In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams

by Karen Ranney

  What did he think of her?

  She wasn’t you.

  What had that meant? Why hadn’t she asked?

  He stood and accompanied her to the door, reaching in front of her to open it. How gallant he was. How honorable a man Lennox Cameron was and how much she adored him.

  How very strange to want to kick him in the shin.

  LENNOX STARED after his wife as she made her way carefully down the metal steps. He kicked himself mentally. The draft for the mill had just been one more task he had to accomplish. He hadn’t considered giving the check to Glynis might have overtones.

  He’d come so close to telling her how he’d felt last night, only to be disturbed by the news the Raven was ablaze. Now, without even trying, he’d hurt her feelings. He’d altered her mood until her smile turned brittle and she hadn’t looked him in the eyes.

  The instant joy he’d felt on seeing her was tarnished now with the knowledge he’d made a mistake.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said to the men behind him.

  More than one of them nodded. Did they know he was going to have to apologize, and do some groveling while he was at it?

  SHE GOT to the carriage without succumbing to tears, a good thing as it turned out.

  Matthew Baumann leaned against the carriage with his arms folded and an annoying grin plastered on his face.

  She wanted to slap it off him.

  “The very last person I want to see now or at any time is you,” she said, anger boiling up inside her.

  She reached past him for the door handle but he blocked her.

  “Get out of my way,” she said.

  “Or you’ll do what, Glynis?” He tilted his head and studied her, his mustache twitching. “You’re flushed, my dear. Do we have the estimable Mr. Cameron to thank for that?”

  “Will you move?”

  “Did you think yourself quit of me, Glynis, by marrying him?”

  “You set fire to the Raven, didn’t you?”

  His smile broadened. “Have you taken on his causes as your own? A born wife.”

  Anger burned away the last of the hurt she felt.

  “Did you?”

  “Do you care so much about the Confederate cause, Glynis? If so, you’ve changed since leaving Washington. Is it because of Cameron? Has he swayed you somehow?”

  “What do you want from me? I’m not going to betray my husband.”

  “Just as loyal as you were to Smythe. That didn’t turn out well, did it?”

  “Go away, Baumann.”

  “You worked for the Union, Glynis. Have you forgotten?”

  As if she could. She stared at him, tilted up her chin and wished him to perdition. Between Lennox and Baumann, her day had turned to ashes.

  “Step back, Baumann,” Lennox said from behind her. “I’ve half a mind to detain you until the police get here. I’ll bet they’d be very interested in your movements around the time Whittaker was murdered. Not to mention what you were doing last night.”

  Lennox moved to stand slightly in front of her.

  “I wasn’t in Glasgow when Whittaker was murdered,” Baumann said. “And I’ve already spoken to the police. I’m not your man, Cameron.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here now?”

  “Talking to your wife? Or is that forbidden now? Are you going to have as short a leash on her as Smythe did?”

  She glanced at Lennox. She’d seen that thunderous expression before and it didn’t bode well for the recipient.

  Baumann smiled. “I’ll bet she hasn’t told you about Smythe, has she?”

  “Get off my property,” Lennox said.

  “Or you’ll what, Cameron?” He made a courtly little bow to Glynis. “Until next time, my dear,” he said, smiling. “Somewhere your husband isn’t present, I hope.”

  Baumann walked away, taking his time, turning and waving to them just before he entered his carriage.

  “I don’t want you seeing that man again,” he said.

  She had no intention of encountering Matthew Baumann if she could help it. But she wasn’t going to allow Lennox to dictate to her.

  By the time Richard had died, every slight, every pinprick of annoyance, every tiny cut had magnified until she could barely tolerate being in the same room with him. For years she’d accepted all of his dictates, all of his restrictions, and all of his criticisms.

  This marriage was not going to begin with her being treated as a child.

  She turned and faced Lennox. “Are you going to provide me with a list of acceptable people with whom I can socialize, Lennox? Are you going to dictate how I act, how I speak, and where I go?”

