The Lord's Highland Temptation (HQR Historical)

by Diane Gaston

Lucas took another sip of tea as young Niven peppered him with questions about himself—about his time in the army.

  ‘What regiment were you in?’ Niven asked.

  ‘The First Royal Dragoons,’ he replied.

  The boy’s eyes brightened. ‘The First Royals? Were you in the charge with the Scots Greys at Waterloo?’

  The memory of it came back. The thundering of the horses, their screams, the contorted faces of the French soldiers, the blood.

  His brother.

  By Jupiter, he needed whisky.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I was.’

  ‘Wait until my father hears about that!’ Niven beamed. ‘He is excessively proud of the Scots Greys. To hear him, you’d think they won the battle for the Allies.’

  The Scots Greys were brave, no question, but they also had been untried in battle. They’d ridden too far ahead of the main charge and, as a result, too many had been cut down.

  Like Bradleigh.

  ‘Were you in the Peninsula, too?’ Niven asked. ‘What other battles did you fight? Was it glorious? I cannot imagine such a sight. A cavalry charge!’

  Lucas’s answers were terse and he hoped the boy did not notice the trembling of his hands, the stiffening of his shoulders. It was the anguish of remembering. Enough of this. He wanted out of this place. The boy forced him to remember and the sister made him care when all he wanted was to shut off his emotions and be alone.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Niven called as if this was his room, not Lucas’s.

  Miss Wallace peeked in, her gaze riveting on her brother. ‘Niven! I was afraid you were here.’

  Lucas rose to his feet, but braced his hands on the table. She gestured for him to sit down. He wanted to remain standing, but his legs threatened not to hold him. He sank back into the chair.

  Niven lifted his chin. ‘I brought Lucas some tea and biscuits. I’m keeping him company.’

  ‘He is still ill, Niven,’ she scolded. ‘You should leave him in peace.’

  Niven seemed to ignore what she said. ‘Did you know? He was in the First Royals! Fought at Waterloo. That’s a cavalry regiment, you see. He was in the charge with the Scots Greys.’

  Her gaze caught Lucas’s briefly and he fancied she could somehow see the pain he wanted to hide. From himself as well as everyone else.

  ‘You should not trouble him, Niven.’ She peered at Lucas even more closely and crossed the room to him. ‘Are you feverish again, Mr Lucas?’

  He felt hot and perspiration dampened his face.

  She placed her bare hand on his forehead. ‘You are a little warm.’

  Her touch filled him with yearning, but he did not wish anyone to care about him—or to care about anybody himself. Obviously seeing to his care merely added one more burden to her slim shoulders.

  ‘I am well enough,’ he insisted.

  Her brows knitted. ‘You should rest.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Let us leave Mr Lucas now. I need your help in the garden. Cook wants some turnips and onions.’

  Niven stood. ‘How delightful! Digging in the dirt.’ He smiled at Lucas. ‘I’ll bring your dinner later, Mr Lucas. Do not be surprised if it includes turnips and onions.’

  Lucas’s stomach revolted at the thought.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lucas rose. ‘I will rest a while.’

  Miss Wallace gave him a worried look before she and her brother walked out of the room.

  * * *

  When Niven had returned some time later with the dinner tray, Lucas had simply told him to leave it on the table, but he fell asleep before touching it.

  He woke again when the clock in the room struck eleven. The door opened and, through slitted eyes, Lucas watched Miss Wallace enter, her face illuminated by a candle. Her brother was behind her.

  ‘See, he is still abed,’ Niven said to her. ‘I do not think he ate any of his dinner.’

  Miss Wallace approached and gingerly placed her palm on his forehead. Her hand felt soft and cool and he was taken aback with how much he desired her touch.

  He opened his eyes and she jumped back with a cry.

  ‘Miss Wallace?’ He sat up.

  ‘Niven was concerned. You did not eat dinner,’ she said.

