My heart is maimed without yours. I will never love anyone but you, Max. Her heart was still only half a heart without his to make it whole, but she could never tell him.
He shook her again. “You don’t know what drives me to all but lose my mind?”
She knew what she wished it might be, but if she told him, then she would run the risk of embarrassing them both. And if she thought he might be pining for love of her, then she was the fool he accused her of being.
Abruptly he straightened, his grip on her wrist growing gentle. “I hate what I am,” he murmured.
And she could not comfort him. The warm wind plucked at them, tossing his hair, flipping her skirts. Familiar things that were somehow foreign tonight.
“Have I hurt you, Kirsty?”
“No,” she lied. “Of course not. And since I willna go back, should we no’ carry on? The night’s growin’ older, and we’d best be on our way t’our beds or we’ll not be ready for the morrow.”
“You want to come with me? A man who loses his temper as I do? You want to let me drive you hard until you are as capable as any man I could train?”
“I’m no’ afraid o’ ye. And you’ll no’ have t’drive me any harder than any man ye might choose for t’job. Mayhap it’ll be easier for me.”
He laughed again, this time a kinder sound. “You were always an audacious wench. But rightfully so in this case. I’ll warrant you could put most men to shame if your wits were pitted against theirs.” Bending, he retrieved her bundle and brushed at it. “Up on my horse with you, Miss Mercer. I want you fresh for the morning when we start work.”
“I’ll walk, thank ye verra much.” She’d never learned to ride and didn’t want to try now. “A walk is an invigoratin’ thing. And I’ll carry my own things, too.”
At that he slung her possessions over his shoulder, caught up the beast’s reins, and strode onward once more.
First Kirsty tried lengthening her stride, but she fell rapidly behind. Then she broke into a trot.
Max stopped and glanced back, and waited until she caught up, at which point he proceeded at a saunter that made her task easy.
He didn’t speak.
Kirsty’s mind scurried, and struggled with disjointed thoughts. The silence unnerved her, yet she could not think of a suitable comment to make.
The hill grew steeper, and she had to work harder to climb upward.
Her companion’s long, strong limbs made simple work of the task. His strength seemed to cloak him, and to touch her. Just his presence at her side made her tingle. He was at one with the night, and she was drawn to that night with both joy and terror, as if it were too desirable to resist, and too dangerous to embrace.
She had never tasted strong liquor, but she was certain the very strongest could not intoxicate her as this man intoxicated her.
An owl hooted.
In the long grass a small creature skittered.
“Predators everywhere,” Max said.
She leaned into the hill, surprised at how her legs ached. This day had been long. “Aye,” she said, “but they dinna always get what they want. A wee, weak thing can defy the biggest foe if it’s the mind t’do so.”
Max paused, and Kirsty also stopped walking. “Catch your breath,” he told her. “Why will you not ride? You must be tired.”
Falsehoods were good for only one thing—wearing a body out with trying to keep them up. “I canna ride. If ye’ll remember, Mr. Rossmara, my family doesna own cattle for transportation so I’m never likely t’learn.”
“Of course you’ll learn.”
“I willna,” she said firmly. “I shouldna care to.”
“You will learn to ride because you will ride with me when we’ve business to accomplish, miss. How do you imagine I’ll take you with me on estate affairs? Shall I lead you behind me on a rope.”
“That’s no’ amusin’,” she told him. “I’m no’ sure I can learn such a thing now. I’m too old for such tricks.”
“You are five-and-twenty,” he said, his smile in his voice. “A trifle ancient, it’s true, but we’ll do our best anyway.”
Kirsty hid her own smile and walked on. “If ye’re rested,” she said over her shoulder, “then we’d best be on wi’ it.”
“If I’m rested? You were always an impudent girl, and you haven’t changed.”
Oh, but she’d changed more than he could know, or would ever know now.
The castle rose against the sky, a vast black silhouette painted on shades of gray. Her new home. She didn’t know how, but despite the sadness that weighed upon her at her family’s anger with her, she was excited by what lay ahead.