  “When it comes to Matthew Baumann, yes.”

  “Then you are doomed to disappointment,” she said. “Because if I want to meet with the man, I shall. If I want to take tea with the idiot, I will.”

  Without waiting for his answer, she turned and walked away, annoyed that Baumann had interfered in her marriage once more. She didn’t want to champion the man; she had no intention of being in his company again. But the idea of being dictated to by Lennox angered her just as much as Baumann popping up to interfere in her life.

  “It isn’t safe,” Lennox said, following her to the carriage. Before she could reach the latch, he jerked the door open for her. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  Oh, she knew. She knew only too well.

  “What’s this hold he has over you?” Lennox asked. “Why does he keep following you?”

  She didn’t know how to answer.

  “I told myself I should trust you,” he said. “But you’re not giving me much reason.”

  She could only stare at him. When he closed the carriage door, she turned and faced forward, feeling a hole open up in her stomach. A block of ice surrounded her along with a sense of despair so deep she knew she might not survive it.

  Chapter 31

  Lennox wasn’t home.

  Glynis sat at the window, staring out at the dark, willing Lennox to come to her. He hadn’t been at dinner, either, but Mrs. Hurst had the maids serve her as if nothing was amiss. Would this be a usual occurrence, her eating alone and wondering at the whereabouts of her husband?

  She hadn’t asked the housekeeper where Lennox was. Nor had she questioned the maid smiling shyly at her while presenting a strawberry ice as a final course. She’d remained mute when encountering the young girl on the way back to her suite.

  The servants at Hillshead were a nice group of people. None of them scowled rather than smiled or complained about their circumstances. She was the only one in the house with a dour attitude.

  She hadn’t invited Baumann to waylay her. She had no control over Baumann’s movements. She couldn’t block herself off from the man, hold up her hands and say, “No farther, I beg you.” What did Lennox expect her to do? Employ a bodyguard to keep Baumann at bay?

  If the man wanted to speak to her, he was going to do so. She knew Baumann well enough to know that. He’d infiltrated almost every single event she attended in Washington. Sometimes, people suspected who he was and kept their distance. Other times, he charmed their hostess into believing he was a man of some importance.

  Baumann was a chameleon, becoming anyone he wished to be. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and evidently determined to ruin her marriage.

  Why hadn’t Lennox come home?

  Perhaps he was simply involved in repairing the Raven. But he had a history of being considerate to other people. Why hadn’t he sent word through a messenger or a note?

  Did he expect her to go and apologize for something she couldn’t have prevented?

  Pride was a terrible thing, both his and hers. His probably kept him at the yard. Hers kept her at Hillshead, confused and uncertain. Yet pride had nearly ruined her life before and she’d learned her lesson. Nor did she want to begin her marriage like this. At the same time, she didn’t want to feel inept, lacking in some way, a silly woman who must apologize for every
one of her actions.

  All she’d done was go to the yard.

  The minute Baumann appeared, she’d left no doubt in his mind she wasn’t happy to see him. She’d told the man to go away not once but several times. What else was she expected to do?

  Tell Lennox the truth.

  Tell him.

  If her marriage had its peaks and valleys now, what would it be like when she divulged everything? Would there be a chance for happiness after that?

  But she had to end it. She had to end it now. Before any more time elapsed. Lennox knew something was wrong. He was curious about her past. Baumann was not going to go away. He wouldn’t relinquish his hold over her. If he didn’t get what he wanted from her, he was going to ruin her marriage.

  Did she want Baumann to tell Lennox the truth before she did?

  Baumann had wanted information and she’d given it to him. At first it was only a word here, a word there. She’d told him about other women whose husbands were in greater positions of trust. Before she knew it, she’d provided an entire network to the War Department.

  In the morning, when the newspapers came, she forced herself to read the account of the casualties, knowing she bore a share of the burden for each death. The infantryman at Bull Run, the sharpshooter at the Battle of Manassas, could be dead because of her.

