by Alisa Adams
Rosina laughed.
"Not perfect," she said, "but a father to be proud of, certainly."
"Why has there been no woman before me?" Monique asked curiously, "surely he could have had anyone he wanted?"
Rosina nodded, staring into the fire.
"He asked someone once, but she refused him," she said, "he liked her, and she liked him, but they would not have made each other happy and afterward he was glad that she had turned him down. He wanted love, and now he has it." She frowned a little, "just one little thing bothers me."
* * *
"What is it?" Monique asked anxiously. Rosina looked at her mischievously, eyes twinkling.
"I hope you do not expect me to call you 'mother'!"
"Mother!" Monique threw back her head and laughed, "you forget, Ma Chèrie, that I am French. 'Maman' will do nicely, I think!"
* * *
"Monique - er - Maman," Rosina giggled, "I think you and I are going to get along very well!"
52
Hiding Place
That night after dinner Logan and Hugh took his clothes and other personal possessions up to the attic. Afterwards, Logan took Malcolm aside for a few moments.
"I have never been here," he said firmly, "and neither have you, Malcolm. I won't need your services for a while but I will get a message to you when I do. If anyone asks, you don't know where I am. Here is something for you to get your Christmas goose and whatever else you need. Thank you for your faithfulness and friendship and a Happy Christmas to you and all your family."
He pressed a pouch into Malcolm's hand. it was heavy, and when Malcolm looked in, it was full of silver coins. Malcolm's eyes widened - he had never seen so much money.
"But Sir - I-" he began to protest.
"Not another word!" Logan gave him a gentle push, "goodnight and take care, Malky!"
Malcolm took the money home to his family, and indeed it was the best Christmas ever.
When it was time to retire, Logan kissed Rosina softly at the foot of the stairs leading to her bedroom.
"Can't I come with you?" she pleaded, pushing herself against him. His body responded to her instantly, but he pushed her away gently.
"Goodnight, Rosie. Sleep well."
He resolutely walked away and made his way upstairs. It was freezing in the attic, but there was a feather mattress with a pile of blankets two feet high beside it. He undressed, lit a candle and got into bed. It was cold at first, but the sheets became warm with the heat of his body soon enough, and he was just beginning to doze when he felt something warm and soft in the bed beside him, and smelled a familiar perfume.
* * *
"Rosina!" despite himself, he laughed, "how did you find me?"
"I followed you, of course!" she knocked on his forehead with her knuckles, ten she said desperately: "I can't stay away from you any longer, Logan."
"You shouldn't have come here, Rosie," he whispered, "I'm only a man, and I only have so much willpower."
"Then give in," she wriggled closer to him and he groaned.
"No," he whispered, "I'll take you back to your room. Maisie will be wondering where you are."
"Maisie knows where I am," she answered, kissing him softly on his parted lips. She could hear his breathing begin to quicken and when she put her hand on his chest his heart was racing. He turned his back on her.
"Go away, Rosie," he groaned, "please."
"No, Logan, I won't."
"What if you get with child? If something happens to me -"
"Then I will have your child to remember you by."
He turned back to her. By the candlelight, with the yellow glow surrounding her like a halo, she looked like an angel.
* * *
Rosina could see him weakening and bent over to kiss him. His resolve cracked open like a dam bursting and he gave up, surrendering to her. He crushed her against his body as if he wanted to make an imprint of hers on it, then kissed her the same way till she gave a little moan of pain.
"My darling Rosie," he whispered, "however did I live my life without you all these years? I love you."
"I love you too," she whispered as tears began to leak down her face, "and I will never stop loving you as long as there is breath in my body. I never knew I could feel like this."
Then there was no more talking. He kissed her everywhere, little teasing, nibbling kisses that made her laugh and squirm with delight. She passed her hands over the soft skin of his back and shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles underneath. When he kissed her lips he gently teased her tongue with his, but held back from the passionate contact of earlier. It was not as she had expected her first time to be - light-hearted, teasing and utterly delightful. At last, she arched her back, wanting more, and he entered her body as gently as he could. For a second he saw her face spasm with pain, then she smiled straight into his eyes and hugged him tightly against herself, wrapping her legs around him. They began to move with each other then a feeling came over her like nothing she had ever experienced before, wave after wave of the most delicious sensation building up to a crescendo till she cried out in ecstasy.
* * *
After a moment Logan reached his own climax and they lay, spent and sated, breathing heavily and laughing softly. Rosina was as contented as a purring cat.
"Now, my Laird," she said triumphantly, "you are mine. I claim you."
"Rosie, you are mad," he laughed, "your father is going to find us."
"My father is sleeping with his own mistress!" she pointed out. Logan pushed her hair back with his fingers and smiled.
"Are you happy now, Rosie?" he whispered. His eyelids were beginning to droop and he yawned, then gradually drifted off to sleep.
"Yes, my love," she whispered, "very happy."
