The Scoundrel's Pleasure

by Jane Bonander

  Delilah screwed up her face. “I was thinkin’ about the fact that you’ll be married and all that. I do believe you should be preparing for it, rather than worryin’ about things you can’t control.”

  “And you think I can control my marriage?”

  Delilah stopped washing the vegetables, wiped her meaty hands on her apron and took Isobel by the arm. She sat her down at the table and scooted in next to her. “If ye won’t control it, who will? Do ye want a real marriage or one that just looks good from the outside?”

  Isobel’s starchy demeanor deflated, and she rested her elbows on the table and put her hands over her face. “I think of little else, truth be told, but he’s already told me he wouldn’t force me into anything…”

  “Do ye suppose that was just to get ye to agree?”

  She looked up and caught Delilah’s gaze. “But what if it isn’t? What if he’s not interested in me that way?”

  Delilah snorted. “He was once; he will be again, if he isn’t already.”

  Isobel stood and marched to the sink to take over the job Delilah had left, more to keep busy than anything else. She took a small brush and scrubbed a potato, digging at the eyes to get them clean of dirt. A hysterical giggle escaped. She was beginning to attack the vegetables just like Lily had when she’d first arrived. “And what if he isn’t? Then what? What if I’m too fat or too short or not submissive enough? These are traits I can’t change.”

  Delilah slapped her palm against the table, causing Isobel to jump. She nearly dropped the potato on the floor. “Lord a’mighty, can’t ye just take things as they come and not worry yerself into an early grave?”

  Isobel rested her forearms against the sink. Her wedding dress, one that Rosalyn had provided for her, was hanging upstairs in her nearly empty wardrobe. It was a lovely mushroom silk, with embroidered forest green flowers stitched over the skirt and green ribbing at the neck and sleeves. It was the most beautiful gown Isobel had ever seen. It was certainly more beautiful than anything she had ever believed she would wear.

  Lily had promised to do something with her raucous, unruly hair, which Isobel seriously doubted was possible, and Rosalyn was providing a bouquet of flowers from her own garden for Isobel to carry, complete with a sprig of white heather for good luck. She’d likely need a bushel of that.

  The entire reception was to be handled and paid for by the duke, and she and Duncan were to wed in the wee kirk Isobel had attended most of her life, the service conducted by the Reverend Fleming; it would be one of the last official duties he would perform before he retired. Ian would walk with her down the aisle. Isobel wanted everyone to attend, if not the ceremony, then at least the party afterward. An open invitation to the villagers and the crofters. Duncan thought that was a fine idea.

  Everything seemed perfect. What could possibly go wrong?

  There was some commotion in the outer room, and Lily, who had been cleaning up the schoolroom, stepped in carrying a small package.

  “What do ye have there?” Delilah asked.

  Lily sauntered up to Isobel and handed her the small parcel, appearing to bite back an enormous grin.

  Isobel frowned. “For me? Who came to the door with it?”

  “Some laddie from the castle,” she answered. “And before you ask, he said it was specifically for you.”

  Isobel wiped her hands on her apron and carefully took the small box from Lily. Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry. She could not imagine why anyone would send her a gift, unless it was Rosalyn’s wedding gift to her. That had to be it. She stared down at.

  “Well, open it—or have ye lost the ability to move?” Delilah’s voice was impatient.

  Isobel slowly unwrapped the package and discovered that under the paper, there was a small, velvet-covered box. Slowly she opened the box, and when she saw what was inside, she brought a hand to her mouth and let out a small scream.

  “Land sakes,” Delilah sputtered, “is it a snake?” When Isobel didn’t answer, Delilah added, “With that screechin’ it better be a snake.”

  Isobel made her way to the table and all but collapsed onto the bench. Shaking her head, she answered, her voice wobbly, “Not a snake, Delilah.”

  Delilah peered over Isobel’s shoulder and took the box. “Lord Almighty. It’s a luckenbooth.” Her voice was reverent.

  Lily stepped close, anxious to see the gift. “What is a luckenbooth?”