  Baumann said it was the press of war. “People do things in war they’d never do in peacetime, Glynis.” Was that it? Had it been war for her or simply survival? One woman’s fate as opposed to that of countless men?

  Pride wasn’t the reason she couldn’t bear to tell Lennox the truth. Shame kept her silent. Not only because of what she’d done, but the why of it.

  “I DON’T care how much time it takes,” Lennox said. “Either she’s going to be rebuilt right or not at all. I’ll sink her before she leaves the yard less than a hundred percent repaired.”

  The hapless fitter opened his mouth, but Lennox held up a hand to block whatever the man was about to say.

  “Just get it done,” he said. “No excuses.”

  The man nodded and turned, jamming on his hat at the door. He was probably spitting oaths as he descended the stairs.

  Lennox didn’t give a flying farthing that he hadn’t made any friends today. He was the head of the shipyard since his father had effectively stepped down. It was up to him to ensure the reputation of Cameron and Company was spotless and the product they produced exemplary. Without the yard, thousands of men would be out of work.

  But he didn’t have to drive them around the clock. Nor did he have to use his own personal problems to fuel his irritation or bark orders.

  He shoved the voice of his conscience away and glared down at the plans in front of him.

  What the hell was he doing?

  He didn’t see the intricate drawings he’d begun over a year ago or the notes added on during the ship’s construction.

  Instead, the scene with Glynis played out over and over. What the hell had Baumann meant, somewhere your husband isn’t present?

  But the most important question wasn’t about Baumann. Why had Glynis looked so afraid?

  He knew she hadn’t been unfaithful to him. Hell, they’d only been married one day. But she hadn’t divulged why Baumann was so intent on her trail.

  He was damned if he was going to share his wife with anyone. His wife: the words ricocheted in his brain. She was his wife. The irrepressible, wild, intense Glynis MacIain was his wife—and what was he doing? Planning on sleeping on a cot tonight.

  “The new load of timber is going to have to wait until morning, Lennox.”

  He looked up to find his foreman standing in front of the drafting table.

  “That’s unacceptable.”

  “Even with the lanterns, it’s too dangerous. The winch might fail or slip. Someone might get injured. I’ll not take the chance.”

  “You won’t take the chance? When did Cameron and Company become yours?”

  “When its owner’s head got lodged in his arse,” the man said, smiling.

  Was it that obvious?

  “The same kind of accident blinded your father, Lennox. You don’t really mean to put the men in danger, do you?”

  “No, damn it,” he said, threading his fingers through his hair.

  He slapped the plans down on the table in front of him.

  “What time is dawn?”

  The other man shook his head. “Hell if I know.”

  “Find out. Tell everyone to go home. We’ll start again at dawn.”

  When the other man left the office, he turned and walked back to his desk in the corner.

  He didn’t like being played for a fool or having this feeling of uncertainty, one brought about by loving a woman he wasn’t certain loved him.

  Maybe she had once, but did she now?

  Glynis wouldn’t hold anything back if she was the same person. She would’ve been honest with him. But she wasn’t, leaving him as torn as he felt right at this moment.

  He should summon Baumann to his office and get the truth from him. If she’d had an affair with a man, he wouldn’t like it, but it was before they were married. What could he do about it? No, the present concerned him, and the future, neither of which looked particularly pleasant at the moment.

  Baumann was going to have to learn things had changed. Somehow he’d get the man banished from Glasgow. At the very least he’d make it clear to Baumann his health was directly tied to leaving Scotland. He knew enough people in London. Maybe complaining about Baumann through diplomatic channels to the War Department would work.

  Anything to keep the man away from Glynis.

  He couldn’t, however, force himself to go to her as a supplicant. He wouldn’t beg, even to Glynis. Give me any scrap from your table and I’ll accept it with gratitude. A humiliating scenario and one he’d no intention of playing out.

  What had Glynis not told him about Smythe? He hadn’t wanted to pry into her first marriage, but now he was being slapped in the face with his ignorance.

