British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  “Naught, my lady.”

  Her irritation increased. “I insist upon knowing the source of your amusement.”

  He gave a little bow. “If ye insist, your servant must obey. Each time ye gaze at me through those lenses, your eyes startle me—like an owl’s they seem, huge and solemn. Why dinna ye wear the wire eyeglasses to do your fancywork? They stay put upon your face so ye needna forever be picking them up and putting them down.”

  “I see well enough to do needlework without spectacles.” Celeste pouted. An owl? “Eyeglasses make me appear scholarly while the lorgnette is stylish.”

  Allan grunted. “I shall read.” He approached the stand holding a large Bible.

  Celeste picked up her embroidery and discarded the lorgnette. She heard Allan turn pages, then begin to read: “ ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.’ ”

  “What are ye reading?” Celeste interrupted when he paused for breath. “This is from the Holy Bible?”

  “The Gospel according to John. Chapter one. Ye’ve ne’er read it?”

  Although his voice held no derision, she felt defensive. “I must’ve heard it in kirk, but I dinna recall. Is it … important?”

  His tone softened. “Listen and see.”

  “This Word it speaks of was a person?” she inquired.

  “Aye. So ye did listen. God communicates truth about Himself through the Word—the written word, the spoken word, and the living Word, who is Jesus Christ, God in the flesh. ‘So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God’—that is a verse from the book of Romans. Let me begin again and see what ye think.”

  He read several chapters before his voice began to crack. “My throat is dry.”

  Celeste laid aside her neglected needlework, rose, and tugged the bell-pull. “ ’twas thoughtless of me, but I became engrossed in the story … and ye say this is true? It happened just as ye read?”

  A servant appeared in the open doorway.

  “Will ye bring us refreshment?” Celeste requested. “Are ye … Dougal?” From this distance she could not be certain.

  “Aye, m’lady.” He bowed and disappeared from view.

  Allan answered. “Every word I read is truth. I should be pleased to read each day with ye, my lady.”

  Celeste wished she had worn her eyeglasses so she might better assess the facial expression accompanying his tentative offer. “If it pleases ye, I’ll not object,” she said. “As I expected, your assignment as my bodyguard has proven tedious. I quickly repented of my promise to make your life miserable, yet every day I unwittingly make good the threat. We’ve few interests in common, I fear.” She smiled wistfully. “I could wish ye admired me a wee bit.”

  “My lady, ’tis my honor to attend ye.”

  The servant returned with a tray, which he set upon the table.

  Celeste’s skirts engulfed her tiny chair as she sat down. “Thank you, Dougal.” She poured soft cider from a flagon.

  Motion caught her eye. Allan appeared to be shaking his head. She thought she saw the footman direct a rude gesture at her bodyguard, then exit in haste. “Is it my imagination, or does that man hold ye in disfavor? Papa recently spoke to Mr. Ballantyne about discharging those of the servants whose manner seems … insolent. I believe Dougal was mentioned.”

  Allan approached to take his mug. “Thank ye, my lady. Dougal and I are presently at odds, but I trust the rift will mend.” Sipping the juice, he moved toward one of the rectangles of sunlight upon the faded rug.

  The sun’s reflection off his brass buttons nearly blinded Celeste. “Dougal. Mason? Is he brother to Beryl?”

  “Aye.” Allan appeared to be gazing outside.

  Nodding as she mentally connected facts, Celeste sipped her drink. Dougal resembled his sister. For that matter, the footman was a rougher, wilder version of Allan. The two shared identical coloring and height, yet there the resemblance ended. Cynical lines bracketed Dougal’s craggy features, and bitterness clouded his silver-gray eyes; Allan emanated poise and control.

  Tired of viewing only Allan’s vague outline, she once again lifted her lorgnette to study his profile. Her gaze shifted to her uncle Robert’s portrait hanging over the doorway. Although Allan’s ruddy, freckled complexion in no way resembled the swarthy Galbraith men, his classic features and graceful carriage suggested a strong influx of noble blood.

  Every servant, every townsman—everyone who sees him must know his origin and pity him. He is Galbraith to the core. And I am not.

