In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams

by Karen Ranney

  “Yes, I do find she’s changed,” he said, giving Duncan the truth. “She’s brittle. Very polite, excessively so. She smiles at you but her eyes are flat.”

  The woman he saw tonight had Glynis’s face, her blue eyes, her light brown hair, her mannerisms, but not her personality. The bright, intelligent girl he’d known all his life had vanished, her spark tamped down until only a flicker remained.

  “She’s a widow. She’s lost her husband.”

  Did she still grieve for the man? A question he shouldn’t be asking. No doubt they’d been a compatible pair, a true joining of the minds and hearts.

  What claptrap. He didn’t believe it.

  She’d been married a month after arriving in London. Hardly enough time to form a fondness for a stranger.

  Why had she married so quickly? Had she done something to spark gossip? Had she kissed another man the way she’d kissed him, without warning but a great deal of enthusiasm?

  The night he’d last seen her remained engraved in his mind.

  She’d been nineteen and dressed in something pale and pink, making her complexion appear to be porcelain dusted with a faint blush.

  “She isn’t the same person you knew,” Duncan said, intruding into his memories.

  He glanced at his friend. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s been through a lot of experiences we don’t know about.”

  She’d been married to someone else for seven years.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said, then immediately wondered if he should have made that comment.

  Here she was, not quite the Glynis of his past, but a mystery, a woman who intrigued him and made him want to know how, exactly, she’d changed.

  Who was Glynis now?

  Chapter 3

  Glynis slid in line, smiling at the two women complaining about something to her mother.

  Eleanor MacIain was the kindest person she’d ever known, a fact she only truly appreciated after being exposed to Washington society. The harridans and doyennes of America’s capital were Scottish eagles compared to her mother’s soft, dovelike personality.

  Unless, of course, one of her children was involved. Then Eleanor was fiercely protective.

  Her mother never met a stranger, evident when so many people stopped and greeted her, studying Glynis as they did so.

  She smiled in response, well aware she was the subject of speculation in the ballroom. Glynis MacIain, come home to Glasgow. Glynis widowed now. She lived in Washington, you know.

  Had Charlotte already started talking about her?

  Her hands still trembled. She clenched her reticule, forced herself to breathe deeply and felt her smile freeze into a rictus of expression.

  She should congratulate herself for venturing out into Glasgow society. Nothing would have prepared her for the encounter with Lennox, but at least it was done now.

  At five years old she’d marked him as hers, tucked him into a spot behind her heart where he’d always stayed. So much had changed in the intervening years. She pitied the child who loved so well and so fully.

  “What is it, dear?” her mother asked.

  She blinked, bringing herself back from the past with difficulty.

  “Nothing.”

  “You have the saddest expression on your face. Are you thinking of Richard?”

  The best answer would be to nod and allow herself to be caught up in her mother’s sympathy. Instead, loath to lie to her, she said, “No, when I was five.”

  Eleanor smiled. “You were the most beautiful little girl. And woman,” she added.

  Her mother had always been her staunchest defender, even on that night seven years ago. After leaving the anteroom, she’d fled to their carriage, where her mother found her.

  “I never want to see Lennox Cameron again in my entire life,” she’d said.

  Her mother had only leaned over and hugged her. “You don’t truly mean that, my dear.”

  She described the scene in the anteroom, carefully omitting the kiss.

  “She just hung on him and he let her.”

  “There’s some talk of a marriage between him and the count’s daughter,” her mother said gently.

  She’d felt her heart break in that moment.

  “It would be a very good match. The families have known each other for years. The Camerons are selling the shipyard in St. Petersburg to the Russians.”

  She hadn’t been able to hold back her tears.

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” Eleanor had said.

  Her mother surprised her with a trip to London the very next day. The thought of returning to Glasgow ten days later horrified her so much she’d begged to stay in England. Reluctantly, her mother left her with their English cousin. Three weeks later she sent a letter to her parents informing them she was going to be wed.

