That was the bottom and the top of it.
“And I’ve been appointed to control his funds until he’s of age,” Christie said, with such haughty arrogance, Gwendolyn pivoted toward the door, her fists clenched.
Boastful little piece of shite.
“Indeed.” Lowry’s drier-than-cold-ashes tone conveyed his utter disdain. “Your room, sir?”
“Nae need. I only brought the one suit with me,” Christie said. “I’ll have a brandy in the drawin’ room instead. And when ye see yer mistress, inform her that I require a private audience this evenin’.”
“I’m never going to be alone with that man,” Gwendolyn whispered. Her mouth pulled into a taut ribbon, she closed her eyes and touched two fingers to the bridge of her nose. “In fact, if I didn’t want to see his reaction to the revised dinner menu, I’d take a tray in my room to avoid any further contact with him.”
“I’ll see Miss McClintock is informed.” Lowry’s tone clearly indicated he’d do so at his convenience.
“See to it that ye do. I do no’ tolerate slackers or insubordination,” Christie said. “How long have ye held yer position?”
Lowry’s reply was lost as their footsteps faded down the passageway.
“I confess to utterly loathing that dung pile of a man.” Gwendolyn glared at the opening, her eyes mere slits.
Dugall faced Hollingsworth. “Would ye excuse us?”
“By all means.” Hollingsworth gave a crooked smile as he strode to the door. “I’ll endeavor to entertain our guest. Should I get him foxed, Gwendolyn? Mayhap we’ll be spared his company durin’ dinner.”
“No, because then he might plead an excuse not to depart on the morrow.” A small smile played around the perimeter of her mouth. “Though after he sees his room, he may not want to stay tonight after all.”
What had the minx been up to?
Hollingsworth slipped out, quietly closing the door behind him.
“You’re leaving then?” She’d made her way to the sofa, and clasped the carved back. “I expected as much.”
“Aye. I wanted to speak to ye about that.” Dugall longed to kiss the wistfulness from her face. To tell her he’d always be there for her. “I received the letter I was expectin’.”
She nodded as she brushed one hand along the sofa’s carved back. “I understand. Just as well, since I’ve already decided I cannot stay here, and there’s no reason why you should remain either.”
Dugall’s stomach dropped to the floor, leaving a horrid hollow feeling in his gut. “Where do ye intend to go?”
Please dinna say back to America. He’d never see her again.
“I thought I’d ask your brother and Lady McTavish if they might know of a family in need of a governess or perhaps an elderly dame in need of a companion.”
He released an extended, relieved breath. At least she wasn’t leaving Scotland. Yet. He’d vow Christie would try to run her off though.
Perhaps he already had.
Clever of her to have already reached the conclusion she’d need income. To do so would lessen Christie’s hold a touch, and self-sufficiency was essential if Hollingsworth decided to challenge the endowments as the eldest male heir.
A wise move on Gwendolyn’s part, but had she considered where the children, their nanny, and her aunt would live? He couldn’t conceive of any household taking in and boarding five people.
Except . . .
“Let me send a note ’round tonight. Ewan and Yvette mentioned they were contemplatin’ retainin’ a governess. And Craiglocky is so vast, ye and yer family could reside in yer own wing.” If Dugall asked and explained the situation, Ewan and Yvette would agree.
They must.
A radiant smile blossomed across Gwendolyn’s face and relief softened the fine lines pleating her eyes. “That would be marvelous. At least for the time being. Until I can decide on something permanent. I’ve no doubt Mr. Christie will do everything he is able to gain custody of the children. Or at least Jeremiah.”
She veered him a frantic glance, her expression stricken. Her lower lip trembled the slightest bit before she stoically brought it under control. “He wouldn’t separate the children, would he? He couldn’t be that cruel.”
Aye. He would. Dugall would gnaw his hand off before he told her as much.
“I’ll think of something,” she muttered as she slapped her palms onto the sofa, then with a ragged sigh, wandered to the window he’d been gazing out earlier.
At the notion of her living at Craiglocky, Dugall’s heart had quickened. He’d rest easier knowing she was surrounded by his family, and that the McTavish clan protected her while he was away on assignments.
But she was right about Christie. The way he saw it, she had two options.
Get married or convince Hollingsworth to seek guardianship. Except if Hollingsworth sought and prevailed in a claim against McClintock’s estate, the latter might prove as disastrous as if Christie gained the position. But the former—
Nae, it didn’t bear contemplating. His fiery-haired, green-eyed lass marrying another.
You could ask her to marry you.
He trailed an adoring gaze over her.
If he didn’t have to forsake the corps, he would before drawing his next breath.
His rational side objected to the impulse.
Impossible to make such an impetuous decision when he’d known her for such a brief period.
“I’ll write Ewan now and send the missive this afternoon. We might even have an answer tonight,” Dugall said, in an attempt to comfort her.
She turned from staring out the window into the gathering dusk. “That would relieve me greatly.”
