Seduced by the Scot

by Eaton, Jillian

  “Where is me dear stepmother?” asked Lachlan.

  “Decorating the nursery with as many toys and rocking horses that she can find.” Robert waggled his bushy eyebrows at Callum, who’d been about to drop a tiny garter snake into Brynne’s pocket as a farewell gift. Blushing, the boy put the creature into his own pocket instead. “She feels poorly for leaving the children here for this long. We both do.” He sobered. “It wasna yer burden tae bear, Son, and the last thing ye need is a pack of cubs running underfoot when ye’re trying tae begin a new life with yer bonny bride.”

  Brynne found such an admission touching, but Lachlan merely snorted.

  “And what do yer mistresses have tae say about sharing yer attention with yer wife and four brats?” he said even as he gave Blaine’s tangled black hair an affectionate tousle.

  “They will not complain after I give them a shiny bobble,” Robert said cheerfully. “What do ye think, Daughter? Would ye rather rubies or emeralds tae soothe yer injured feelings?”

  Brynne blinked. “Ah…”

  “Ye are shocking my bride’s delicate sensibilities.” At that, Lachlan finally crossed the room to stand beside her. He even slipped an arm around her waist, but either did not see or chose to ignore the cautious curve of her lips. “Ye forget, Father, that the English are not nearly as bluntly spoken.”

  “But she’s no longer an English rose, is she?” Handing Eara and Tavish off the nursemaid to be fed, Robert scratched under his chin. “Yer wife is a Campbell now, and pretty as a bouquet of wild heather.” He gave Brynne a wink. “Sorry, lass, if I offended ye. Having six sons, I tend tae forget tae curb my tongue in polite company.”

  “That is quite all right,” she said, and she meant it.

  The Marquess of Kintore was as different from the Marquess of Dorchester as the light of day was from the pitch of night, but she vastly preferred Robert’s–admittedly flawed–character to her father’s icy demeanor. It was obvious where Lachlan had gotten his charm from, and while she’d never want to be married to a man whose eye wandered as freely as Robert Campbell’s, she was of the opinion that he’d make a fine father-in-law.

  Again, she invited him into the parlor, but he declined with a regretful shake of his head.

  “Next time, lass. But I’m sure me boy is as eager tae get ye all tae himself as me wife is tae see the twins. She had a bad spell of it, after they were born.” Robert tapped the side of his skull. “Something went off, up here. Which is why I suggested she spend a few months in Bath. A change of scenery, and all that. It must have worked, for now she’s right as rain and eager tae begin mothering.”

  Brynne had heard of new mothers who did not bond with their babies right away. A different sort of anxious mannerisms that had left her friend, Lady Wright, in bed for nearly half a year after the birth of her daughter. Thankfully, with time and patience and a good doctor (the first two had been fired after they suggested leeching), she’d made a full recovery and was due to welcome her second child any day, if she hadn’t already.

  “I am glad to hear it.” Kneeling, Brynne gave each of Lachlan’s brothers and little Eara a farewell hug. Her chest tightened as she rose, and she averted her gaze as the corners of her eyes stung. She must have touched her face after squeezing the lemons for the lemonade. Or else she’d grown more attached to this rambunctious group of miscreants than she’d thought.

  “They’ll be happy at Kintore Manor,” Lachlan said quietly as he joined her in the doorway to wave a final goodbye. “Spoiled rotten, I am sure, but Lady Heather will have a veritable brigade of governesses at her disposal tae keep them in line. We can visit once they’ve settled in.”

  Brynne frowned. “Does she…that is to say, is your stepmother aware that your father–”

  “Is a lecherous old goat who canna keep his pecker in his pants?” Lachlan said dryly.

  Her cheeks suffused with color. “I don’t know if I’d put it that way.”

  “Why, when that’s the way it is? The way it’s always been. Robert Campbell is a man of few vices. He doesna drink tae excess–at least not so much anymore. He’s never raised a hand tae me or my brothers when it wasna needed. He honors his bets. But it has never been said that he is a faithful husband. Something Lady Heather well knew before she married him. Especially given that he was still married tae Blaine’s mother when they…met.”