Then she turned around and spooned her body in front of his, pressing her back against his stomach, then she too went to sleep. At some point during the night, Logan draped his arm over her and she woke up. She turned around and saw him smiling in his sleep. It seemed that Logan was happy too.
Maisie didn’t have to be told to figure out where Rosina had gone. She had been excused early and Rosina had suspiciously disappeared. She felt extremely jealous that her mistress was spending the night with her lover when hers was so far away, but it had been her choice. She had already penned her first letter to Findlay, although she had not yet sent it. She read it over again, but she knew that however many times she changed the words they would never adequately express how she felt. It was a very short letter, but she hoped that she had packed into it all the love she could.
* * *
"My dearest Findlay,
We arrived home a few hours ago, and though it was good to see Dumbarton again I am already missing you. Please write back to me as soon as you can, and please believe me when I tell you that you are never far from my thoughts and always in my heart. I miss your smile and the funny way you talk when you want to make me laugh. I miss everything about you, and I hope to be in your arms again before too long.
Your loving Maisie x
She kissed the letter before sealing it, hoping it was enough.
53
Christmas
Connor had decided that he hated women - all women without exception. They were cold-hearted, vain, selfish creatures who cared nothing for a man's pride or comfort.
His servants now suffered at his hands, not because he was violent towards them, but because he had become selfish and inconsiderate himself, keeping them working long after they should have finished, denying them the little bonuses he used to give them and never giving them a word of praise or encouragement. Connor was becoming the kind of bitter and twisted man he hated.
He had begun to despise Monique the moment he discovered the truth about her affair with Hugh, but he did not see why his good name had to suffer because she was a slut.
Accordingly, he started a rumor that he had kicked her out because of her dalliance with Hugh. It only took a few subtle innuendoes before tongues star
ted wagging. Connor would look sorrowful and when someone asked him why he would tell them that he had been obliged to throw out his fiancee because of her unfaithfulness.
Soon it was all over the district that she was no more than a gold-digger, wanting marriage from one man and passion from the other. Her reputation was ruined, but she and Juliette had always gone their own unconventional French way, and did not care for the companionship of stuffy Scottish society. As Hugh said, he knew who his real friends were and cared nothing about the rest and because he was a good and fair man his business did not suffer.
* * *
So once again Connor tried to get on with his life, and like many a man before him in similar circumstances, he sought comfort in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
It would soon be Christmas, and he had no-one with whom to spend it. He had invited a few friends, but everyone had already made plans. Fortunately, he was invited to a business acquaintance's house for Christmas dinner right at the last minute. He was sure that he had only been invited to make numbers even if there was a lady on her own, but he accepted the invitation eagerly and thankfully. At least he would not be alone on Christmas Day.
* * *
Monique felt very bad about Connor and said as much to Hugh on Christmas Eve.
"I wish there was something I could do for him," she sighed, "he is not a bad man and I wronged him."
"We both did," Hugh said, kissing her shining hair, "but do not forget he did a great disservice to mu daughter. Someday he will find happiness, although I think it will be a long time before he trusts another woman." Monique sighed.
"I will pray for him that it does not take too long."
She put her head against his chest and breathed in the scent of his skin. They were lying in bed, about to go to sleep, and neither felt any passionate urges. Monique did, however, feel like the most fortunate woman alive as she fell asleep in Hugh's arms.
Christmas at Dumbarton Castle promised to be everything a proper family Christmas should be. Although Hogmanay and New Year were the biggest occasions for celebration, Christmas was still a festive time, albeit a more modest one. The family of Hugh, Rosina, Logan, Monique, Juliette, the twins, and Maisie celebrated with a huge goose, stuffed with breadcrumbs, onions, and sage. There was a mountain of golden roast potatoes, shortbread, black bun and about a gallon of cream. Best of all was Cranachan, a gorgeous concoction of raspberries, cream, toasted oatmeal, whiskey and honey, although to the regret of the ladies and Hugh the whiskey had had to be left out because of the twins and Logan. There was also a Clootie Dumpling, more traditional at Hallowe'en, but served that day because the twins loved it. Hugh had somehow managed to see to it that pints of piping hot coffee were available and they ate it with tablet, the very sweet Scottish fudge beloved by Scots all over the world. After the food was served Hugh banished the servants to their own banquet.
* * *
Hugh insisted on saying grace that day, something that was not done often in the Buchanan household, but since each one of them had found a new love that year, it seemed appropriate that thanks should be given. Any cares and worries of the last few months were put aside, and they fell on the food like a pack of wolves. Afterward, they were so full that they could hardly move, and the twins fell asleep on the carpet in front of the fire and did not receive their presents until the evening. They got their first fishing rods and had to be physically restrained from dashing out into the freezing rain to try their luck in the river.
* * *
"I was like that once," Hugh said wistfully, sipping his whiskey and trying to stay awake, "it will be good to have children around again."
"You may regret saying that," Juliette laughed, "after a few more months!"
