by Karen Ranney
“Two,” Devlen said. “If you do not object to staying with Robert,” he said in an aside to her. “I’d prefer someone be with him, especially in view of what happened with the birds.”
“Surely you don’t think…” The rest of her question was silenced when he shook his head slightly. Now was not the time to question him as to Robert’s safety, not with the innkeeper listening. “No, I don’t mind,” she said. The child would serve as her chaperone.
The innkeeper gestured to the stairs, and she followed, ascending the steps and hearing the two men’s conversation behind her.
She hesitated at the landing and the innkeeper pushed by her, leading her to a room at the end of the hall. The second room was next door. Entirely too close.
The innkeeper opened the door and bowed to Devlen, but he made a gesture that she should precede him. The room was cold, but the fire was hurriedly lit by the innkeeper himself as he kept up a running commentary on the weather.
“This room is larger,” Devlen said. “You and Robert can stay in here.”
Beatrice stepped close to the window for a view of the snow-encrusted countryside. Icicles hung like frozen tears from the branches of the trees. Bushes were laden with layers of snow until they appeared like dozens of hulking shapes huddled against the wind. The road was a mirrored path, the lanternlight reflected in its icy surface.
The snow had stopped falling, and the sky had cleared, revealing a full moon hanging like a snowball in the sky. The snow sparkled, and the ice glistened. Her breath fogged up the window, and she stepped back from the draft.
On this cold night there would be no comfort to be found outside the inn, but inside there was the warmth from the fire, a thick mattress, and plenty of blankets.
Devlen laid Robert in the high bed and removed the boy’s shoes before tucking him beneath the covers.
The room she and Robert had been given was undoubtedly the inn’s very best. A massive four-poster took up much of the space. What was left was occupied by a washstand, a small folding screen, and a chair sagging so much in the seat that it looked to be a castoff from the taproom downstairs.
The innkeeper melted away after showing Devlen his room, spurred on his departure by Devlen’s coin. A moment later, the tavern maid left as well, and Beatrice was oddly reminded of the time when she’d been so disappointed not to get the job at the Sword and Dragon. What would her life have been like in the last two weeks?
She would not be standing here beside the window, wouldn’t be surreptitiously glancing at Devlen occasionally, would not be worrying about what he was doing when he came around the end of the bed and headed in her direction. There were so many things that would not have happened, let alone the sheer excitement of his taking her hand.
“You look frightened. Are you?”
“Should I be?”
He smiled. “You never seem to answer any of my questions directly.”
“Then, yes, you frighten me sometimes. Sometimes, my own reaction to you frightens me.”
There, an honest answer, one without prevarication.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
She turned and looked out the window. “Because you lure me to do what I should not. Because you entice, Devlen Gordon, and your enticements are not for maidens like me.”
“I normally eschew maidens, Miss Sinclair. I avoid them with all haste and vow never to bother with them. They’re too much trouble, you see, and I’m a man who knows my own worth and the value of my time.”
“So maidens are a waste of time?”
“I’ve found so, yes.”
“Then I should feel safer, shouldn’t I?”
“Do you?”
“Not appreciably, no.”
“I’ve promised to protect you, don’t you remember? I never break a promise.”
“What if I don’t wish to be protected?”
He smiled in response. “I’ll go and see if the innkeeper can find us something to eat,” he said, closing the door behind him. The room was suddenly much smaller.
“You like my cousin, don’t you, Miss Sinclair?”
She smiled in Robert’s direction, not completely surprised he’d feigned sleep.
“Yes, I do. Is that acceptable to you, Your Grace?”
He smiled sleepily. “He’s a very nice man when he wants to be. But he can be ruthless.”
Not a word a seven-year-old should be using to describe an adult.
“Where did you hear that?”
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “My uncle. But I don’t think he likes Devlen very much. Devlen’s very rich.”
“One man’s ruthless is another man’s determined.”
He sat up, looking around. “It’s not a very big place, is it?”
“But we’re lucky to be out of the storm.”
“Devlen would never let anything happen to his horses. He spent a lot of money for them.”
“Then we should consider ourselves fortunate he has such great concern for his horses. We are therefore protected by default.”
“Oh, I’m certain he would never let anything happen to me, either, Miss Sinclair.”
“Yes, you’re the Duke of Brechin.”
He nodded. “But he loves me, too.”
She found herself silenced by the wisdom of a child.
“Remember our conversation about snow at nighttime?”
He nodded.
“Come and look.”
He slid off the bed and came to the window. After a moment, he smiled up at her. “It looks like you could eat it, Miss Sinclair. As if Cook had spread her frosting all over the world.”
Beatrice smiled. “You’re right, it does.”
A few minutes later, Devlen arrived at the door followed by a chambermaid. The girl bobbed an awkward curtsy, a rather remarkable feat considering she was balancing a tray filled with food.
She laid it on the table doubling as a washstand and curtsied once again. Not to Beatrice, who was rather unused to the sight, but to Devlen, who further confounded the young girl by smiling at her.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” she said after the maid left the room.