  “Then how–”

  “If memory serves, me father claimed the marriage was never valid and paid a parishioner tae say the same. Blaine’s mother trotted off with a hefty sum for her troubles, and Lady Heather trotted in. Not tae say she hadna already been doing some trotting, if ye understand me meaning.”

  “I–I see.” As her blush deepened, Brynne wondered if she could abide such an arrangement. Affairs were more common in the ton than fidelity and if both parties were aware of their partner’s indiscretions, as was the case with Lachlan’s father and stepmother, then what was the harm? Except she didn’t think–in fact, she knew–that she’d never want to share her husband with another. Just imagining him doing to another woman what he’d done to her…it was impossible. It was intolerable. But it was also something she’d never have to worry about.

  While Lachlan had spoken harshly to her yesterday, he’d never hurt her on purpose. Of that, she was certain. She had to be certain. Because if he did…if he did, it would take them to a place that they’d never recover from.

  She was already clinging by her fingernails. Such a betrayal would wrench her hands free, and then there’d be nothing to do but fall.

  Nibbling her bottom lip, she cast her attention to the drive. All of the children–with the exception of Blaine, who hadn’t been allowed to bring his snail collection into the carriage–were eager to set off to their new home, and they quickly found a seat in the enormous landau with the twins on Robert’s lap. A crack of the whip, and the team of four horses set off in a plume of stone dust.

  “Do ye hear that?” Lachlan asked, cupping his ear.

  “What?” she said.

  “Silence.”

  It was silent.

  Almost eerily so.

  But instead of finding respite in the quiet, the unease she’d been able to tamp down when Robert arrived resurfaced again. She didn’t like this divide between her and Lachlan. This distance, even though they were standing side by side. They needed a bridge. Something to close the gap between her insecurities and his doubt. If she had to lay down the first plank, then so be it. Because she hadn’t learned how to trap a frog in a silk stocking just to give up now.

  “Lachlan–” she began.

  “Bry–” he started.

  They stopped.

  Stared at each other.

  “Ye said there were refreshments?” he said gruffly.

  At her nod, they went into the parlor, which was really nothing more than a sparsely furnished room with a table in the middle surrounded by mismatched chairs. But the windows offered a view of the fields, and the sunlight trickling in through the glass caught on the tiny pieces of mica in the stone walls, and the air smelled of fresh citrus.

  There was beauty to found here, Brynne reflected as she sat across from her husband. It wasn’t obvious, or easy to find. It would take work–hard work–to make it shine. For the castle and this marriage. But it was possible. All hope needed was a single drop of rain to bloom. And heaven knew they had enough of it sitting around in buckets.

  As Lachlan gazed at Brynne, her gloved hands demurely folded, her chin bowed, her eyes cast to the side, he felt like exactly what he was.

  A great, bumbling lummox.

  He’d let his Scot’s temper get the best of him…and he’d said things that he shouldn’t have. Things that were going to be difficult to take back in the calm after the storm. But damned if he wasn’t going to try.

  Or at least, that was the plan.

  Until all hell broke loose.

  “PIGS!” Adam McCrery cried as he catapulted into the parlor, splattering mud e
verywhere. An experienced farmer whom Lachlan had hired on last year to assist him in preparing the fields for sowing and planting, he was a quiet sort who never wasted a word. This was the first time, to Lachlan’s knowledge, that he’d ever raised his voice above a thoughtful whisper.

  “What?” Brynne exclaimed as she half-rose from her seat.

  “Pigs,” Adam repeated, throwing his arms wide for emphasis. “Twenty of them, maybe more. They got out of their pen last night and ontae the barley sometime early this morning.”

  Lachlan could feel the blood draining from his face. He gripped the arms of his chair to steady himself. “How much damage?” he asked grimly.

  “We tried tae herd them off at the high ridge, but–”

  “How much damage?” he repeated.

  Adam hung his head. “All of it, Lachlan. They destroyed all of it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lachlan was gone for the rest of the day. Brynne offered to go with him to inspect the fields and see if anything could be done to salvage what the pigs had ruined, but he asked her to remain behind.