  Richard seemed to be the answer to a prayer, but perhaps some prayers should not be answered. Or even uttered.

  At the south end of the ballroom, twin archways led to the terrace. The night beckoned, promising a breeze and a little solitude.

  After she’d spoken to Mr. Cameron, she’d escape.

  People jostled each other good naturedly, the drone of conversation growing louder with every passing moment. Laughter brought brightness to the room, and it made her smile to hear it.

  Finally, she stood in front of Mr. Cameron. He sat in a thronelike chair, his left hand resting on one of the lion’s heads at the end of the arms. Ever since she was a little girl he’d had a shock of white hair like a patch of gorse on his head. Clean-shaven like Lennox, he flashed a bright, wide smile at her.

  “It’s Glynis, Mr. Cameron,” she said, placing her fingers on the back of his brown spotted hand.

  “Glynis MacIain, home again. How nice of you to come. Have you changed much, little Glynis?”

  She smiled at the appellation. He’d often called her that, especially as she raced through Hillshead.

  “Not in appearance,” she said. “I’m a little older and wiser.”

  “Ah, but aren’t we all? What is the perfume you’re wearing? It’s spicy and sweet at the same time.”

  “It’s called Spring Morning.”

  One of the few things about her Richard hadn’t been able to change.

  She smiled up at Mary, who stood behind her father. After congratulating Mr. Cameron, Glynis kissed him on the cheek, then moved away.

  Glancing around, she found her mother occupied in a discussion with Mrs. MacKenzie. Heading for the doors to the terrace, Glynis escaped into the night.

  HILLSHEAD STOOD on a hill overlooking Glasgow, the River Clyde sparkling in the moonlight. To her left, down the slope but still on the West End, was her home, not far from the cotton mill bearing her family’s name.

  Plumes of white smoke against a night sky gave evidence the city never slept.

  Edinburgh might have more charm and history, but Glasgow possessed power. The city was like a once dormant Scottish creature, a demon of myth and magic now coming alive, soon to rival London itself in industry and commerce. Its claws were stretching to Dumbarton and beyond. Its tongue lapped at the Clyde. Hidden among its scales were the desperate poor of Glasgow’s tenements and the inhabitants of the more prosperous West End.

  More importantly, Glasgow was home.

  Here no mosquitoes waited to bite her exposed skin. No sulfurous air smelling of the swamp clung to her hair and clothes. The summer would be temperate, not oppressive and miserable like Washington.

  Glasgow was industrial not political. Commerce thrummed through the air, not intrigue.

  She leaned against the terrace wall, staring down at Hillshead’s gardens. From here on the third floor she had a view of their intricate paths and the bench she remembered from her childhood. The gardener’s hut had been moved and rebuilt to the size of a cottage. Once, Hillshead had boasted four gardeners to manage the vegetable and flower gardens and prune all the bushes and trees. Were there still four or had Lennox added to their
number?

  A movement to her left caught her eye. She jerked, startled, as a shadow slid toward her.

  “I told myself a little patience would be rewarded.”

  She slowly turned, each second measured in hours. The night had been stressful, the only reason the man’s voice sounded horribly familiar.

  Please let me be wrong.

  “Just wait, I said, and Glynis will come out for air. She hates crowds.”

  She turned back to the railing, holding herself tight. Perhaps the girl she’d once been would have screamed in frustration. Or pummeled the man who approached her soundlessly.

  She imagined him on the ground writhing in agony. She would watch him with a detached air, much as he observed life around him.

  Once, she’d accused him of being like a cat in his calm perusal of the world, unaffected by the pain he so effortlessly inflicted on others.

  “But you’re no bird, Glynis,” he’d said, “frightened of me.”

  How wrong he’d been.

  He was too close now, only feet away. She wanted to hold out her hands and keep him at a distance. Words would have to suffice.

  “What are you doing here, Baumann?”

