To Tempt A Rogue

by Adrienne Basso

  “I thought he seemed majestic and bold,” Harriet muttered as she turned her head to catch a final glimpse of the animal.

  “He’s a killer,” Kate declared with a knowing nod.

  Harriet took a deep sigh and pressed her fingertips to her brow. Unfortunately Kate had turned out to be a rather trying traveling companion. Harriet had not spent much time in the maid’s company prior to this journey and was therefore surprised to discover the older woman had a somewhat gloomy, bloodthirsty outlook on life. An outlook that she was more than willing to share.

  She also had an uncanny knack for taking any situation and seeing only the negative aspects of it. Given the distance of their trip, the time of year and weather conditions, there had been a great deal for Kate to expound upon.

  Fortunately the maid would be returning to Harrowby and Griffin’s household soon after they reached Mr. Wainwright’s home, Hillsdale Castle. Harriet had agreed to allow Kate on the journey because her brother had insisted an unmarried gentlewoman could not travel such a great distance completely on her own, even if she was taking up a position as a governess.

  Harriet privately speculated she would most likely be the first governess to arrive at her post with a maid in tow, but hoped her employer would find this an amusement or just accept it as an eccentricity of the nobility.

  “Will we be stopping for luncheon soon, Miss Harriet?” Kate asked. “That meager breakfast of cheese and stale bread would hardly keep a mouse alive.”

  “I’m sure John Coachman will pull in to the first appropriate establishment we find,” Harriet replied. “As always.”

  Though some of the meals they had eaten over the past few weeks were hardly memorable, they at least offered a break from the road. Harriet could understand Kate’s boredom. Even if the light were sufficient, the constant sway of the coach made reading or light sewing an impossible task.

  At first both women had been more than content to watch the ever-changing countryside roll by out the carriage window. When that novelty wore off, they tried to engage in conversation. It seemed to help pass the time for Kate, but it gave Harriet a headache.

  However, once they crossed the border into Scotland, the view changed to snow capped hills and Harriet’s interest in the surrounding landscape was renewed. She was soon in awe of the unexpected majesty, and the raw, untamed beauty of the land.

  The landscape was soaring and austere. Due to the season, there was only the barest hint of green to be seen. It was as if the land had survived, even triumphed, despite the harsh obstacles Mother Nature had tossed in its path. Kate declared the terrain bleak and unwelcoming and whined for the flat roads and warmer temperatures of home.

  Yet even though she had to constantly tighten the lap rug spread across her knees to find more warmth, Harriet found this rugged country strangely moving. She did however feel sorry for the coachman and footman who rode outside the carriage, exposed to the harsh elements.

  Kate often remarked at the amount of drink the men consumed at each stop, but Harriet did not begrudge them their warmed cider and mugs of ale. They must be nearly frozen from the cold.

  “Well, ’tis not the most respectable place I’ve ever seen, but I imagine it’s the best one we’ll find.”

  Harriet caught sight of the small inn they were approaching and silently agreed with Kate’s assessment. The establishment looked little more than a large hut, with a thatched roof, a small orchard, and several chickens running about loose in the yard.

  It was nestled in a small valley, surrounded by much larger mountains and as she stepped down from the coach, Harriet was glad those granite boulders protected them from the relentless cold winds. There were no other guests inside the common room and for a brief moment Harriet worried that they had stumbled upon a private home.

  But the suspicious, cold reception from the surly innkeeper changed the moment he saw the color of the coin John Coachman flashed as he made arrangements for the care of the horses and a meal for the travelers. They dined on thick slices of hot shepherd’s pie and mugs of home-brewed ale. Inquiries about the specific location of Hillsdale Castle brought more good news. It was no more than fifteen miles away.

  After leaving the inn they at last began traveling in the highest mountains that days ago had appeared so far and distant. Harriet re-entered the coach in good spirits, buoyed with the knowledge that this long journey was finally nearing an end. However, her good mood was sorely tested within the hour as Kate gave several drawn-out bored sighs and began picking at a thread on the index finger of her wool gloves.