“Do what?”
“Smile at young things. It confuses them entirely. I noticed at Castle Crannoch you made the maids lose the ability to talk. As if their wits had flown out of their heads.”
“You exaggerate.”
“I speak only the truth,” she said, amused at the flush coloring his cheekbones.
Could it be that Devlen Gordon was embarrassed? Or only flummoxed because she’d called him on his ability to charm the female sex?
“My cousin has always had that effect on women.”
“Do you ever sound like a seven-year-old?” Beatrice asked him. “Sometimes I think you’re really twenty, and you’re only masquerading as a child.”
“That’s because I’m very intelligent.”
She and Devlen exchanged looks, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt as bemused around Robert as she often did.
But she was grateful to notice in the next few minutes he reverted to being his age as he bounced in the middle of the bed and insisted upon having a picnic there, with the cloth spread out in the middle.
“You sit there,” he said to Beatrice, pointing at the opposite corner of the bed. “You, there,” he said to Devlen, indicating the pillows at the head of the bed. “We’ll pretend we’re sitting beneath a tree at Castle Crannoch.”
She’d prefer a safer place.
“I think we should envision a different scene,” Beatrice said. “Somewhere we’ve never seen before.”
“The moors outside of Edinburgh,” Devlen contributed. “Beneath a large oak tree.”
“Pine,” Beatrice countered. “Pines smell so much better.”
“I wasn’t aware oaks smelled.”
“Which proves my point.”
She reached for one of the crusty rolls as Devlen did. Their fingers met, touched, and she reluctantly withdrew her
hand.
Robert reached down into the basket and grabbed a roll and handed it to her. “Here, Miss Sinclair.”
“My troubadour. Thank you, Robert.” She spent some time slicing it in half and piling some of the ham on top of it, anything but look in Devlen’s direction. She was as foolish as one of the maids. His very presence had an effect on her. He needn’t smile. Even one of his frowns was captivating.
“Don’t you think so, Miss Sinclair?” Robert was saying.
She glanced over at the boy. “I’m sorry, but I was engrossed in my own thoughts. What was it you asked me?”
“I was saying we might be trapped here for days and days.”
“Well, at least we have food to eat,” she said, gesturing toward the lavish dinner Devlen had procured for them. “And we’re warm.” Only just, however. There was still a chill in the air since the fire was just lit.
“And Devlen’s horses are in the barn,” Robert added. “But I want to see Edinburgh again. I want to see Devlen’s house. It’s the most wondrous place, Miss Sinclair. You have never seen anything like it. It’s three stories, and it’s filled with furniture and marvelous rooms, and it has a hidden staircase just like Castle Crannoch and a secret passage from the library to the stables.”
She glanced at Devlen to find him smiling fondly at the boy.
“Some of what I’ve told you is a secret just between you and me,” he said, smiling.
Robert looked shamefaced, then brightened. “But she doesn’t know exactly where the secret passages are, Devlen.”
“Why would you build a secret passage in your house?”
“I didn’t build it,” he said. “I bought the house that way. Edinburgh has long been known for its intrigues, and evidently the previous owner had some connection with the court. He no doubt thought it wise to provide some type of escape for himself and his family.”
“Did he ever use it?”
“I’m not entirely certain. I decided not to delve too deeply into the family history when I bought the property.”
The rest of their meal was pleasant, their conversation innocuous bordering on bland, as if both of them were conscious of the innocent boy sitting between them.
They also carefully avoided discussing the attempts on Robert’s life.
Their meal done, Devlen took the tray and stacked the dishes on it.
“You surprise me,” she said.
He glanced at her and resumed his chore.
“Why, because I don’t need a servant to do my every bidding or because I’m not afraid to do for myself?”
“Perhaps both.”
He put the tray down, opened the door, and picked up the tray again.
“Things are not always as they seem, Miss Sinclair. Nor are people.”
He glanced at Robert. “We’ll make our travel decisions in the morning.”
She nodded, and a moment later he was gone.
“You need to wash, Robert,” she said, handing him a small ceramic jar she’d taken from her valise.
He didn’t fuss but did as she instructed, lathering his face and hands with the soap, then making a point of shivering as he rinsed. She handed him a small towel embroidered with the Brechin crest. He dried himself off and changed into his nightshirt, making a point of stepping behind the folding screen and making her promise not to look.
Beatrice smiled and promised, and lit one of the lanterns, but because of the size of the room, didn’t bother to light the other.
“It’s very cold in here, Miss Sinclair,” Robert said, emerging from behind the screen.
“Bundle up in bed, and you’ll soon be warm enough.”
“Tell me a story,” he said with all the arrogance of a fully grown duke.
“Not if you command me.”
“You’re my employee.”
“You’re my charge.”
“I’m Brechin.”
“You’re seven is what you are.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Do you think your father would be proud of you to hear you talk like this? From what you’ve said of him, he was very conscious of the feelings of others.”