  “Matthew. Haven’t I told you to call me Matthew?”

  “You’re a little far from Washington,” she said.

  He chuckled, emerging from the darkness like a monster from his cave.

  “Did you follow me?” she asked.

  “On the contrary, Glynis. You followed me. I’ve been in your fair country a good six weeks.”

  That’s why she hadn’t seen him in those last months in Washington, why he hadn’t bedeviled her before she left.

  “Why are you here, Baumann?”

  “I like your country,” he said. “You Scots are fiercely independent, just like New Yorkers. You’d rather spit in someone’s face than take orders and you’re not above bending the law.”

  “Are you lecturing me on morality, Baumann?” she asked. “That’s a little hypocritical, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, Glynis, you don’t approve of my being here,” he said in a mock aggrieved tone. “I’m hurt you don’t want to extend a little Scottish hospitality to a visitor.”

  “There’s nothing here for you, Baumann.”

  She faced the night, praying for . . . courage? Faith? Strength? Something to counteract the abrupt and penetrating horror of Baumann’s presence. He couldn’t be here. He mustn’t be here.

  “On the contrary,” he said, his voice hardening. “I would say this place, this Glasgow of yours, might be the most important city in the world right now.”

  Slowly, she turned to face him.

  “Our host is a shipbuilder, Glynis. What do you think he’s working on? Some vessel to take a midnight sail? A paddle wheeler to cruise the Potomac? No, he’s building a ship to run the blockade.”

  “Is that why the War Department sent you?”

  He moved into the light from the ballroom. His thick hair, brown flecked with a lighter shade, curled around his collar. A mustache and a trimmed goatee enhanced his full lips. His eyes, a dark, intent brown, often appeared mocking.

  His nose was pockmarked with scars resembling a row of stitches. When she’d first met him three years ago, she caught herself staring, flushed, and looked away.

  “Barbed wire,” he’d said, grinning at her.

  She had glanced back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I landed on a bunch of barbed wire in a tumble,” he said. “I was just a boy, but the scar is a reminder not to be so impulsive in the future.”

  “Are you very impulsive, Mr. Baumann?”

  “I find, to my discredit, Mrs. Smythe,” he had replied, “that I can be still, yes.”

  She’d never found him to be impulsive. Instead, he was calculating, his eyes always taking the measure of others.

  Tonight, Baumann was dressed in black, like most of the men inside. He’d always been adept at social occasions, even waltzing well. More than once he’d swept her up in his arms so fast she lost her breath.

  “Go away,” she said, wishing she had the power to banish him with a wave of her hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “On the contrary, I think here is exactly where I should be.”

  “You’re wrong to have come to Glasgow,” she said. “And I wish you hadn’t. Nothing good can come from your spying here, Baumann.”

  She gathered up her skirts and left him, heading toward the light with a feeling of terror.

  LENNOX LEFT Duncan in his library and returned to the ballroom. He made his way across the room, greeting people he had not yet spoken to, including Eleanor MacIain.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said, reaching out and taking her gloved hands in his.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lennox, I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so glad dear William has been recognized at last. I just wish Hamish had been here to see it.”

  He nodded. Hamish MacIain and William had been long-standing friends. Hamish’s death had been felt at Hillshead as well.

  “It’s a lovely celebration,” Eleanor said, looking around. “You’ve done a magnificent job.”

  “That’s Mary’s doing more than mine,” he said. His sister had spent weeks in planning for tonight. The last few days had been filled with frenetic activity. “I was looking for Glynis,” he told her.

  “Glynis has taken the air, I believe,” Eleanor said, smiling. She put her hand on his arm, gave him a gentle shove. “You look as if you could do with some fresh air as well.”

  He was left without anything to say. He left Eleanor and made his way to the terrace door.

  Any thought of continuing his conversation with Glynis abruptly vanished when he saw her talking to Matthew Baumann.