“They’ll come around,” Max said.
Kirsty jumped. “How did ye know what I was thinkin’ about?”
“What else would you be thinking about but your family. Robert and Gael Mercer are fine people. And Niall is a fine young man. They’re hurt that their lives are changing, but they’ll be glad for you in time.”
“Mayhap.” She hoped he was right. Tomorrow, after her day’s work, she would go to them and ask them to discuss matters with her.
When they approached the stables, running footsteps sounded in the yard and a groom rushed to take Max’s mount. Max thanked the boy and stood back to usher Kirsty ahead of him toward a path that led across lawns toward the base of Eve Tower.
With the disturbing sensation that some would question why a single woman—alone—would feel it appropriate to accompany a man in such a manner, she moved swiftly to the door at the base of the tower.
Once inside, Max rested a hand lightly at her waist and guided her with purpose to the stairs. “I’ve a mind to suggest you use the rooms that used to be Ella’s when she stayed here—before she was married, and when we used to come here to visit Arran and Grace.”
“Anywhere would do,” she said, breathless with anticipation. “I dinna need anythin’ fine. Ye know what my life is, my means; it’d no’ be seemly for me t’have a better place than the other servants.”
“Another flight,” he told her when they’d climbed two. “We won’t discuss what is or is not seemly. You may make your own choice of where you would like to live. Your rooms will be your home, and you shall be happy and comfortable there. I insist upon it.”
“Oh, but I couldna choose anythin’ mysel’.” She halted and looked down at him behind her on the stairs—and grew weak with wanting to rest a hand on his upturned face. He was the most handsome man in the world, the dearest man in the world. “I couldna,” she repeated, mumbling.
He was betrothed, and she had no right to look at him the way a female looked at a man she’d like to hold. Oh, she was bad. She was a bad, evil thing without discipline. But she’d improve. She’d become the very best that anyone could be as an assistant to an estate commissioner, and be so busy making his load lighter that she’d never think about him as a man at all.
And just as likely, kelpies cleaned the flowers with dew while humans slept.
Och, she was daft, and getting dafter as she got older—if that was possible.
Max smiled at her. “You were always pretty, but you’re even prettier now. I’ve had precious little time to really notice that.”
Confused, and shamed by the rush of blood to her cheeks, she muttered, “Thank ye,” and rushed up the third flight of stairs.
“To the left,” Max said from behind her.
See, she told herself, he’s just being polite, the way he’d be polite to anyone because he’s a kind soul.
“I’ll show you Ella’s old rooms first, then we’ll look at what else is available and ready to be used, and you can make up your mind.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she let him lead her along a wide corridor with worn, but beautiful gold carpets on uneven wooden floors turned black with age. Rather than the expected portraits of family members, paintings of the fields around the castle hung here. The fields and hills. A stone wall covered with flowers. The little church in the vi
llage. The occasional likeness of some family dog or horse. Kirsty found she liked the plainness of it all.
“Here we are,” Max said, reaching past her to throw open a door. He stepped around her and lighted a lamp on a painted table just inside a small sitting room. Then he set about lighting more lamps and passed through another door to light even more.
She couldn’t possibly stay here. They were rooms meant for a lady.
“What do you think?” Max asked, returning. “The rosy rooms, Ella called them. They have a warm appearance so she’s told me. Not that a man can be expected to understand the working of a woman’s mind in these matters.”
Kirsty couldn’t speak at all.
“You don’t like them,” he said, frowning. “At least look at the bedroom before we eliminate them.”
With a sense that her tongue had been frozen, she went obediently into the bedroom and was even more overpowered. The bed was hung with rose pink draperies, the four-poster frame elaborately decorated with gold scrolls. And the mattress was so high and soft in appearance that she was instantly even more tired. A dressing table had a frothy skirt of the same rose-colored silk as the bed draperies. On the dressing table lay a profusion of silver things. Brushes, combs, buttonhooks, a shoehorn, crystal perfume bottles with silver tops. The lamps beside the bed had rose-colored chimneys, and their light turned the whole room pale pink.