  ‘I was not hungry.’ He’d made up his mind. He’d leave in the morning.

  ‘You still feel warm.’ Her brows knitted.

  He refused to worry her. ‘I just need sleep.’ Their gazes caught as before. She needed sleep as much as he did. ‘Please. Return to your beds.’

  She stared at him a while longer. ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Go to bed, Miss Wallace,’ he murmured. ‘Do not trouble yourself with me.’

  * * *

  The next morning, Lucas woke as dawn was just breaking. His fever continued, but he was clear-headed. All he needed to do was walk to the nearest village and seek a room in an inn. Then he need not impose on this family—on Miss Wallace—any further.

  He’d slept in the clothes he’d borrowed from the departed butler, so he rose and bathed his face in the cool water from the room’s pitcher and basin and shaved his face. Wiping his face again, he searched for his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, rinsing the foul taste of illness from his mouth.

  As he turned away from the basin, he noticed his untouched evening meal still on the table. His stomach was no better than the night before, but he knew he must eat and drink something. He buttered the bread and drank the ale. It would have to be enough until he could purchase a meal from an inn.

  If his appetite ever returned.

  He dressed in his own clothes and repacked his satchel, then picked up the tray so he would not leave extra work for Miss Wallace. He carried the tray to the door and managed to open it. In the hallway, he could hear sounds from what he presumed was the kitchen. Butlers’ quarters were typically near the kitchen. He followed the sounds and entered a large room where the odours of cooking meat and bread made him nauseous.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said.

  A red-faced, grey-haired woman turned from the pot she was tending on the fire. She smiled kindly. ‘Ah, you must be our patient, Mr Lucas.’ The woman bustled over to him. ‘Here, let me take the tray.’ She turned away and called, ‘Evie!’

  A very young kitchen maid emerged from what must have been the scullery. ‘Mrs MacNeal?’ The girl blinked when she spied Lucas.

  Mrs MacNeal handed the girl the tray. ‘Here.’

  The girl carried the tray back to the scullery.

  The cook gave Lucas a scolding look. ‘You did not eat much of your dinner.’

  ‘I slept through it, I’m afraid,’ he responded.

  ‘Then will you be wanting breakfast?’ The woman began to look stressed. ‘I am not quite ready for cooking breakfast.’

  Lucas’s father’s kitchen would have been bustling with kitchen maids and footmen at this hour. He saw only the cook and one helper.

  ‘I am quite satisfied with what I ate from the dinner plate this morning,’ he assured her. ‘I merely wished to return the tray.’

  ‘That was good of you, sir.’ She returned to tending her pot.

  He left the kitchen and met a footman in the hallway.

  ‘You must be the visitor,’ the young man said.

  ‘I am.’

  The footman eyed him up and down. ‘I hope your clothes are satisfactory. I brushed them off best I could.’

  ‘I am very grateful.’ Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He handed it to the footman.

  The young man’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, sir!’

  It had been a very small coin, not worth so much appreciation.

  Lucas should ask the footman his name, but it was better for him not to know anybody. Already Miss Wallace and her brother threatened his desire for isolation.


  ‘I’ll be leaving in a few minutes,’ Lucas said.

  The footman peered at him. ‘Leaving? You were to stay at least a week, Miss Mairi said.’

  ‘I am recovered,’ he responded. ‘No need to stay.’

  Lucas returned to the butler’s room, but had to sit down to rest. When he gathered his strength again, he took more coins from his purse and left them on the table, enough, he hoped, to pay for the doctor, his food and for the trouble he had caused. Forcing himself to stand, he donned his topcoat, picked up the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He strode out of the room and followed the hallway to a door to the outside. He began making his way towards the road that he hoped would eventually lead him to the nearest village inn.

  Chapter Five

  Mairi woke early, as she was accustomed to doing since some of the housemaids had left and Nellie was the only one left with time to act as lady’s maid to her mother, Davina and herself. Mairi made certain she did not need a great deal of Nellie’s help, merely tying the laces of her stays and her dress.

