenge him, but the subject of Henry always brought trouble between them. Michael’s gift of this building and their shared concern for the orphans should form the boundaries of her association with the dangerous and charming younger Elliot son.
She surveyed the windows on the east side of the room. “Do you think shutters or sashes will do for this room?”
“Both, if you intend to protect the books from rot and fading.” He unbuttoned his coat and folded his arms over his chest. “Why were you so eager to wed?”
“Obviously I am not.” She moved on to the new shelves in the near wall. “You’ll be glad to know that the bookbinder in James Court has contributed four boxes of books for this room.”
“Another change of heart? One might call you fickle, Sarah MacKenzie.”
“One might take himself off to the fires of hell.”
“Or one might find an ally, if she were truthful. How did the betrothal come about?”
She wasn’t afraid to tell him, but before she explained herself, he’d have to bare his soul to her. “You want to know what transpired between me and Henry?”
“Every dance, every passionate embrace, every sigh.”
None of that had happened. “Will you in exchange tell me your deepest fear?”
His gaze wavered.
She had him on the run, but the chase was shortlived, for he said, “Do you deny proposing to Henry?”
“Unfair.” She kicked the pail and sent it clattering across the floor. “You must go first or content yourself with your brother’s version of the story.”
Cunning settled into his demeanor. “You wouldn’t like to hear my suspicions?”
She gazed out the windows. “Keep them to yourself. Ah, there’s Rose and Turnbull. Shall we join them outside?”
Michael took her arm and whispered, “You’re stubborn, Sarah MacKenzie.”
And he was acting on old news. “Astute men are delightful. Stop frowning, or I’ll start calling you Hamish Elliot. Wasn’t he renown for wearing animal skins and clubbing his prey?” She shook off his arm and yanked open the door.
Easily catching her, he drew her back into the room and slammed the door hard. Plaster rained from the ceiling. “And I suppose the MacKenzies snuggled into loincloths of sheared beaver and sipped their tea from pearly shells?”
His anger was a palpable force; Sarah put a distance between them. “You’re predictable.”
“You can remedy that by telling me which Sarah MacKenzie I’m addressing.”
She picked her way through piles of sawdust. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then stand still and I’ll enlighten you. The Sarah I saw at Cordiner’s Hall was a woman brimming with love and hope for a band of ragtag children. She’s the one who melts in my arms and kisses me with the sincerity of a lost soul in sight of paradise.”
His words poured over her, and her composure faltered.
“But another Sarah lurks behind those bonny blue eyes. Oh, she’s equally lovely and as brilliant as an Oxford scholar. She can volley clever ripostes with the skill of the most seasoned wit at court.” His gaze slid to her shoulder. “That Sarah breaths fire at the mention of my family’s name.”
The flame of her anger dwindled. “Then do not mention their name.”
“Their name? Impossible, for I, too, am cut of the cloth of Clan Elliot. Ponder this, if you will. Suppose I were the enemy of the duke of Ross, and you loved me. Could you disavow your MacKenzie heritage?”
Her attention wavered at the word love. But the answer came easily for two reasons. She gave him the one most relevant to the situation. “Yes.”
His gaze sharpened. “To which part of the question do you reply, Sarah?”
Quick to ferret out a double meaning, Michael Elliot became a predator, a man prowling after his woman.
Feeling feminine to her toes, Sarah darted away. “To the most important part. And I thought you were going to call me Lady Sarah.”
The look in his eyes turned absolutely sinful. “I’ve changed my mind. I do not wish for you to behave as a lady.”
Striving to appear aloof, Sarah presented him her profile. “Oh? How should I behave?”
“With complete abandon.”
Her face grew hot, and her heart pounded.
“Without inhibition.”
She gulped back apprehension.
“Lacking a speck of scruples.”
Anticipation buzzed in her ears.
“I’d have you naked in my bed, Sarah, and acting the wanton.”
“No.” The word lodged in her throat.
“Yes, well . . .” He turned her around and pulled her into his arms. When his mouth was a whisper away, he stopped. The invitation in his eyes held her captive.
“You watched me holding Sally today. The look in your eyes made me want to kiss you. Do you recall what you were thinking then?”
Every facet of his rugged good looks moved sharply into focus. On a breathless sigh, the truth spilled from her lips. “Yes.”
“Good.”
With the gentleness and confidence she’d come to know, he drew her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. She felt engulfed by his powerful form, sheltered and enlivened at once. Manliness, which he possessed in abundance, called up the wanton he thought her to be. His hands explored, his mouth devoured, and as the last thread of her resistance stretched tightly between them, she could not summon a single argument to deny the blossoming love in her heart.
When he drew back, his face revealed an intensity of feeling and purpose that frightened her to her soul. Wishing other clever words were at her disposal, she chose a cowardly retreat. “What were we talking about?”
“As I recall, we were discussing the extent of your wantonness.”
The earthy comment triggered the stalwart in her, and she faced him squarely. “I haven’t any of that, and you were speaking of hating the MacKenzies and speculating about loving me.”