  Harriet bit her bottom lip hard to keep silent. She had been lecturing the maid for days to cease this most annoying habit, but had been unsuccessful in making her stop. Once again she recited a silent prayer, asking Providence to deliver her to the castle before Kate’s dreary conversation and endless fidgeting drove her mad.

  Realizing it was fruitless to waste her breath on another lecture, Harriet leaned back, wedged her head comfortably in the corner of the coach and closed her eyes. She drifted in a trance-like state between sleep and wakefulness for most of the afternoon.

  A sudden, sharp jolt of the coach brought Harriet fully to her senses. She could feel the team of horses strain and stumble on the slick, winding road. She sat anxiously forward in her seat, steadying herself with a tight grip on the leather hand loop. Glancing out the window, Harriet watched the light from the sinking sun begin to fade.

  The poor conditions of the road had slowed their progress once they had left the inn. Hopefully there would be a bright full moon appearing soon, for if they did not reach their destination before nightfall, they would surely become lost in this desolate land.

  The increasingly steep climbs and lowering dips of the hills and valleys had brought the coach’s progress to barely a crawl. The cold also contributed to the difficulty, freezing sections of the gravel road, making it treacherous going for the horses.

  The deep ruts were another worry, especially when following the winding path. On the left side stood a solid wall of rock, with soil and bare tree limbs dotting the higher elevation while on the right was a dizzying drop into a rocky, jagged ravine.

  Perhaps the only odd comfort was a feeling of safety from highwaymen, for no thief or brigand would venture to this remote, uncivilized area in search of prey.

  Thankfully the coachman was an expert driver. Griffin would only have his best, most experienced servant undertake this challenging journey and Harriet was grateful her brother had ignored her protests and insisted on this escort.

  “The horses have slowed,” Harriet declared. “We must be getting closer.”

  “Or climbing another hill,” Kate grumbled. “We should have stayed the night at that small inn where we stopped for luncheon. ‘Tis pure folly to have continued on this late in the afternoon.”

  Harriet ignored the remarks. Traveling shut up in the coach for so many long days had blurred the lines between mistress and servant, and Harriet would allow that the journey had not always been comfortable or pleasant. Exceptions must be made.

  While the maid sulked in the corner, Harriet leaned forward and pressed her nose against the cold glass of the carriage window. In the distance she could see the crest of an approaching mountain, but there was something slightly different about the outline. She squinted and saw shrouded in the clouds and impending darkness a structure perched at the very top, seemingly rising out of the land.

  Though it was barely visible through the mist, Harriet saw dark stone drum towers and turrets straining towards the blackening sky. The granite battlements and ancient design made it appear more fortress than home, but Harriet somehow knew this was their destination.

  “I believe we are nearly there,” Harriet whispered. The statement brought Kate out of her slump. She too pressed forward and turned her attention out the window.

  “Where is it?” the maid asked anxiously.

  “There, on the crest of the mountain.” Harriet pointed.


  Kate moved closer, her eyes eagerly following the line of Harriet’s arm. There were a few moments of silence, and then the maid exclaimed, “I still don’t see it. All that rests atop the mountain is a crumbling, abandoned keep. I’d never set foot inside such a terrible place. I’d wager the ghostly spirit of some long-dead Scottish warrior haunts those stone walls.”

  Harriet cleared her throat. “That is Hillsdale Castle,” she said. “I feel certain of it.”

  “What?” Harriet felt the older woman shudder.

  “You must be mistaken, Miss. That can’t be it. It’s old and decayed, with nary a light burning in a window nor a fire smoking from a chimney. ’Tis a grand place for the devil himself to live, not a decent, Christian family in need of a governess.”