“Think about it,” Max said from the doorway. “Perhaps you don’t care for the color. If that’s all, it can be changed. My uncle agrees that you should have whatever pleases you.”
Bemused, Kirsty wandered back into the sitting room. A chaise and several small upholstered chairs were elegantly placed, and tables made of patterned wood held exquisite porcelain pieces, and an enameled clock commanded the mantel above a fireplace tiled in rose and white with a painted blossom on each tile.
And on one of the tables was Ella’s marvelous Parcheesi set, the one with the pieces shaped like wee silver ladies in ball gowns from different times. Oh, she shouldn’t be here among such things.
Max waited in the doorway to the corridor. Kirsty looked about her with longing, but joined him and started toward doors on the opposite side.
“My own quarters are at the far end,” he told her. “I sleep lightly. You would only have to call, and I should hear you, not that there is anything to fear here. But you’ve been accustomed to your family being around you and could be a little nervous of solitude at first.”
“I think I shall like solitude,” she told him.
He didn’t move, not at all, only looked into her face. “You’re tired, my girl, even if you don’t think you are. We must find somewhere that pleases you and get you settled.”
Without any idea of what made her so bold, Kirsty said, “If I must choose, then I choose the rosy rooms,” and covered her mouth.
Jutting his chin, Max frowned and smiled at the same time. “What? What troubles you?”
“I’m forward. Tellin’ ye what I’d like.”
“I asked you what you’d like, but you showed no sign of wanting those rooms. Don’t accept them just to save effort, please.”
“Och, they’re beautiful. I never thought I’d sleep in the like o’ such rooms.”
“Wonderful!” Pleasure shone on his features. “Come along then, and we’ll see that you have everything you need. Then I’ll let the appropriate staff know where you’ll be, so you’re well taken care of.”
He strode back into the lovely rooms and set about drawing heavy draperies over the windows. “I expect you’d like your breakfast in bed? If you’d care to tell me what you prefer to eat in the morning, and at what time, I’ll tell them belowstairs.”
Tell them belowstairs. Kirsty winced. “I’ll eat in the kitchens, but thank ye.”
“You will not eat in the kitchens, and I never want to hear such a suggestion again. If you prefer to rise before eating, you will eat in the breakfast room where I eat. It’s across from my study. Go there whenever you’re ready.”
“Verra well.” She rubbed her hands together and looked around. Her ragtag bundle was on a chair. “I’ll not need anythin’ else, then. Except water for washin’, and I’ll go see t’it.”
“I’ll see to it,” he said very firmly, and went to his knees before the fireplace. In moments flames spun up in the chimney, and he stood again. “Now, relax. Someone will bring you water. How about food?”
She sighed. “I had supper wi’ my family.”
“Yes, of course.” He sounded uncomfortable. “Good night to you, then.”
“Good night,” Kirsty said, but he didn’t leave.
“You’re sure you wouldn’t like a little something more to eat?”
“Quite sure, thank ye.”
He moved a chair closer to the fire. “Warm yourself. It’s always cold in this great stone place.”
“I will. Thank ye.”
“Hmm.” He went to a wardrobe and opened the doors, and the drawers in a central bank inside. “Ella left all these things. She doesn’t want any of them. They’ll do for you until we can arrange clothes to your taste.”
“Oh, I couldna,” she said, genuinely horrified. “I’ve a few things wi’ me, and I’ll get more.”
“I shall want you well dressed, Kirsty. Simple clothes, of course, because they suit you, but of excellent cut and quality.”
Her face flamed yet again. “I’m afraid my own things are no verra special.”
“You always look lovely, but your wardrobe will be part of your remuneration. A modiste will be arranged. She’ll come to you. In the meantime, please find suitable garments among these. Ella’s tastes are for pretty but simple gowns.” He frowned. “She is somewhat taller than you, of course, but I’m sure you will use your ingenuity to accomplish something serviceable.”