  Delilah waited for Isobel to speak, but when she couldn’t, Delilah explained. “’Tis a brooch. A love token. A gift from the groom to the bride to be, and by the holy, it’s real silver.”

  Lily gently touched the brooch. “There are two hearts entwined.” She gasped. “Oh, that’s so romantic!”

  Isobel started to hyperventilate. She rose from the bench. “I need to be alone for a bit, please…” She was so addled she couldn’t finish the sentence. She left the box on the table and raced up the stairs to her room.

  She flopped onto her back on the bed and stared at the cracks and stains on the ceiling. What could he be thinking? What…what did he want of her? Was it simply an innocent gift, or did he actually know the myth behind such a gift? A luckenbooth wasn’t something given lightly. No, indeed not. But of course, he could be ignorant of the meaning behind it.

  Delilah appeared in her doorway. “Ye forgot something.” She tossed the box on Isobel’s bed and left.

  Isobel reached for the box and slowly opened it again, studying the magnificent piece. She began to make little sobbing sounds in her throat, and she started to cry. She was so bewildered she didn’t know if they were tears of happiness or of panic.

  The last thing she wondered before she dozed off was whether or not she had time to sew Duncan a wedding sark after all.

  • • •

  As per most traditions, Duncan could not spend the night before his wedding in the same house as his bride to be. Although it was close to nine at night according to the tall, stately clock in the entry hall, Duncan was restless. He went outside and walked toward the stables. A number of hounds ran up to him, sniffing at his pant legs. “Sorry, fellas, it’s just me.” They followed him into the barn anyway.

  A light flickered at the other end, drawing him to it. There, on a stool, sat Kerry, nursing a pup with a makeshift bottle. She looked up briefly and smiled. “The runt of the litter,” she explained. “I’m supposed to let the weakest take his chances with the rest of the bigger pups.” She looked up at Duncan and then glanced at the huge Scottish wolf hound bitch that was curled around her bevy of whelps. “That hound had thirteen pups! What chance does the smallest have? We’ll be lucky if half survive as it is.”

  Duncan squatted down beside Kerry and studied the hound. There was something so massively beautiful about these dogs. Yes, there were a number of collies on the premises for herding, but these hounds owned their space; they didn’t have to have a purpose to survive, although he presumed they were used for hunting. “I hear that’s nature’s way; survival of those who can endure without human intervention, or something.”

  “Oh, I know,” she answered, her voice soft. “But I can’t just ignore her and let her die. Could you?”

  Duncan settled down beside his sister, resting his back against a board that reinforced the roof. “Back in Texas at the ranch, we had a mare that foaled twins. One, a filly, was born healthy and strong. The other, a handsome colt, was weaker and unable to stand as quickly as his sibling.” He stopped, remembering the incident. “He had what we called base-narrow stance in his hind legs, which kind of kept him off kilter.”

  “I’ve heard of that. If I’ve learned anything at all from our brother, it’s what constitutes a healthy horse.” She stroked the pup in her lap, who had fallen asleep. “What happened to the colt?”

  “The mare seemed to sense the colt was weak, because she would side step when he tried to nurse. One of the stable boys, who himself had a bum leg, pleaded with me to let him bottle feed. There’s an old saying, you know,
‘no legs, no horse.’ Even though I was pretty sure the colt wasn’t going to make it, I let the kid nurse it. Somehow it survived, but it had a strange gait and it never would have survived without intervention. And it wasn’t of any use to us—as a horse, anyway.”

  “But I sense it brought the young lad profound joy, am I right?”

  He nodded, recalling the bond between the damaged horse and the crippled boy. “It gave me a feeling of peace. I realized a person doesn’t always have to follow the rules.” He almost laughed. “That probably sounds crazy coming from someone who broke as many as he could find to break ten years ago.”

  Kerry studied him. “You’re a good man, Duncan MacNeil, no matter what you did back then.”

  “From your lips to Isobel’s ears.”