  Rising, she flounced toward the window and stared out at high green hills beyond the castle walls. The manor grounds extended for miles southward, although only the first half-mile consisted of gardens and lawn. “This land—wild and barren, yet its intensity could break your heart,” she mused aloud. “Ne’er before have I seen a sky so blue or grass so green. Though I fear these Highlands, I could learn to love them.”

  “ ’Tis a bonny summer day. Nary a cloud in the sky.” She felt him behind her. Not close enough to touch, yet near enough to send tingles down her spine.

  “If ye could do aught ye chose this day, what would it be?” she asked in a rush of generosity.

  “I would ride among those hills and let the sun beat upon my head, the wind beat upon my face, and my heart beat upon my ribs,” he said without hesitation.

  Amazed by this poetic outburst, Celeste turned. He still stared out the window. For a moment the longing in his eyes filled her with jealousy, but she shook off the unworthy emotion. “I shall ask my father to release ye from duty this afternoon,” she said. “ ’Tis cruel to keep a wild creature penned like an ox.”

  “I’d prefer to have ye along,” he said.

  Celeste’s heart swelled. She lifted her hand to her throat and turned away.

  “My lady? If I spoke out of turn, accept my apology.”

  She waved a hand. “Nay. ’Tis only …” She could not tell him. He would think it ridiculous of her to become choked up because he desired her companionship. “I dinna ride well.”

  “Then we shall ride slowly.” The anticipation in his voice quickened her blood.

  Celeste spun around. “Order the horses while I change into riding attire. I’ll meet ye at the mounting block.” Whatever the cost to her pride and comfort, Celeste determined that Allan MacMurray deserved one afternoon of happiness.

  Allan’s smile gleamed. “Aye.” Halfway to the door, he stopped in his tracks and turned back. “Nay, I’ll send word to the stable.”

  Celeste sighed. He took this bodyguard role far too seriously.

  “And, my lady, kindly bring your eyeglasses.”

  A breeze caught the ends of the wrap holding her bonnet in place and sent them streaming over her staid mount’s hindquarters. Celeste dropped her reins to tighten the silken knot under her chin.

  With a startled exclamation, Allan leaned over and caught the falling reins. “My lady, no matter how gentle the steed, ye must keep hold.”

  She retrieved the leather straps and shifted her riding whip to her other hand.

  “Ye also must hold the crop in your right hand. ’twill do ye no good in your left.”

  Celeste gave a disdainful huff as her dignity ebbed. “I canna see that it matters. My steed follows yours no matter what I tell it. I thought ye wished to enjoy the day.” She waved a hand to indicate the surrounding vivid green turf, Scots pines, tufts of broom, and rocky outcroppings topped by blue sky.

  “Will ye not heed your horse so I may give notice to the day?”

  Celeste’s horse dropped its head to graze, jerking the reins from her gloved fingers. “See what the beast has done now!” Surely Allan must recognize the animal’s malevolent intent.

  He dismounted and hauled her horse’s head up. Patting the cob’s speckled gray neck, he gave Celeste
a rueful look. “We might enjoy ourselves more on foot.”

  She wilted. “Ye’re sorry ye brought me.”

  “I am not. Come. We shall tie up the horses and continue on foot. Ye’ve a treat in store.”

  Celeste placed her hands upon his shoulders and let him lift her down. But when she stood before him, looking up into his face, he immediately turned to the horses. “I’ll give them loose rein to allow grazing. That will please your Robin and my D’Arcey.”

  “Robin certainly seems content to eat,” Celeste observed.

  “His one joy in life.” After attending the horses, Allan dropped his tricornered hat and his wig on a rock.

  Celeste looked up at Allan as he approached. Smiling, he met her gaze. Her heart leaped. His smile faltered, and he veered off toward the hill. “ ’Tis a stiff hike, but the view is worth seeing.”

  He strode on, leaving her to follow. Tripping over rocks and ridges, she held up her skirts and silently grumbled. The trees became more numerous, shading the pathway. “I hear running water.” Celeste gasped for breath as she emerged from the trees.