“I’ve a little money put by,” she told him. “I’ll go into the village and see Mrs. Mackay—the dressmaker. She’ll make me—”
“Did you hear what I said?” His voice had hardened, and the angry light returned to his eyes. “You will use Ella’s things until I can get a modiste here to the castle. Are my wishes understood?”
Kirsty nodded yes.
“Good.”
With that he turned and left, closing the door hard behind him.
It took so very little to annoy him. When they’d been children, Max was the carefree one who smiled and joked his way through whatever came, and welcomed challenge. Now he changed like the wind on the moors, blowing one way, then the other, and so often fierce.
Kirsty looked around. What would she do with so much space, and with time on her hands?
She shouldn’t be here at all. And she certainly shouldn’t use Miss Ella—no, Ella was Lady Avenall now. She shouldn’t use Lady Avenall’s things.
Best go to bed and try to make sense of all that had happened to her so quickly. She undid her own things and extracted the plain, white-cotton nightgown she’d brought.
Mother had made the gown. No, she wouldn’t cry. Tears didn’t make things different, or better, or even worse for that matter. Surely her family wouldn’t turn their backs on her for long. They loved her, and wanted her with them, but they would come to accept that this was a chance she would be foolish to turn down.
It would probably be Mairi who’d come with the water. Kirsty felt very warm again, obviously at the thought of Mairi coming to her like a maid waiting on a lady. Well, Kirsty would put an end to any such notions and make sure Mairi understood that in future Kirsty would be attending to herself.
She was tired. Bone tired, and with a brain that wasn’t making sense anymore.
In the bedroom she slipped out of her dusty clothing and put on the nightgown. She took her hair down, brushed it rapidly, and made a single braid that hung past her shoulder blades. She’d wash her face and hands and climb into the tall, soft-looking bed, and say her prayers. The good Lord watched over honest people in their times of trouble, and she was troubled.
“Kirs
ty?” Max’s voice called out. “May I come in, please?”
She looked down at the nightgown. A very demure nightgown. And since there wasn’t a great deal of her to be concerned about anyway, she looked respectable enough.
“Aye,” she said, peeking into the sitting room and watching him come in, carrying a water jug and a bowl with great care lest he should spill some of the water.
He looked up, saw her, and immediately looked away. “I couldn’t find anyone to help, drat them all. I shall have something to say about that tomorrow. It’s Arran’s fault. He’s too soft on all of them when Grace is away. Where shall I put this?”
“I’ll take it into the bedroom,” she told him, too aware of her thin gown now.
Keeping his eyes lowered, he advanced. “It’s too heavy. I’ll set it down for you.” And he passed her to cross the bedroom and place his burden on the marble-topped washstand.
“Thank you very much,” she said, hugging her middle. “I’ll be sure to be ready for my duties by six.”
“Then you’ll be ready alone,” he said. “I breakfast at seven, and like to be in my study by eight or so. You may make your own time.”
“I’ll be there when you arrive,” she told him, feeling very vulnerable. Her bare feet didn’t help her dignity. “Good night to you, sir, and thank you again.”
“I don’t like you calling me . . .” his voice trailed away, and he looked at her. His hands dropped to his sides. “Doesn’t it seem strange to call me sir?”
“Strange or no’, it’s only right.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” He started for the door. “Yes, that would be true. Are you going to be comfortable?”
Kirsty shivered.
“What am I thinking of,” he said. “You need a fire in here, too.”
“I can light it myself.”
“In that flimsy thing you’re wearing. You’ll catch yourself on fire.”
Flimsy thing?
He lighted the fire, not quite so effortlessly this time, but light it at last he did. “There. Are there plenty of covers on that bed?” Before she could respond, he went to the bed and threw back the embroidered counterpane. Then, to her amazement, he counted the coverlets aloud and frowned deeply as if calculating. “Enough I suppose. But there should have been a warming pan. I’ll get one at once.”
The Wish Club Page 7