  She next went in search of Mrs Cross to see what assistance the housekeeper required that day, but first she knocked on Niven’s door.

  ‘Who is it?’ he responded testily. And sleepily.

  ‘You know it is me, Mairi,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to send Erwin to you to help you dress, then come straight to the kitchen to bring Mr Lucas his breakfast.’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ Niven’s voice brightened. ‘Mr Lucas. I’ll be ready. Have Erwin come right away.’

  Erwin was slightly more experienced as a footman than Robert, so he was tasked with acting as valet to Niven. Wilfred, their father’s valet, was over seventy, and it was taxing enough for him to serve their father, but he had provided Erwin some rudimentary training.

  Mairi descended the stairs to the hall and entered the morning room, where Erwin was setting the table for breakfast.

  ‘Good morning!’ She made her tone cheerful. It kept her spirits up and, she hoped, the spirits of their overworked servants.

  Erwin stopped his work and bowed. ‘Good morning, miss.’

  ‘When you are done here, would you tend to Niven?’ she asked. ‘He has much to do today before he goes out.’ Of all the times for him to visit his friend.

  ‘Yes, miss.’ Erwin placed the cutlery next to the breakfast plate with less precision than their butler would have done.

  ‘Thank you, Erwin,’ she said breezily, using the servants’ door to lead her to the ground floor, where she found Mrs Cross, the housekeeper, in an intense conversation with Betsy, one of their two maids, while Cook looked on from the worktable where she was rolling out dough for biscuits for the afternoon tea.

  ‘Good morning,’ Mairi said again in a cheerful tone. ‘I came to see how I can help today.’

  Mrs Cross rubbed her brow. ‘Let me think. Your mother will not want to see you polishing furniture, but you could tidy up her room and your father’s like yesterday.’

  ‘I will see to it.’ It did not seem like enough to do. Mairi turned to Cook. ‘Mrs MacNeal, Nevin will be down directly to bring Mr Lucas his breakfast. Shall I put together a plate for him?’

  Mrs MacNeal shook flour from her hands. ‘Miss Mairi, the fellow left already. Robert told us.’

  ‘Left?’ But he was still ill! ‘When?’

  ‘A while ago, miss,’ the cook responded. ‘Robert told me right when I took the loaves out of the oven.’

  Mairi touched one of the loaves. It had cooled considerably.

  Still, Robert might have been mistaken.

  Mairi hurried out of the kitchen and ran to the footmen’s room, but Robert was not there. She hastened to the butler’s room, opening the door without knocking. It was empty. There was a stack of coins on the table. She picked them up and counted. Enough for the doctor’s bill and more. She sank into a chair and fingered the coins.

  Things were back to rights again, then, were they not? As if he’d never been there. They could all go on as they had done before...

  Except he’d been ill the night before; she was certain of it. His forehead had glistened with sweat and his skin had been hot. The fever certainly had returned, just as the doctor said it might.

  She placed her hand over her mouth. Goodness, what if he collapsed again? What if he were not found until he was dead? How would Davina and Niven feel then?

  How would she feel?

  She glanced at the clock. There was time before she’d need to tidy her parents’ rooms. She could go in search of him and reassure herself that he would not die on his way to wherever he was going. She had enough on her conscience; she did not need to feel responsible for a man’s death.

  She rose and resolutely walked out of the room. On her way past the kitchen, she called out, ‘I am going out. I will be back soon.’ Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed her old cloak, which hung on a hook by the garden door. She swung it around her shoulders and went outside.

  He had probably followed the track that the wagons used to deliver goods to the back door of the house. She walked briskly down it.

  Before it met the main road, she called to John, the stable worker, who was exercising an unfamiliar horse in a paddock. Her father’s latest purchase, no doubt. ‘Did you see a stranger walk by here?’