  “Boars are nasty buggers,” he’d told her tersely as he had retrieved his rifle from above the mantel in the drawing room, “and can take down a man if they’ve the inclination. I’ll return when I can. It might not be until tomorrow.”

  He had given her a chaste kiss on the cheek, and then he’d left, leaving her to fret and wander the castle grounds for what seemed like a small eternity.

  At last, unable to sit idly by any longer even though that was precisely what Lachlan had asked her to do, she prepared a basket with bread, cheese, and sliced meats and set off to the distillery to see if there was anything she could do.

  She was halfway down the winding trail when she was met by a dark-haired woman with blue eyes and a smile as sharp as the edge of a scalpel.

  “Lady Campbell,” she said, stopping in the middle of the trail and lifting her lavender-colored skirts in a curtsy. “What an honor tae finally meet ye. I am–”

  “Miss Allison Adair. Yes, I remember.” Shifting the heavy basket, Brynne was careful to keep her countenance devoid of expression as she addressed her husband’s former mistress. “I did not realize you’d be here.”

  “Once word reached the village of what had happened, we all came as fast as we could tae help. Not fast enough, I’m afraid. All of the seedlings were lost. Lachlan, of course, is absolutely devastated.”

  Lachlan.

  Not Lord Campbell.

  The distinction was slight…but purposeful, Brynne noted when she saw the gleam in Allison’s eyes.

  “Is that for yer husband?” the brunette asked, reaching for the basket. “I’m happy tae take it tae him and save ye the trip.”

  “That really isn’t–very well,” Brynne relented, automatically falling back upon her manners as Allison all but wrenched the basket from her hands. Well-bred ladies did not fight over chunks of cheese and peppered ham. “I’ll accompany you. Is Lachlan in the fields, or–”

  “He’s resting in the lodge, but I shall make sure tae let him know that ye brought him this.” Allison peeled back the blanket Brynne had covered the food with to peer inside. “What a kind wife ye are, Lady Campbell. Lachlan is a fortunate man.”

  How did Allison know where he was sleeping?

  It was an ugly question.

  One that she wished her mind hadn’t procured.

  But now that it had, it circled her head like a gnat, buzzing just out of reach as it searched for a place to draw blood.

  “I heard that Robert Campbell came tae visit and take the wee ones besides.” Allison arched a perfectly groomed ebony brow. “How did ye manage that trick?”

  “It wasn’t a trick,” Brynne said defensively. “Lachlan’s siblings should be in the care of their father, and I…”

  I shouldn’t be explaining myself to you, she thought crossly.

  “Can you see that my husband receives that?” she said, nodding at the basket. “And have someone send word to me when he has awoken.”

  Allison curtsied again, although there was a detectable hint of mockery in her tone when she said, “Of course, my lady.”

  Brynne smiled thinly. “Thank you.”

  Against her better instincts, she went back to the castle, and spent a large portion of the night roaming the damp halls, the train of her wrapper fluttering behind her as she paced from one window to the next, searching the inky darkness for sign of a light, or a horse, or even a wayward pig. Anything to indicate that her husband was soon to return home.

  He’d spent previous nights at the distillery. Too many to count. But they hadn’t gnawed at her as they did now. She didn’t know whether it was their argument, or her encounter with his mistress, or even the quiet…but something was lifting the hairs at the nape of her neck. Something was causing her breaths to shorten and her chest to fill with lead. Something was sending her into a near panic as she fought both sleep and the sly whispers of “what if?”

  At the first streak of dawn across an ominous red sky, she was on her way to the distillery. Passing fields pillaged by rooting boars, the neat rows of barley torn asunder, the soil churned up, years of hard work utterly demolished in the span of a few hours.

  Lachlan would rebuild, because that’s who he was.

  But as she climbed the steps to the lodge, a rectangular building made of crudely hewn timber tucked behind a line of aspen, she felt the ache of his loss–of their loss–as if it were a tangible being.