  Kerry put the sleeping runt down on the blanket with the furry little pups that were already asleep. It nuzzled its way into the pile. “I don’t know her well at all. From time to time I would see her in the village, and she always answered my greeting, but I gathered she wasn’t interested in getting further acquainted.” She glanced at Duncan. “I guess we all know why, don’t we?”

  “I hate to be reminded of what I did back then, especially now when I have a son of my own. I do know she was afraid of the lot of you.”

  “Rosalyn says Isobel has a lot of fears. All of us have done everything possible to bring her into the family with ease. From what I understand, she is a proud, stubborn woman, and strong in her own right, but certain she won’t live up to our expectations.” She put the empty milk container in a wicker basket beside her. “Despite the fact that she knows all of the MacNeils’ sordid history, she still isn’t convinced we’re just regular folks.”

  Duncan stood and brushed hay off his buckskins. “I sent her a brooch today.”

  Kerry struggled to stand, and Duncan took her hand and pulled her up. “A luckenbooth? You did? Oh, she must have been delighted.”

  “I haven’t heard one way or another, but knowing Isobel as I do now, she will read some meaning into it that will either scare her or anger her.”

  They reached the stable door and stepped out into the cool night air. The sky was awash with billions of twinkling stars; it seemed a good omen for tomorrow. Duncan said, “It’s like my whole youth has come back to haunt me. I never had a problem getting any woman I wanted. That sounds arrogant, but I was always so sure of myself, I couldn’t see how any girl could refuse.” He laughed at his naivety. “Even with Isobel—” He shook his head, not willing to go into that night ten years before.

  “And now?”

  “And now, I’m nervous as a jungle cat, wondering how I should approach her. Will she tell me to go sleep with the devil? Will she make it clear that our ‘arrangement’ was to be all business?”

  Kerry gave him a sisterly punch on the arm. “I can’t give you answers, brother dear. I have no experience at all in the ways of love. But I do believe that both of you are worrying yourselves over nothing.”

  They returned to the castle in silence, Duncan’s only thought being it was likely he’d spend a long, restless night awake.

  • • •

  Isobel’s little escape nap ended when Delilah thumped on her door. Isobel sat up, searched for her gift, and stuck it into her pocket. “What is it?”

  “’Tis Henry,” Delilah said, her voice solemn.

  Isobel was up like a shot. “Is he all right?”

  Delilah snorted. “More’n all right, I’d say.” She handed Isobel a letter. “From his sister in Ayr.”

  Isobel looked at the letter. “I didn’t know he had a sister.”

  “Well, if ye aren’t goin’ to read it, I’ll just tell ye. His sister wants him to come and spend his days with her, as she’s recently widowed. Guess she wants the company.” Delilah snorted again. “Henry is about as much company as Yellow the Cat. At least the cat is useful around here.”

  Isobel gave Delilah a look of warning. “Since he’s leaving, you could be nice to him for a change.”

  “Hard for me to change, Izzy.”

  Isobel opened the letter and scanned it. “When does he plan to leave?”

  “He says right after the nuptials. He’s itchin’ to see ye finally wed, as we all are.”

  “Well, at least I won’t have to worry about him after tomorrow.” She gave Delilah a forlorn look. “How can we possibly descend on Rosalyn, the two of us?”

  Delilah shrugged. “Ye’ll be busy with His Lordship, and I’ll make sure things are running as they should be.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. Just remember that it isn’t your place to order anyone around.”

  Delilah planted her meaty fists on her hips. “Huh. Then what in the devil will I do with meself all day?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The morning dawned bright and beautiful. Isobel had been up before dawn, however, trying to prepare herself for a demanding day. After a nice warm bath and clean hair, she had sat by the fire and toweled her hair dry. Now she perched on a stool before the mirror, while Lily worked on the mess.

  “So many curls, Isobel,” Lily said, her voice filled with awe.

  The feeling of Lily’s hands in her hair was comforting; it relaxed her. “Aye. I’ve never been able to do anything with it but pull it back away from my face and stick it into a roll at the back of my neck. Even then it springs loose like it wants to get away.”