  Allan stood tall, chin lifted, curly hair blowing in the wind, fists planted on his hips. “That ye do.” His smile mocked her gently.

  Then she saw it. White water cascaded through a gap in the hills, swirled over rocks, deepened, and flowed past just inches from Allan’s boot toes. “Oh!” she gasped, expressing both awe at its beauty and chagrin at her tardy perception. Wildflowers grew in profusion around her feet. Rising mist dampened her face and fogged her eyeglasses.

  Allan spoke above the water’s roar. “ ’the earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.’ ”

  Celeste listened with a sense of awe. To Allan, God seemed real and present. She looked upon the rushing river and felt God’s presence for herself. She closed her eyes, then opened them to marvel anew at the beauty of creation. “ ‘Who shall stand in his holy place?’ ” she echoed. Not Lady Celeste Galbraith, if clean hands and a pure heart were requirements.

  Bowing her head, she pulled out her pocket and searched it for a handkerchief. “The mist,” she muttered, although he probably could not hear. Rubbing her glasses dry gave her a chance to blink back tears.

  “My lady, pleased I’d be to instruct ye in the ways of God’s salvation, if ye’ve a mind to learn.”

  He wore a distant expression and avoided her gaze. Was he truly concerned for her eternal soul? “I am so minded,” she confessed.

  Allan turned toward her, glanced away, started to speak, and faltered. Finally he nodded. Celeste followed him back to the horses.

  Throughout the ride home, she felt the warm imprint of his hands upon her waist. It was worth coming out for a ride if only to have him lift her into the sidesaddle. She determined to make this a daily occurrence.

  Chapter 4

  Ye must do this tae defend my honor.”

  “I’ll do naught of the kind, woman. Do the deed your ainself.” He shoveled porridge into his mouth between sentences. “I’ll show ye a secret way to the tower, and none will be the wiser. Ye slit her throat in the night, back down the steps ye go, and ye’re avenged.”

  A strong hand gripped his shoulder and gave him a shake. “Nay, ’tis ye must do this thing. If ye’ll rally the clan to take the earl’s carriage on the road to Aberdeen, ye can slay the twain at once, plus Ballantyne, too.”

  “He will be angry if she dies, but then, die she must since she’s a Galbraith.” He paused, then crammed in another spoonful of porridge. “A pity.”

  “Hellooo?” Celeste stepped through the open doorway. Instantly she backed out, waving off flies. Despite the open doors at each end, the atmosphere within the stable was pungent. She straightened her bonnet. “Is anyone about?”

  “M’lady, ye dinna belong here alone.”

  The sound of that reedy voice spun her around. A man with a face of wrinkled leather sat upon a bench, leaning his back against the stone stable wall. A harness lay across his lap. Squinting in the sunlight, he touched his cap but made no move to rise.

  “Quentin.” Celeste acknowledged the old servant who frequently assisted her to the mounting block for her rides upon Robin.

  “I’m guessing ye’ve come in search of the lad.” Quentin smiled, revealing a few lonely teeth.

  “The lad?”

  “Your bodyguard.”

  The shrewd expression in his faded eyes annoyed Celeste. “D’ye ken his whereabouts?”

  “That I do. He went for a gallop while ye took luncheon in his lairdship’s chambers.”

  Allan’s only private moments occurred while Celeste spent time with her father. She fingered the lapel of her riding habit, feeling guilty. “Mr. Ballantyne complained of the gout. We made a hasty meal of it. Besides, ’tis too bonny a day to remain indoors. I had begun to think we’d ne’er see the sun again.”

  Quentin let out a cackle. “So ye dinna keer for the fog, m’lady?”

  “I thought ’twould never lift.” Even the thought of the depressing mist that had shrouded the castle for weeks on end made her shiver and rub her arms.

  “Ye’d best enjoy this sunlight while ye may.”

  Rhythmic hoofbeats caught Celeste’s attention. “He returns. Dinna tell him I was here, please?”

  Quentin looked quizzical, but he agreed. “If it please m’lady. And I’ll give Robin your respects.”

  Celeste nodded. “Many thanks, Quentin.” Picking up her skirts, she slipped into the stable, intending to escape out the far end.