  Did she know he was a Union spy? The man hadn’t made any secret of it from the first. A month ago he’d come to the yard and introduced himself.

  “I’m a representative of the United States government, Mr. Cameron,” he’d said. “As such, I need to know if you’ve accepted any commissions from the Confederacy.”

  Baumann then produced a document, a letter of introduction that looked perfectly legal and absolutely useless. He didn’t care who Baumann represented. If he thought he could march into Cameron and Company and demand to know confidential details of their business dealings, he was wrong.

  “Mr. Baumann,” he’d said, “I’m sure you can understand that I don’t discuss my business with anyone.” Even his designers didn’t know about the ships currently under negotiation until all the points of the contract had been finalized.

  The man’s mustache twitched as he smiled. “In other words, you’re not going to tell me.”

  “It’s not any of your business, Mr. Baumann.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Cameron. It is my business. It’s the War Department’s business. It’s my nation’s business.”

  He could have sworn the man puffed up like a banty rooster.

  “That might be so, but I’m a Scot, Mr. Baumann. Cameron and Company is a Scottish firm. We’re neutral in your war.”

  On May thirteenth last year, Queen Victoria issued a proclamation of neutrality forbidding British subjects from taking part in the American Civil War.

  Lennox prided himself on being a Scot and only minimally British. London didn’t have to know everything he did.

  Baumann studied him for a moment. “We’d be very appreciative, Mr. Cameron. Very appreciative.”

  He’d wanted to tell the man where he could put his appreciation but he smiled instead.

  “I’m not amenable to either bribery or coercion, Mr. Baumann.”

  “I’m disturbed that you would consider my words either, Mr. Cameron.”

  “How are you liking your first visit to Glasgow?” he’d asked, changing the subject and hoping the man got the hint. He wasn’t going to surrender any information to the Union operative. Not now and not in the future.

  “An interesting city,” Baumann had said.r />
  He’d invited him here tonight for one reason only. He wanted to know what Baumann would do, with whom he would speak. Who, in Glasgow, was his friend?

  He hadn’t considered that the man would talk with Glynis. Or that they would know each other.

  What was Glynis doing talking to a Union agent? For that matter, why had she come home now?

  Chapter 4

  “Go to bed,” Lennox said to his sister.

  She ignored him and directed one of the grooms to a tray piled with food. Tonight they’d feast in the stable and in the kitchen. What wasn’t consumed by the servants would be dispensed to the poor.

  The garlicky smell of mutton vied with roast beef and the fragrant, warm yeasty aroma of Cook’s brioche, a recipe she swore was given to her not by a French relative but an Irish one. Above all the other scents was the odor of candle wax as servants extinguished the hundreds of candles in the chandeliers.

  Mary moved to the other side of the room, giving orders to the maids as she went. His sister directed everyone with militaristic precision, a general with a full complement of troops at her disposal. Her voice, however, was husky with fatigue.

  He grabbed a nearby tablecloth, wadded it into a ball and tossed it into the basket to be taken to the laundry. A maid grinned at his perfect aim.

  When Mary returned to his side of the ballroom, he grabbed the stack of plates in her hand.

  “Go to bed,” he told her again.

  Mary glanced at him in surprise. “Nonsense,” she said. “There’s still too much to do. The best dishes must be packed up and put away.”

  “Mrs. Hurst and the staff can do that.”

  She nodded. “Yes, but the carpets should be swept and the floor damp-mopped.” She glared down at the floor. “There are spots where the wax dripped. Those must be repaired tonight.”

  “You don’t need to do it. If the maids have any questions Mrs. Hurst can’t answer, I’ll tell them to come to me.”

  “When did you get so domesticated, Lennox?” she asked, glancing up at him with a smile.

  “I’ve been watching you all these years,” he said. “The chores can be ably managed by Mrs. Hurst. Isn’t that why we employ a housekeeper? Or, if not her, they can wait until morning.”