  He nodded. ‘He asked directions to the village.’

  ‘Thank you!’ That, at least, was a more sensible plan than traipsing over the hills as he must have done before.

  Mairi walked as quickly as she could down to the main road that led to the village. If he was as ill as she feared, she would catch up to him.

  * * *

  Over a quarter of an hour later, she saw a figure seated at the side of the road.

  The Englishman. Head bowed. Elbows resting on his knees.

  She quickened her pace. ‘Mr Lucas!’

  He raised his head, apparently with some effort. ‘Miss Wallace.’

  He was certainly still ill.

  She stood in front of him. ‘What are you about? Your fever is back, is it not?’

  He rose to his feet.

  She continued her scold. ‘The doctor said you must rest. For ten days at least. Now look. You are sick again.’

  ‘Do not concern yourself, Miss Wallace.’ He swayed.

  She glared at him. ‘You can barely stand up.’

  He straightened. ‘I am well enough to make it to the village.’

  But the village was three more miles from here. At this rate it would take him all day to reach it. ‘Are you? You looked fatigued enough after walking this short distance. How long have you been walking? An hour? It will only get harder the further you go. I am persuaded that someone might very well find you in a ditch. Imagine how my brother and sister will feel when they hear you are dead, after they went to such exertions to save you.’

  ‘None of you should think of me at all,’ he protested.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Davina and Niven will, though. You owe them your life. You should consider their feelings in this matter.’ And hers.

  He glanced away. ‘Tell your brother and sister I reached the village.’

  If he did make it to the village, Mr Grassie would undoubtedly learn of it. Perhaps people would say her father had turned out a sick man. The last thing they needed was more talk about their family.

  ‘Come back with me,’ she insisted. ‘Come back and remain the ten days. Or more if necessary. Stay and make Davina and Niven feel they’ve done something that counts.’

  And because she could not bear it if he died.

  * * *

  Lucas could make it to the village. He was not that ill. The tower of the church was visible on the horizon, as were some village rooftops. It wasn’t far. He’d endured worse hardships than this. He’d withstood long marches through Spain. He’d fought on when stab
bed by enemy swords. He’d come close to death, but pushed through to keep his brother from being killed.

  Except at Waterloo. At Waterloo he’d abandoned Bradleigh.

  How could he explain to the lovely Miss Wallace that he did not deserve to live? All he wanted was to forget; to numb the pain.

  She ought to have let him die. She should not have pulled him back with her entreaties to live. She should leave him now and, if he were lucky, he would die in a ditch, like she had warned him against.

  Suddenly weary again, he sank back to the ground.

  She stood above him, hands on her hips. ‘Is this where you would like Davina and Niven to find you dead?’

  The fresh, earnest faces of those two young people flashed through his mind. Would he indeed be injuring them if he simply let go of life, here at the side of the road?

  Miss Wallace lowered herself to sit next to him, hugging her knees. As she did so, Lucas suffered a spasm of coughing. She lifted an eyebrow as if to say, See? You are sick.

  When he could talk again he looked her in the eye. ‘Why do you want me to return with you, Miss Wallace? Your family is in straitened circumstances, I understand. I am only a burden to you.’

  Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. ‘I should throttle Niven. You could not have learned that from anyone else.’

  Not that he would tell on the boy.

  She blew out a pained breath. ‘My father’s finances are...’ she paused ‘...a bit challenging at the moment, a fact we certainly do not wish the world to know.’

  He held up his palm. ‘My word. I will not tell.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can see it plainly. If you make it to the inn—or are found in this ditch—our family will be the talk of the village. The Baron of Dunburn turned out a fevered traveller.’ Her voice was mocking. ‘We do not deserve that sort of gossip.’

  No, they did not. Families experiencing financial difficulties never desired the speculation of others.

  It was one thing to toss away his worthless life, quite another to hurt the people who’d rescued him.