  “The Travelers had beautiful hair,” Lily recalled. “I could sit for hours and play with my mum’s—” She paused midsentence. “Oh, I don’t even know what to call them anymore.”

  “Don’t fret about it with me. They rescued you, raised you, and kept you from harm. We shall all be grateful to them for that.” Isobel wondered how Lily’s idiosyncrasies affected her new life at the castle.

  Lily made a noncommittal sound, one that made Isobel catch her gaze in the mirror. “What’s wrong?”

  As Lily pulled Isobel’s hair into a series of corkscrew curls, she said, “I’ve asked my…Rosalyn, to explain how I came to be in the river. So far I’ve not gotten a very good explanation.”

  “It’s not my business, but if you were very young and asked that question, I too would wonder how to answer. But, and again this isn’t my worry, you’re a lass full grown. I’m sure they will tell you, but you must be prepared for something possibly unpleasant.”

  “I’ve gathered there wasn’t a good reason for me being there. Rosalyn appears heartbroken every time I bring it up. She does promise to tell me one day, but I’m wondering when that day will come, if ever.”

  “Then be patient, lassie. Be patient.” Isobel almost laughed at her advice. At this moment she was about as impatient as any person on the planet. But impatient for what?

  Moments later, Lily announced, “There. A masterpiece.”

  Isobel glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “Oh my.” Lily had brought all of her hair to the top of her head and fashioned the curls securely with pins and a circle of pearls. Tiny, wispy curls framed her face. “How did you do it? I can’t believe how neat and tidy it looks.” She touched the curls gently. “Unfortunately, by morning it will look like I’ve been struck by lightning.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself, Isobel.” Lily stood back, her hands clasped together under her chin. “It’s the least I can do for you. Without you, I may never have known who I really was. Now,” she added, “let’s get you into that dress.”

  A short time later, a stunned Isobel stood in front of the mirror and studied her reflection once again. Why, she was almost beautiful. The mushroom silk with its green embroidery complemented her fair skin. The bodice dipped low, revealing more than she’d ever revealed before, and immediately her neckline flushed with heat. Her luckenbooth was pinned on the left side of her gown, and the gown hugged her small waist and womanly hips and then draped itself beautifully to the floor. She wore mushroom-colored silk and low-heeled shoes decorated with a green bow. She had the urge to reach out and touch the mirror to make
sure it was really her.

  “Ye right look like a lady,” Delilah announced behind her. “Ye’ll dazzle your lord, ye will.”

  Isobel pulled in a sigh. “Oh, Delilah, can you believe I’ll actually have a title?” She glanced at the big woman and they both began to giggle again.

  “Ye think I should probably practice me curtsy?”

  “If it’s anything like the last one, I’d say aye, practice, practice, practice!”

  They were still laughing when Ian skidded into the room, all combed and polished and dressed in an adorable MacNeil plaid kilt made just for him. His mouth fell open when he saw his mother. “Is it really you, Mam?”

  “’Tis.” She enjoyed his expression. “And you look very handsome.” She studied her son. When had he become all arms, legs, and knobby knees? Oh, he was growing up so fast. Too fast. She supposed all mothers felt that way.

  “It’s not a skirt, it’s called a kilt; Mister Duncan is wearing one, too.” He frowned.

  “What’s wrong, laddie?”

  “Oh, I’m just sorry Hamish can’t be here,” Ian murmured.

  “Aye, I wish he were here too, but when the sea calls him, he must go, whether there are important nuptials taking place or not.” She reached out and straightened Ian’s collar. “You know,” she began, “Mister Duncan or even his proper title, His Lordship, probably won’t do. You’re going to have to decide what to call him.”

  Ian checked his reflection in the mirror, strutting around like a lad in a costume. “We’ve talked about that.”

  “You have?”

  “Aye. He says to call him whatever is comfortable for me. He hopes that someday I’ll call him da.”

  “And what do you think? Will you?” A twinge pricked Isobel’s heart, nudging open the hard shell she’d wrapped around it for so many years.

  Ian stood before the mirror, thoughtful. “I’ve given it some thought.”