  “Nonsense,” Harriet replied, although she was forced to agree that on initial impression it was a rather daunting place. “ ’Tis a medieval structure that still retains its proud history. I bet it is fascinating inside, filled with authentic antiques and huge fireplaces giving off lots of warmth. And the family has most likely done extensive remodeling to make it a more comfortable establishment, yet they have cleverly preserved the rich heritage and classic lines of the castle.”

  The maid shot her a disbelieving look, but said no more. As they made the approach to the steep entrance drive, the fine mist of falling frozen rain grew heavier. The steady, hammering tattoo of the hard pellets on the roof of the coach seemed to intensify the women’s nervous energy, and the howling wind jostled the vehicle roughly.

  Harriet gripped the edge of her velvet seat tightly to keep from being thrown to the floor. Kate did the same. Though it was gloomy in the carriage, Harriet could clearly see the panic in the maid’s eyes. She only hoped her own hazel orbs did not reveal the depths of misgiving she was suddenly feeling.

  ’Tis just the excitement and relief of the journey finally coming to an end, Harriet told herself. And a natural uncertainty over beginning my new life in such a strange, forboding place.

  Kate’s prediction that the castle was abandoned took on greater merit as the coach rumbled over an ancient drawbridge and came to rest in an open courtyard. There was not a soul in sight, but Harriet reasoned the dreadful weather would keep anyone with good sense warmly tucked inside.

  Since she had been unable to give a specific day or time for her arrival, Harriet knew she had no cause to be concerned over a lack of greeting. Yet one would think at least one person in the household would be aware of the sudden appearance of a strange coach and come to investigate. With its remote location, it was doubtful there were many unexpected visitors to this castle.

  Harriet lowered the glass on the window, thrust her head partly out and yelled up to the coachman. “Kate and I will go in the front door. You and Rogers bring the carriage around back. Those poor horses are so tired they will most likely lead you to the stable on their own.”

  Though she would have preferred the groom to knock at the door and announce their presence, Harriet decided she needed to be practical. She reasoned her driver would require assistance with the weary team and, given the lack of activity or sign of any servants, the man would probably be left to perform these tasks himself.

  The coachman edged the bulky carriage as close to the front entrance as space would allow. Harriet hastily buttoned her pelisse all the way to her throat, then with a commanding nod at Kate and an admonishment to follow closely, Harriet stepped down from the carriage.

  The biting wind and pelting rain hit her full force, nearly knocking her to the ground. Harriet took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with the heavy scent of cold and rain. She forced herself to ignore the discomfort she felt at the high-pitched keening screech the wind made as it whistled around the stonework of the castle, as she prepared to make a dash for the entrance.

  Dragging the edges of her woolen cloak more tightly around her, Harriet dipped her head, shielded her eyes and raced toward the curving stone stairs that swept up to the imposing front door. Behind her, she heard Kate squeal and felt the older woman grasp on to her cloak, as if fearing she would be lost. Dragging the maid along behind her, Harriet pushed and fought her way through the forceful wind gusts, eventually reaching the top of the stairs.

  There was no protective portico or overhang to shield them from the elements. Torrents of freezing rain poured mercilessly over the brims of their quickly soaked bonnets. Harriet could feel the cold, wet raindrops slide beneath her collar and run down the back of her neck.

  Never in her life had she longed so much to be warm and dry. A quick glance at Kate’s sour expression confirmed that the maid shared the feeling. With an impatient huff Harriet lifted the heavy iron ring and banged it loudly against the door.

  The dull sound echoed through the stone walls on the other side. It was an eerie, empty noise that triggered a shiver down Harriet’s spine. Then all went still and silent.

  “I told you it was abandoned,” Kate shouted miserably. “We’d best go around back and try to find the others. If the coachman’s found a stable we can take shelter there until morning. If we stand out in the cold any longer, we’ll catch our deaths.”

  “This castle is not abandoned,” Harriet insisted. Wet, frustrated and more than a bit annoyed, she wrapped each of her stiff gloved fingers around the icy cold ring, lifted it high above her head and brought it down six times in rapid succession.