In a lazy perusal, he studied her face and flushed neck. “Only to confuse you.”
“Why?”
“Because my dear womanly scholar, when you are befuddled, you forsake your promise to hate me.”
Her strength of will roared to life. She knotted her fists. “I have good cause.”
“You named the Elliots cave dwellers.”
“I do not deny it.”
“I heard you, but where is all of that reason and experience you’ve spent years delving into books to find? Where is the brave Sarah MacKenzie who trots out her brilliance and wit and wears them like badges of honor?”
“I meant the comment in the feudalistic sense. You speak of my misfortune as if it were a sport.”
“Sport? Sport!” He flung his arms into the air. “It’s a damned bloody war you wage.”
His anger ignited her own. “It’s my damned bloody freedom at stake. I must defend myself.”
He flung open the door. “Then I hope you and your freedom live happily ever after.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Fife. After bickering with you, I feel like mining coal with my bare hands.”
Caught off guard by the heartfelt admission, she followed him into the hall. “When will you return?”
“When you
promise to sing hosannahs to my name.”
He was shouting, but she knew his anger had waned, for his shoulders were not so rigid and his stiff gait had settled into a familiar swagger.
“You’ll be an old man by that time,” she shot back.
Without breaking stride, he continued down the hall. On a fake chuckle, he said, “Then I pray you find it in your heart to welcome a doddering graybeard.”
Much as she hated herself for it, she knew she’d miss him. “Then you are coming back?”
He turned, his body framed by sunlight and his features thrown into shadow. “Aye. And when I do, I expect you to arrange a meeting between me and your father.”
The authority in his voice drew her like flame to oil. “Why?”
“A tiresome question, Sarah, and one I’ve already addressed. I’ll demand the dowry—for myself. One of the Elliots must make peace with one of the MacKenzies.”
Stillness settled over her, and she had difficulty speaking. “Shouldn’t you first make peace with me?”
His devilish chuckle echoed in the narrow passageway. “Oh, we’ll come to more than that, you and me, if we don’t break each other’s spirits—or necks—in the process.”
“I will not write to my father.”
“Then I’ll try to find him,” Michael said, far too amiably. “And as a reward for the delay, I’ll receive a very interesting painting of you.”
The nude of Eve. Mary’s ultimatum. “If my sister is so wicked, I insist that you bring that painting to me.”
“I’ll be certain to do that.” He doffed his cockaded hat and swept a bow. “Someday.” Pivoting sharply, he walked into the sunshine, mounted her gelding, and rode away.
10
After a fortnight in Fife, Michael entered Edinburgh with a passel of problems and a dearth of solutions. As the carriage passed through Queensgate, the busy sounds and ugly smells of the city welcomed him. When a procession of matching sedanchairs halted progress in High Street, he admitted that he’d missed this place. He’d missed the smartly attired gentry walking five paces ahead of practically dressed servants. He missed the church bells pealing the time of day. He missed the bickering between surly shop owners and slow carters.
And he missed Sarah. Thoughts of her greeted his mornings and bid farewell to his days.
A pair of overburdened coal wagons lumbered onto the crossroads. Michael viewed the cargo in a wholly different light. The sojourn in Fife had been more than a survey of the family holdings; it had been a return to the past. In the span of a day, the language of his youth had become as clear as English to his ears.
Only the problems had been foreign. The early decline he’d seen as a lad had settled into a steady plunge toward destruction. Ancient moving machines wasted more coal than they harvested. Rusted barrows worked as sieves in hauling the coal to the surface. Leaky buckets brought scant water to higher ground. Colliers forced to stand to their ankles in frigid water had little heart for the job at hand.
Unhappy miners made for unhappier miners’ wives. A bankrupt clergy dispensed sparse blessings for so many who were poor. But there were no orphans among the mining community, and no Sarah MacKenzie. Their last meeting flashed vividly in his mind, and the harmony of their laughter lingered with him.
To his surprise the next time he gazed at her face, her eyes glowed with banked passion, and she languished in the Garden of Eden.
* * *
In the newly renovated library of the customs house, Sarah slid the ladder to the center of the wall of bookshelves. The new mechanism squealed.
“I’ll tell the carpenter,” Rose said, holding out a stack of leatherbound texts.
Sarah took the last of the 24 volumes of John Rushford’s Old Parliament History and placed them beside Lord Edward Napier’s Introduction to Basic Science.
A mix-match of tables and chairs were spaced evenly down the center of the high-ceilinged room. The old world globe occupied a spot by the windows, which stood open to take advantage of the fine spring day. A new globe, naming all of the oceans as well as the continent of New Holland with its infamous Botany Bay, held a place of honor in the upstairs schoolroom. The duchess of Ross had sent the new globe and enough money to buy braziers for every room.
Sarah had sent her stepmother a note of thanks for the gifts, but appreciation was not what Juliet MacKenzie wanted. She had entreated Sarah to send a word of forgiveness to Lachlan MacKenzie.