Robert’s eyes widened, but he didn’t answer her.
“Would he be glad you announce your title so often? He strikes me as a most modest man, someone who wanted to do good in his life more than he wanted to impose fear.”
To her absolute horror, the child began to cry, the huge tears rolling down his cheeks all the more powerful for the fact they were soundless. Stricken, she reached out and enfolded him in a hug.
She’d never thought herself maternal. In fact, when a baby was born in the village, she was not inclined to gather around the child and ooh and aah about its face, toes, or its likeness to either parent. But at the moment, when she began rocking back and forth in an effort to comfort the child, she felt absurdly protective.
Who would dare to hurt a child?
The thought was so sudden and invasive she was taken aback. This was not a holiday. This was not an adventure. There was only reason they were going to Edinburgh and that was to keep Robert safe.
Someone wanted him dead.
“I will tell you a story, my young duke,” she said, kissing the top of his warm head. He smelled of the soap he’d used before getting into bed.
“Once upon a time, a peacock with a glorious tail noticed a tall and ugly crane passing by. The peacock made fun of the crane’s gray plumage. ‘I am robed like a king,’ he said, ‘in gold and purple, and all the colors of the rainbow, while you have not a bit of color on your wings.’
“He proceeded to parade around the crane, making a great presentation of his tail feathers, spreading them wide beneath the bright sun. Indeed, they were magnificent feathers in shades of red, blue, and green.
“The crane said not a word. When he walked, he did so awkwardly, and it’s true there wasn’t a bit of color on his feathers. He was nearly ugly, just like the peacock said.
“But while the peacock was laughing at the crane with the other peacocks, the crane suddenly picked up his feet, flapped his wings, and began to run. A moment later, while the peacocks watched in amazement and awe, he soared into the heavens.
“Up and up and around the clouds he flew, into the face of the sun itself.
“The peacocks could barely hear the crane’s voice as he climbed higher into the sky, but hear it they did. ‘It is true you are beautiful, much more beautiful than I. But I wing my way to the heights of heaven and lift up my voice to the stars. You can only walk below among the birds of the dunghill.’
“The moral of this story? Fine feathers don’t make fine birds.”
“Do all Aesop’s fables have a moral, Miss Sinclair?”
“Every single one of them.”
“Are any of them interesting?”
She only shook her head and tucked him in, taking care to ensure he was warm.
Once Robert was tucked in, he fell asleep without much difficulty. She sat and watched him, convinced he would rest tonight without nightmares. The room might be small, but there was a pleasantness to the inn somehow lacking at Castle Crannoch.
A half hour later, she stood and undressed, replacing her clothing with her nightgown and wrapper.
She was about to do something very foolish, something even Sally would caution her against. But if nothing else, the last year had taught her something. Life was fleeting and could be stripped from her without warning, without a hint.
She didn’t want to waste one second of the time she had. She didn’t want to pretend that there would be years and years to be wise and sensible, to find love.
Love. The word described all the incredible acts of passion mankind was capable of, all the acts of sacrifice, all the illogical and nonsensical acts. Love. She wasn’t under any illusions that what she was about to do was based on love. She was intrigued by Devlen Gordon, and fascinated by him. His smile caused desire to curl up at the base of her spine, then extend its silky tail through her body, b
ut she didn’t love him.
Nor was time a certainty. All she knew was that she had this moment.
Still, she hesitated at the door, her hand on the handle. She felt greedy for life in the same way she’d been hungry for food, as if she’d been starving for experiences all these years. The hunger she felt easily overcame the soft whisper from her conscience.
She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Chapter 22
Beatrice stood before Devlen’s room a full minute before summoning the courage to knock.
The sound was too loud in the silence, the echo of it carrying down the hall and back. She heard his footsteps nearing the door, then he hesitated, as if questioning whether or not he should open it.
She didn’t knock again, but neither did she turn and go back to her room. Instead, she stood there with hands clasped in front of her, waiting.
Finally, the door opened, and he stood there, half-undressed. His stock was askew, his shift unbuttoned. But he didn’t apologize for the state of his appearance.
Nor did he question her presence.
“Who do you think might have tried to harm Robert?”
It was a valid question, and one that needed to be asked and answered. But that wasn’t why she was here, and they both knew it.
He reached out and pulled her into the room, then closed the door behind her.
“You wouldn’t enjoy it, Miss Sinclair. In the morning, you’ll wonder why you gave up your virtue so easily.”
“Will I?”
“You’ll wonder why you gave up so much for so little.”
“You sound as if you have some experience in the regrets of virgins.”
“No, I don’t. Nor do I wish to. Go back to your room.”
His voice was so well modulated, his smile so firmly fixed in place she would have thought him unaffected by her presence. Except, he kept his hands thrust in his pockets and there was a little pulsebeat at his neck where his skin moved up and down furiously, a cadence that was remarkably similar to her own frantically beating heart.
“Devlen?” She reached out with her hand, placed her fingers against his cheek. He jerked away at her touch.