Quickly penning a note, Dugall also mentioned the change in the McClintocks’ circumstances. He deliberately withheld that detail from Gwendolyn though. If Ewan and Yvette extended the proposition—and Dugall had every reason to believe they would—should Gwendolyn believe they offered her employment out of pity, she might refuse.
He couldn’t risk that.
She couldn’t risk that.
“Well, I should change my gown for dinner. And since I never did have a chance to see the children before meeting with Mr. Christie, I want to spend a few minutes with them. I won’t mention we’re to move again just yet. I’d appreciate if you’d keep my confidence in the matter, as well.” Emotion, raw and tattered, pulled her mouth downward.
“Of course.” Everyone would know soon enough anyway, but he understood her desire to shield her niece and nephew.
“I should think Lloyd will be pleased,” she said. “After we’re gone, things will be much as they were before we arrived.”
She was wrong. About the latter, in any event.
Gwendolyn impacted her surroundings and people profoundly. The staff had already grown fond of her and her family. These McClintocks would be missed.
She angled her head, exposing the long column of her graceful throat. “I owe you much, Dugall. And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done on behalf of my family. We were strangers to you, and you’ve been nothing but kind and generous.”
Shoulders slumped and head bowed, Gwendolyn looked so forlorn, Dugall had to comfort her. In a few long strides he made his way to her, then gathered her into his arms.
Ye’ve nae right.
He wasn’t offering her forever. He couldn’t even offer next week.
The battle raging inside threatened to rip him asunder. He didn’t want to leave her. Especially not now. But he couldn’t give up his lifelong dream either. Married men weren’t recruited for the Corps, for obvious reasons.
Unattached men, free to come and go on minimal notice, whose minds were on their assignments rather than the wife and perhaps bairns who awaited them at home were the ilk of
which the Corps was constructed.
He kissed her head, resting his face against the silky softness.
“I’ll be back in a week, Gwenny.”
She nodded against his chest. “But you’ll leave again.”
“Aye.” No sense denying it.
“You must. I understand.” She drew a long, wobbly breath and eased from his embrace. “But I’m not strong enough to fight my growing feelings for you. Even though I know nothing can come of them. And after what Mr. Christie revealed today, I need to focus all of my energy and attention on protecting and providing for my family.”
“Perhaps in time I could—”
Could what?
Be verra careful about makin’ promises ye dinna ken if ye can keep.
“If they offer it to me, I’ll accept the position at Craiglocky. Until I know exactly what Mr. Christie’s about, and I decide on something more permanent.”
“Gwendolyn.” Dugall grasped her hand and pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles, the action conveying all he wanted to say.
The words, the promises, wouldn’t come. Couldn’t come. He couldn’t give her false hope when he didn’t know himself which he wanted more.
And he despised himself for his fecklessness.
“It’s impossible. I know that.” She touched the scar on his forehead, then brushed her fingertips along his jaw, tears glistening in her eyes. She smiled, a tiny, infinitely sad and fragile arcing of her rosebud mouth.
“So, no more touching, Dugall. No more kisses.”
“Aye, lass. It will be as ye wish.” A good thing he was leaving tomorrow, for after today, it would be torture to see her, hear her voice, smell her perfume and not sweep her into his arms.
“And, Dugall?”
“Aye, leannan?”
“If your brother and sister-in-law offer me a position, I’ll only accept under one condition.”
He caught one of her blazing curls between his thumb and forefinger. “Anythin’ for ye, lass.”
Almost anything.
Except what she most needed from him, selfish batard.
“Swear you’ll stay away from me.”
I canna, my heart.
His tall, strong, invincible Amazon made her way to the door, more fragile and defeated than Dugall had ever seen her.
She stepped through and, palm on the handle, looked over her shoulder.
“Leave me alone, Dugall.”
Chapter 21
A week later, as Gwendolyn wended her way through the original Keep’s crumbled ruins, a wind gust slammed into her. For the third time, she seized her bonnet to prevent it from flying off her head.
Sapphire satin ribbons slapped her face as the curls she’d left dangling in front of her ears caught in her eyelashes.
The biting wind penetrated through her slate blue redingote and whipped her skirts around her half-boots. Still, as she pushed her hair from her eyes, she inhaled the crisp air, relishing her first sojourn outdoors since they’d arrived.
At least the clouds weren’t dumping cartloads of rain onto the already saturated highlands.
Even Ewan and Yvette had taken advantage of the day’s drier weather to look in on a newly widowed villager.
A shout of gleeful, boyish laughter rang out.
What had seemed like such a fun, educational outing on the first partially sunny day in over two weeks, had turned into a circus given the children’s high spirits.
“Children, stay where I can see you. And please be careful. Absolutely no running. It’s too dangerous. Remember your assignment. You’re to try to find similarities between the old castle and the current one.”
Not a one of them would do that.
Well, Iona might.
Truthfully, Gwendolyn had needed the exercise and fresh air as much as the boys and girls did. A chance to stretch her limbs and contemplate her future.