  They’d just have to start over, she decided. Except this time, they’d do it differently. This time, they’d do it together. With no secrets or half-truths between them.

  She’d write to Weston this day to let him know that she wasn’t in Paris, as she had led him to believe, but married and living in a castle in the Highlands. Oh, but to see his expression when he read that letter! He’d be angry with her. Most likely disappointed. But he’d come around when he saw that she was happy. And she would be happy. As soon as she and Lachlan had the opportunity to clear the air between them, lay all of their proverbial cards upon the table (no more hiding their relationship from the ton out of some misguided attempt at retaining her social standing, no more hiding the truth from her out of some attempt to get the reaction or answer that he wanted), and begin anew.

  They would be honest, even when it was hard.

  Especially when it was hard.

  Because in their hearts, they loved each other. And there was nothing that could tear that love apart.

  Except this, Brynne thought dazedly as she raised her fist to knock on the bedroom door and it swung inward beneath the slight pressure of her hand to reveal her husband sprawled on his back in the middle the bed…with Allison Adair draped across the top of him.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there.

  Staring.

  Just staring.

  At the coverlet thrown on the floor. At the sheets tangled on the bed. Covering some parts of their bodies, but not enough to hide that they were both naked. At Allison’s dark hair fanned across his shoulder. At the steady rise and fall of Lachlan’s ribcage as he slept, blissfully oblivious to the presence of his wife in the doorway. Or the knife he’d plunged into her heart.

  Oh, Lachlan. What have you done to us?

  She must have made a sound, a tiny whimper of distress, because Allison’s eyes opened and went straight to where Brynne stood frozen; a deer in the midst of a thicket right before the hunter’s gun exploded.

  “Lady Campbell!” she cried, grabbing onto a corner of the sheet and drawing it over her breasts. “I–I dinna know what to say.”

  Lachlan stirred. His mouth stretched in a yawn that turned into a grimace. He scratched the side of the jaw where a rough shadow of beard had grown overnight and then–while Brynne watched and fought to contain the nausea rising within her throat–reached for Allison.

  “This is a pleasant way tae wake up,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  “Ye are right
about that,” Allison purred, rubbing herself against him without breaking Brynne’s horrified gaze. “Unfortunately, it seems we’ve been caught. It was bound tae happen eventually. I’m so sorry ye had tae find out this way, Lady Campbell. But as they say, like father, like son.”

  “Wait,” Lachlan began, his brow furrowing as he set himself up on his elbow and looked down at his mistress. “What–”

  “How could you?” The words wrenched themselves from Brynne’s broken heart. From her very soul. With an agonized cry, she spun on her heel and bolted out of the lodge. Picking up her skirts, she ran blindly, forgoing the marked path to plunge into long grass that slapped at her arms and legs. Somewhere behind her, she heard Lachlan calling her name, but she ignored him in her mad dash to escape what she’d seen. Never mind that it was already burned into her memory, never to be forgotten.

  Without warning, the grass gave way to the sheer edge of a cliff. Below the rocky embankment, waves crashed against the shore and gulls flew amidst the surf, dodging in and out of the salty spray in a feat of aerial acrobatics.

  Brynne’s feet went out from under her as she slid to a stop. Her breaths uneven and jagged, her pulse pounding in her ears, she collapsed to the ground. Would have laid right there with her face pressed to the cool soil had Lachlan not appeared behind her.

  He scooped her up as if she weighed no more than a bag of goose down, and carried her away from the cliff to a series of gray boulders covered in moss and seemingly carved from the earth itself.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded, clawing at his hands as if his arms were a steel trap and she were a wild animal hellbent on escape. “Don’t touch me.”

  He released her and stepped back with his hands raised, palms facing outwards. A strong wind whipped across the valley, sending his hair, unbound, across his face. He shoved it out of his eyes. Eyes that were as dark and haunted as she’d ever seen them.

  “Bry, ye have tae listen–”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” she interrupted. Having reached the bottom of her despair, she was strangely…numb. A ship that had made it to the middle of a hurricane to bob listlessly amidst the waves. Not feeling. Not doing. Just floating in place while it waited for the next surge.