Sarah could not. Not yet.
“Lady Sarah!” Sally’s head and shoulders popped into the window opening. “The general’s come home.” The girl held up two fingers. “He’s got five peoples with him.”
“Three people,” a male voice below her said.
“Three peoples.” She made fists of her tiny hands with only her index fingers showing. “Three peoples coming with the general.”
Henry? Sarah ground her teeth. She’d face him eventually, but she first had to come to terms with her feelings for his brother. Just the thought of seeing Michael again put a skip in her step and a smile in her heart.
“Whom has he brought?”
Boyishly dirty hands gripped the sill and Right Odd hoisted Sally higher. When his forehead and nose moved into view, he said, “They’re strangers. Country folks, by the look of ’em. And Turnbull.”
“Wonder who the other two are?” Rose picked up the empty book box. “Shall I go see?”
“We’ll both go. I’m sure Lord Michael has some questions.”
Sally and the Odd brother disappeared from view.
Rose rolled her eyes. “When he sees what you’ve done ’round here, it’ll be more than questions. He’ll be praising you till hogmanay next.”
They had made great progress. The boys’ dormitory had cots enough for all, with fresh mattresses and old but clean linen. Every room had a lamp and flintbox, and the barrel of oil in the cellar was hardly tapped.
Peg’s heavy footfalls sounded in the hall. She called out, “They’re steppin’ out o’ the carriage, my lady.”
After dusting off her hands and fluffing out the skirt of her dress, Sarah hurried outside.
Michael spoke to the driver. Turnbull stood beside a man who was handing a woman down from the carriage.
“Lady Sarah,” Michael said as he approached. “Please welcome John and Helen Lindsay. They’re old friends from Fife.”
Past 40, but slender and fit, the couple stood shoulder to shoulder. Both were dressed in well-tailored garments, her dress of blue wool, his suit of parson’s brown. Her thick straight hair had turned snowy white too early, giving the appearance that she was the eldest of the couple, but that was deceptive. Her husband was her senior in every way, and she looked very proud to be his wife. She carried an armload of heather.
“How nice to meet you, Lady Sarah. These are for you. The first of the year.” She slid her husband a wary glance. “ ’Twas kept in a pail of water all the way.”
John Lindsay frowned.
Michael said, “John believed it troublesome.”
“Thank you.” Sarah took the fragrant bundle and buried her nose in it. She thought of home and the Highlands and the family that wasn’t really hers. Biting back melancholy, she looked at Michael. His easy manner made her say the first thing that popped into her mind. “Did you think it troublesome?”
“Not in the least. As I told John, to put a smile on a woman’s face is worth the bother.”
His smile was far too engaging. “Bother?” she said.
“ ’Twas no bother,” Helen insisted. “And if any man here has a speck remaining of his mother’s good teachings, there’ll be no more said of bothersome women.”
John’s attention moved from the high window sills to the cleanly swept paving stones, but his mouth twitched with the urge to laugh.
Michael did laugh. “Come along, friends, and see your new home.”
Their home? That was news to Sarah. Catching Michael’s gaze, she said, “The Lindsays are orphans?”
/> Turnbull guffawed. John chuckled. Helen sneezed to cover her mirth. An unsmiling Michael yanked off his gloves and tossed them to Turnbull, who caught them against his chest. Rubbing his bare hands together, he moved close to Sarah and said, “Embarrassing moments will be repaid in kind.”
Completely disarmed of a meaningful comment, Sarah spun around and marched straight into Rose, who jumped back.
The air teemed with the fragrance of crushed heather. The smell inspired Sarah to silently vow to keep up her guard.
She handed the flowers to Rose, then changed her mind. “No. Wait. I’ll put them in water. Michael will introduce you to the Lindsays.”
As Michael watched her leave, he thought he might burst with pleasure. She brought out the meanest swain in him. She also inspired him to gallantry, which he suspected he needed just now. One thought was foremost in his mind: she had missed him and it befuddled her to clumsiness.
Hallelujah!
* * *
“Hell and botched bannocks!” Sarah cursed. Her grip tightened on the shears, and with purpose, she clipped the ends of the heather stalks.
Like a quick cat after a slow mouse, Michael Elliot pounced on her every word. But if he planned to extend his overbearing nature one step more, she’d make him sorry for it.
With a patient hand that belied her roiling emotions, she arranged part of the heather in a footed crystal vase.
Rose came into the room. “I showed them to the large apartments upstairs. The one that sits opposite the mews.”
“Why did he bring them here?”
“They wanted to come to Auld Reekie. Their son’s a chairmaker to the carpenter’s guild. The daughter-in-law is expecting their first grandchild. Helen’s sure it’ll be a lass.”
“You became acquainted quickly,” Sarah said.
“Helen’s country folk and as nice as any Scot back home in Tain. Lord Michael went on like they were coming here to live.”
Sarah had been so involved in trading quips with Michael Elliot, she’d lost the opportunity to ask him why the Lindsays were here. But broaching the subject in their presence would have been rude.