Rosina was already asleep, curled up on Logan's lap like a contented cat.
"I think it's time for bed," he announced, frowning at the thought of waking her up, "goodnight my ladies, Laird." He stood up, holding her in his arms and she still did not stir, so he carried her all the way up to her bedroom and deposited her gently on the bed, which Maisie had already turned down. Logan kissed her on the forehead and tiptoed out.
"Lock the door," he whispered to Maisie. She looked at him and smiled mischievously.
"Yes, my Laird," she replied, giggling.
Hugh had not stopped thinking, and inquiring around all his friends and business associates in the district about the possibility that Logan had killed Alasdair McPhail. The story had died down a bit and had been replaced by other, fresher scandals but the consensus was still the same. Logan Fraser had either killed Alasdair or knew who had.
Hugh now knew that Connor was a master at spreading rumors and a wizard of deception, and wondered if it was he had planted a seed in someone's mind. It would not have been too hard to do. The servants were busy mingling among the guests delivering food and copious amounts of ale, wine, and whiskey. Most of the company had been partly if not wholly inebriated, and although the part of the courtyard used for the reception had been well-lit, it was only a small part of a vast space where there were plenty of dark corners and alleys to run down and hide in.
* * *
Now he knew that Connor had hated his brother but secretly loved Rosina he wondered if he had killed his brother and tried to make it look like an accident. It would not have been very difficult. The place where the body had been was in a culvert leading down to the moat, where no-one would go for fear of breaking their ankles in the dark. In fact, it would have been even darker in contrast to the bright torchlight. He went downstairs and tried to visualize the scene. No doubt Alasdair himself had not been entirely sober.
* * *
He would have to have come down an extremely badly lit staircase at the back that was so dangerous in the dark that even the servants dared not use it. He must have then crept to his hiding place somewhere in the stables - whatever had possessed the man to think of such a stupid hiding place? Then he must have encountered his attacker in the blackest part of the whole vast place. Hugh could think of no earthly reason why Alasdair would do such a thing unless of course there was another explanation.
* * *
He thought back on the night of Rosina's wedding, and the moment when she had come to see him. One moment she had been almost hysterical but the next moment she had joked about Alasdair being drunk. And then a memory came back to him that had not seemed significant at the time. Her eyes had been red as if she had been weeping. Why would she be weeping on her wedding night? Had Alasdair hurt her? He paused for a moment and went around the wall to look out over the river, the sight of which always calmed him, but not today. A terrible suspicion was growing in his mind and the more he tried to put it away the more it came back, like a biting insect that would not stop pestering him. He sighed. It was time to speak to Logan. He ordered some tea and took it up with him to Logan's eyrie at the top of the castle. He had a book, which was lying open face-down on his chest, and he was looking out of the window. He turned and smiled widely as Hugh came in.
"Just what I needed!" he said gratefully. He took a sip and looked up expectantly. "You did not hike all the way upstairs to bring me a cup of tea, my Laird. Have you been thinking about my problem?"
"Our problem," Hugh replied, smiling, "yes, I have. That night everyone was all over the place and most of us were drunk to some degree. I know I was. When Rosie came down to tell us Alastair was missing she was hysterical one minute and joking the next, and one thing I have only remembered now was that she had been crying. Why would she do that on her wedding night? She said she had been sleeping - crying in her sleep?"
Logan shrugged.
"Tears of joy?" he speculated, "she had just been making love to her husband for the first time."
Hugh shook his head firmly.
"She was still a virgin," he said vehemently, "she told Maisie, and Maisie had no reason to lie to me," he paused, "but she is a virgin no longer, Logan, is she?"
Logan, with his shy demeanor, always b
lushed more noticeably than anyone else. His cheeks were on fire now.
"I cannot deny it, my Laird," he admitted sorrowfully.
Hugh patted him on the shoulder.
* * *
"Relax, Logan," he laughed, "it would be very hypocritical of me to censure you for the same thing I am doing myself!"
Logan let out a deep sigh of relief.
"Thank you," he said, "I was truly worried. There is nothing in the world I want more than to marry Rosina."
"I felt the same about her mother," Hugh said wistfully, then shook his thoughts back to the present, "anyway, back to our problem. She was behaving very strangely that night."
"It is not every day a lady gets married," Logan pointed out, "I think you may be reading too much into this, my Laird. Perhaps she was just overwhelmed."
Hugh shook his head again as if to dislodge something inside it.
"I keep thinking - then I think again - no, it can't be," his voice was tense, as though he were angry with himself.
"My Laird, you are making no sense," he said insistently, "what are you trying to say?"
Hugh looked him directly in the eye.
"Logan, do you think she killed him?"
Logan's mouth dropped open. Hugh had guessed the truth and for once his silver tongue had deserted him. But before he had a chance to react Rosina's voice said from behind him:
"Yes, Father, I killed him." Her tone was harsh and bitter, "and I am not sorry."
54