  What had Richard Smythe done to her? What did Baumann know that he didn’t?

  He hated the idea of Baumann knowing her past when he didn’t. What the hell was Glynis hiding? What made her look pale enough to faint? What made her afraid?

  He didn’t have answers to any of his questions. He wanted to put his arms around Glynis and demand that she tell him all her secrets, all her wants and desires, everything she’d hidden from him.

  But one person didn’t have the right to demand that from another.

  Not even a man in love with his wife.

  Chapter 32

  Sleep wouldn’t come.

  Grabbing her wrapper, she left her suite. As lovely as the rooms were, the walls seemed to be closing in on her. Were the servants still awake? She hoped not, since she didn’t want witnesses to her restlessness.

  She walked to the head of the stairs. From here the steps twisted like a snake down to the first floor. She placed her hand on the banister, the polished mahogany warming beneath her touch as if the wood were still alive.

  She descended the staircase, the steps illuminated by moonlight streaming through the cupola.

  In the silence and stillness, she could almost hear the house’s heartbeat. The whistling wind was its breath, the pulsing of the boiler its heart, and the surge of water in its pipes its bloodstream. A door creaking, a shutter shivering, were Hillshead’s bones settling.

  As a girl she hadn’t noticed details about the house: the fine weave of the carpets, the plaster alcoves or mahogany wainscoting. Nor had she noted the unique seafaring detail on each of the doors on the second floor. Craftsmen had carved a clipper ship into the upper panel of her bedroom door, repeating the surging waves along the frame.

  She’d never thought of Lennox as wealthy. Of course she knew he was, but there were so many more important things about Lennox. He was part of Cameron and Company, its heir and its head. Until she’d come to live here herself, she’d never consi
dered the vast fortune Hillshead represented.

  The house was at least a dozen times larger than her own home, and larger than any other in Glasgow. Hillshead was filled with treasures. Besides the statuary—each alcove boasted a marble rendition of a Greek or Roman god—and the gilt-framed paintings of past generations of Camerons, there were porcelain urns and figurines, bejeweled potpourri containers, and medieval-style tapestries hanging on several walls.

  It’s possible she wouldn’t have noticed the touches of wealth had she not lived in so many places.

  As she was waiting for passage home, she’d spent the last three months in America living in a boardinghouse, an experience she never wanted to repeat. She’d had to share the facilities with all of the tenants.

  Now her bathroom was attached to her bedroom. Strips of cedar sheeted the walls. The bowls and tub were of beige and brown marble as smooth as the inside of a shell. The brass faucets were so polished she could see her face in them. Even the water closet had brass fittings and a wooden handle carved in the shape of a ship.

  This was Lennox’s home. He’d grown to manhood here. He put his hand on the banister just as she was doing, raced down the stairs she was descending slowly or taken them two at a time.

  Had he hesitated in the foyer, staring up at the huge stained-glass ceiling above her? If so, she doubted he’d been overwhelmed by a sudden urge to weep.

  She’d nearly ruined her life. Single-handedly she’d taken the advantages she’d been given, the love surrounding her, and opted for something else. Her pride had forced her to choose a life without love, only an exaggerated need for perfection.

  She was not going to make the same mistake now. Whatever she’d done wrong she would undo.

  The night breeze warned of winter to come, cooled her skin and made her shiver. She clutched her wrapper close to her chest with one hand as she walked.

  How many times had she come here with Duncan, unaware of the valuables around her, only interested in Lennox? Laughter had echoed throughout Hillshead in childish disregard of wealth or position.

  In Washington she’d often been visited by nostalgia, normally at a recital of sad music. She’d dropped down into her memories, allowing her mind to travel home to Scotland. In those moments, rare as they were, she was Glynis MacIain the girl, once enchanted with Lennox Cameron to the point of madness. The applause from the other guests would call her back to the moment, even though she wished she could remain in that place of memory and longing.