They couldn’t remain at Craiglocky forever, even if Dugall continued to stay away. In any event, he wouldn’t avoid the Keep indefinitely.
She missed him. Unbearably. She’d grown accustomed to the largeness of his presence, his baritone, and laughter like dark honey left in the sun to warm; of the half-seductive, half-roguish glint in his gorgeous blue-green eyes.
But this was for the best.
How could she have formed such a potent attachment in a few short weeks? How, when she’d forbade her heart to ever feel again. Seemed the imprudent organ wasn’t in the business of taking sensible orders from her brain.
She hadn’t seen him since that day she told him to leave her alone, her soul fragmenting with each bitter, gut-wrenching word.
Self-preservation—panic that she’d be hurt again—prompted her.
Well on her way to falling in love with him, she simply could not endure another loss. She might go mad from it, and she had two children and two women wholly dependent on her. Plain and simple, there was no room for unrequited love in her life.
Besides, Dugall had committed to a daring, adventurous life. She was sensible enough to know taking on a woman responsible for four others and the years of ongoing tumult that Christie would no doubt cause weren’t nearly as appealing.
Or tempting at all, actually.
A yelp followed by a high-pitched giggle had her whipping her head in the direction of the mischievous sounds.
She would’ve accepted Kandie’s offer to accompany them if the servant hadn’t been suffering from a chest cold. Instead, Gwendolyn bravely—or foolishly—opted to attempt the venture on her own.
She hadn’t seen the need to ask a clans member or two to twiddle their thumbs for an hour while the children scampered about like kittens, either.
McLeon had offered, even raised his dark brow as if he’d object when she’d refused an escort. She’d assured him they were within sight of the Keep, and if she needed help, she’d but call.
“Children. Did you hear me?” Gwendolyn shaded her eyes against the few, faint, but valiant sunbeams amid the ever-increasing clouds, and mentally ticked off a count of seven as she located each child.
Amid a chorus of ayes and yeses, seven tam or bonnet covered heads bobbed in affirmation.
Urging each other on, the boys, Broderick, Jeremiah, and Pedar, hopped from stone to stone. Iona and Julia, each holding one of the twins, Adelaide’s and Adreanna’s, hands examined what remained of a huge fireplace.
“Boys, that’s not safe.” Hands on her hips, Gwendolyn shook her head. “Those stones are not stable. If you cannot stay off them, we’ll have to return to the Keep.”
The lads grudgingly jumped to the ground.
In a moment, they spotted a mountain hare nervously twitching its black-tipped ears as it watched them from a grassy patch of heather.
Squatting, the boys conferred for a moment, and then, still crouching and looking very much like decrepit, bow-legged trolls, crept toward the petrified animal.
Nose quivering, it remained still for another instant before dashing into the forest.
The McTavish children were well-behaved—better than Julia and Jeremiah most of the time, truth be told—but like any youngster confined indoors for days on end, when given the opportunity to frolic about outdoors, attended to their play with a zeal only the young possessed.
Iona, the eldest at sixteen, proved a tremendous help, even in the schoolroom.
“Aunt Gwenny, can we look on the other side?” Julia pointed to a tumbled-down wall.
“As long as you watch your step, and don’t climb on anything.”
The worst of the rubble had long since been cleared away, and what remained must’ve fallen in recent months or years. Ewan and Yvette—as they’d insisted she call them—assured her the ruins were quite safe to explore.
Another powerful flurry whistled through the pines bordering the old Keep’s grounds on one side. Their branches played nature’s orchestra as the trees bowed and swayed.
Finding a flat place on what looked to have been a staircase at one time, Gwendolyn sat down. The children’s laughter rang out every now and again as they chatted happily with each other.
She glanced toward the current Keep.
Did a clansman watch from an upper story mullioned window or the gatehouse tower?
The decision to come to Craiglocky had been a good one. At least for Julia’s and Jeremiah’s sake. The children all got on together famously. A tremendous blessing in the midst of so much turmoil.
However, Ewan McTavish resembled his brother far too much for Gwendolyn’s peace of mind. Nevertheless, she’d been grateful for his generous offer.
The room and board alone for five people would’ve slowly corroded away the monies from Thistle Glen’s sale. Ewan had insisted on paying her a generous wage as well. Actually, he and Yvette had extended an invitation for them to stay as long as Gwendolyn wished, as their guests.
Lloyd had offered the same. He’d tried to reassure her that if Christie did indeed petition for guardianship, he would apply as well. Surely a relative would find more favor with the court than the solicitor.
Politely, but firmly, she’d refused their offers.
The McClintocks weren’t reduced to charity, yet.
She earned her salary, though. Every last penny. She’d never have believed how exhausting teaching seven children would be, especially a troupe this energetic.
Which was good.
It meant when she at last found her bed at night, she slept. Or rather, she fell asleep straightaway, but awoke in the early morning hours, yearning for Dugall.
That was when her thoughts spun all manner of frivolous what-ifs and fanciful, unrealistic maybes.
Seductive Surrender (Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series Book 6) Page 18