  This time her knocking was greeted with a furious barking that began in the distant recesses of the manor, but grew ominously closer with each low howl. Though protected by a solid wooden door, both women instinctively took a step back as the ferocious noise drew closer.

  No longer caring about how cold and wet she felt, Harriet started to calculate how quickly she and Kate could run back down the stairs without slipping. But even if they managed to reach the open courtyard, where could they hide from this growling beast?

  There was however, no opportunity to put any plan in motion. The labored screech of a rusty, seldom used hinge was the only warning given as one of the heavy wooden doors slowly cracked open.

  Kate’s dire predications and gloomy warnings had sparked Harriet’s imagination. She was unsure exactly what she was expecting to see awaiting them on the other side, but the apparition that appeared made the breath catch in her throat.

  It was a man. A young, extraordinarily handsome man. He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a solid, muscular build. She judged his age to be near her own, twenty-eight. He had an iron jaw, bold cheekbones, full sculpted lips, and strongly marked eyebrows that were the same raven black color as his hair.

  In one hand he held a huge torch high above his head. It gave off great plumes of black smoke that puffed and billowed and encircled him like a devilish halo. The uneven glow of the flickering flame gave his features a mysterious, almost sinister look.

  He was wearing nothing but black trousers, black knee high boots and a floor length dressing gown of brilliant red silk. It was fastened at the waist, yet hung open down to his bare chest. Harriet felt her cheeks grow warm as she stared at the shapely muscles that were covered with a filigree of fine dark hair.

  She opened her mouth to speak, then gulped, trying to force the air into her lungs. Recovering slightly from her initial shock, Harriet lifted her gaze. It was a mistake. Their stares locked and her heart skipped a beat. Those dark eyes seemed to be mocking her, as they studied her face and form with a thoughtful intensity Harriet found decidedly uncomfortable.

  The cold, wet flesh on her neck shivered and she had a sudden understanding of how a defenseless animal felt when confronting danger.

  Steady, Harriet told herself. She had barely managed to get her nerves under control when out of the corner of her eye she saw a whirl of black fur charging towards them. Without any warning, the animal snarled, then lunged forward. Harriet braced herself for the impact, but miraculously the beast stopped. She glanced down and saw the man held the animal by the scruff of its neck.


  The man looked at her for a long moment, bleary-eyed and angry. He braced himself against the wall as he struggled to keep the barking dog under control. “Get inside. Quickly. If he gets out there is no telling when he’ll return or where he will run.”

  “We can’t go in there!” Kate said desperately.

  “We must,” Harriet insisted, though she was far from eager to step closer to the man or his dog.

  “I can’t.” Kate made an odd, choking noise and Harriet glanced nervously towards the maid. She panted and shook like a terrified hare desperately struggling to outrun a ravenous wolf. What small stain of color that had remained in the older woman’s face washed from her cheeks.

  “ ’Tis Lucifer himself,” Kate whispered. “Lord Jesus, save us all.” Then her eyes rolled up, her lashes fluttered wildly and she crumpled to the ground.

  “Kate!” Harriet caught the maid with a startled cry. She swayed back and forth, trying to plant her feet more firmly in a desperate attempt to support Kate’s weight before they both tumbled to the ground.

  “What did she mutter?” the stranger asked. Harriet’s head snapped up. “How can that possibly matter? For pity’s sake sir, I need your help, or else I’m going to drop her on this hard, filthy floor.”

  “In case you failed to notice, I only possess two arms.”

  “And very little common sense.” Harriet’s desperation and anger suppressed any of her remaining fear. “What is the dog’s name?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The dog’s name. What is it?”

  “Brutus. Yet, I hardly see how that can have any—”

  “Brutus! Sit!” Harriet commanded in her deepest tone.

  The dog’s ears perked at the sound of his name and he took on a far less menacing demeanor. “Brutus, sit,” Harriet repeated.

  The animal gradually sank back on his haunches and the man slowly released his hold on the dog’s neck. Amazingly, the animal stayed in place.