  The sound of Allan’s voice hailing Quentin stopped her. Poised with one hand against the stone stable wall, she eavesdropped without compunction, hoping her name might enter the conversation.

  “How was D’Arcey today?” Quentin asked.

  “Prime for jumping. ’Tis a pity the new laird has no taste for the hunt.” Celeste heard the slap of leather and clink of metal.

  “Seems his lairdship has taste for naught about Kennerith. The crofters ne’er see him, and they with harvest coming soon.”

  “His lairdship enjoys his studies. The man loves his daughter, and he takes thought for the needs of others,” Allan said as if in defense of his master. “At present he watches o’er my lady’s safety to give me time to myself.”

  Celeste cringed. She had left her father and Mr. Ballantyne dozing in their chairs.

  “Tell me how ye fare, lad. I’ve sensed trouble in your spirit.”

  A long pause. Celeste leaned forward, straining her ears to hear Allan’s answer.

  “My life is like unto riding a green-broke horse on the edge of a cliff.”

  “The lady is difficult tae guard?” Quentin sounded surprised. “I expected the worst of a highborn wench, but her ladyship fooled me. She seems agog to please. Her eyes follow ye, worshipful as a hound pup’s, though they be blue as the summer sky.”

  Celeste smothered a gasp. How dare Quentin say such things!

  Clop, clop, clop.

  The men must be walking the horse around the stable yard, for their voices receded into the distance. Celeste caught only the end of Allan’s reply: “… fright the first night, she’s given no alarm. Except for our horseback outings, she does little but read, sleep, sew, and stroll about the castle gardens.”

  “Then why the cliff?”

  “Between my lady and Beryl, I’m apt to lose my sanity. Women!”

  Never before had Celeste heard so much animation from her stoic bodyguard. His frank opinion stung her pride.

  The voices grew loud again. “And how does Beryl torment ye?”

  “She spins tales—entirely her own inventions—about me. I hear every wor
d through the chamber walls yet can say naught in my defense. If my lady believes these tales, she must think me the most reprobate of men.”

  “And ye think she believes them?”

  “I fear she is uncertain what to believe,” Allan said. “I have spoken to her of my faith in Christ and my desire to live a life pleasing to God.”

  “And?”

  “Each morning while we sit in the library, I read to her from the Holy Scriptures. She has a lively mind and an interest in things of the Spirit. But then Beryl regales her with tales of my supposed exploits, and …” The voices faded out of hearing.

  A horse in a nearby stall snorted, and Celeste nearly yelped aloud. Her chest heaved in the effort to repress emotion.

  “… Galbraith?” She heard Allan’s voice as the men and horse approached the stable.

  “I have,” Quentin answered.

  “She desires to wed the scoundrel. I canna remain here to see it.” Allan’s voice cracked. “The earl plans to take her with him to Aberdeen tomorrow for a gathering of his academic friends. I should run while she is away and ne’er look back.”

  Celeste shook her head. Allan could not leave! Panic filled her at the thought.

  “Escape, then, while ye may,” Quentin said.

  Celeste scampered out the far end of the stable. Pinching her lips together and shaking her head in denial, she sought a path through the outbuildings to the castle gardens. Which way? Brilliant orange roses draping over a stone wall beckoned her onward. After shoving open the garden gate, she rushed between flower beds to the castle’s kitchen door. Already panting for breath, she ran to the great hall, up the main staircase, along the gallery, up the spiral staircase, and then burst into her sitting room. Darkness and flashes of light alternated within her head as she collapsed into a chair. With a thin wail, she dropped her head back, pulled off her glasses, and began to gasp.

  “M’lady?”

  In reply to Beryl’s startled inquiry, Celeste could only shake her head and whimper. She felt as though her body must either burst the bonds of her corset or expire.

  Beryl grabbed her by the arm, hauled her into the bedchamber, and began to strip off her riding habit. Only when the constricting corset had been removed could Celeste weep freely. She flung herself across the bed and let loose her anger and frustration. Articulate speeches took shape in her mind, words she would never dare speak aloud to that exasperatingly reserved man. Above all, she resolved he must not leave. Not ever.