Claimed By a Scottish Lord

by Melody Thomas

  Irritation pricked him but left as soon as he felt the sting. Mrs. Simpson had not said anything more or less than what he already knew himself. ―What is it you think I want, Mrs. Simpson?‖

  ―I could not say, my lord.‖

  But she was sure he knew what he wanted.

  Aye, he could charge upstairs and force himself on his wife.

  But tonight was suddenly not nearly as important to him as tomorrow and all the other tomorrows to follow.

  Rose had very little that was hers, and what she did have she fiercely guarded. Her heart was hers alone to give away. He would never own it completely if he did not first win her trust.

  Chance not. Win not.

  He remembered the inscription on his great-grandfather‘s empty tomb, the other pirate in the family, the one who had found his life and his peace with his English bride.

  Audace fortuna juvat. Fortune favors the bold.

  If he did not risk his own heart, he would never find hers.

  Rose awakened to morning light spilling into her room and over the soft white eiderdown comforter that wrapped her in warmth. While Ruark had been away, she had moved her belongings into the blue damask bedchamber, with its flamboyant rococo-style furnishings, but she had continued to sleep in her husband‘s bed. Last night she had barred the doors and slept in the blue bedchamber.

  With her mind still weighted by slumber, for a heartbeat she‘d forgotten her angry tears last night and only remembered that Ruark was home.

  Memories of last night banished the warmth she felt. She sat upright, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  Sighing, she threw off the covers and rose from bed, the hem of her pale cotton nightdress tumbling to her calves.

  She padded barefoot across the thick Brussels carpet to test the position of the walnut writing cabinet she had slid in front of the panel door in the wall. She then tested the main door to make sure the key remained in the lock. To her utter disappointment, he had not attempted to break down doors to get to her. She had awaited him to try, too, in a fine, hot temper, daring him to come to her just so she could throw something at his head. How dare he not come to her chambers so she could have the privilege of throwing him out?

  Feeling disappointed but secure, she retired to her dressing room to wash. She splashed water from a pitcher into a large delft basin sitting on the washstand against the wall. She cleaned her teeth with teeth powder that she had sprinkled with mint leaves to mask the wretched taste, then began to unbraid her hair. Voices outside drew her to the window. She walked over, pulled aside the mulberry brocade curtain and looked down at the yard. No matter where she slept, her window was always left cracked open at night. A climbing rosebush that wrapped an iron trellis filled the morning air with perfume.

  Her melancholy began to ebb as she watched Jack and Jamie playing near the reflecting pool. She had told Mrs. Simpson only yesterday that she loved it here at Stonehaven and she wanted Jack to remain.

  ―Will your husband abide by that wish?‖ Mrs. Simpson had asked.

  Truthfully, Rose did not know. She suspected that despite his unforgivable behavior the night before, Ruark would allow her the freedom to do most anything within reason.

  Then she thought of Jamie Kerr and the possibility that he could be Ruark‘s son, and she decided she would find a way to keep Jack with her here.

  The two boys were dressed in loose-fitting brown frock coats and breeches, their silk stockings of the finest quality. The silver buckles on their shoes glinted in the morning sunlight. The lads would be accompanying her and McBain today on their rounds.

  When Jack looked up and saw her, his face split with a gap-toothed smile. He waved vigorously and she waved back. Jamie, though more subdued, also returned her wave with a smile. The two boys were not quite friends, but Jamie seemed to follow Jack everywhere.

  ―Look what we got to take with us,‖ Jack called up to her.

  He and Jamie were eating buns from a basket that Jack had gotten from the kitchen. Buns supposed to be going to the pastor‘s wife at the village kirk.

  She called back for them not to eat another bun. She would be down momentarily. After they ran off toward the stable, she found herself glad the two were at least getting along.

  She decided to ring for Anaya. With her new wardrobe having arrived only two days prior, Rose had learned why a lady‘s maid was not only appreciated but practical, to overcome the complications of dressing.

  Rose yanked shut the curtains, turned and nearly ran into Ruark. She gasped, stepped back and bumped the edge of a chair. He was leaning with his back against the washstand, his arms folded, amusement in his eyes as if he had been watching her for some time and enjoying the show. Her gaze flew around the room trying to detect how he had got into her dressing room.

  ―Kathleen set up a table outside,‖ he said as if he had not walked through locked doors to get inside here. ―I thought ‘twould be nice to take breakfast in the garden with my wife.‖

  ―How did you get in here?‖

  ―I grew up in this house. There is not a secret passageway or servant‘s walkway or door I have not discovered or opened.‖ Their eyes locked and a few beats of silence passed between them. ―I missed you last night,‖ he said softly.

  As if to escape his gaze, she scooted around the chair and hit the wall. He followed her retreat and trapped her, his hand braced against the wall behind her. ―Rose, I behaved like an insufferable boor.‖

  ―Aye!‖ she flung at him. ―You . you did!‖

  But his admission had snatched the wind from her sails. Last night her anger had formed around a tempest of fury.

  This morning, in daylight, the storm had weakened.

  She had wanted to speak to him about Jack. She had wanted to talk to him about Jamie. Ever since she had read the entry in the Bible, she had questioned if Jamie could be his son.

  Last night was simply too silly to fret over, she told herself. Yet the tears came. ―You have apologized,‖ she said, and attempted to step past him. ―And I have another engagement this morning. Now if you will excuse me.‖

  She‘d never questioned the existence of desire but she had never experienced it in its primal form, never reckoned with its power until his hair brushed her cheek and his words touched her ear. ―Last night is an excuse, love. Because that is not why you are angry now.‖

  ―Move aside.‖

  ―Like hell I will.‖

  His own anger shot her gaze back to his eyes. ―Do you remember our first meeting at the abbey, Rose? You asked me after I had been standing outside during a lightning storm—aye, you guessed correctly about that—you asked if I feared death. Or defied it. At the time I could honestly tell you, I feared nothing.

  ―You told me lightning is the most powerful force on earth. ‗It intrigues, tempts, and taunts you. You cannot master it but it makes you feel something powerful. Only a man who cannot feel life seeks to find ways to destroy his own, if only to define his own existence,‘ you said. Do you remember those words?‖

  She did remember and he had repeated them verbatim.

  ―You told me I am a man without purpose. I am not that man any longer.‖

  So conscious of his gaze, her mind lagged in catching up to his words.

  ―Aye, you are a bonny bride worth much. Tucker told me that from the beginning you were an heiress. But in Jedburgh, I was willing to let you go if I could find a way to get you out of England, because that is what you wanted.

  ―Since the first day I met you, I have wanted you, love. Do you truly believe Hereford could have forced me to wed you?‖

  She looked up at him through a hot veil of tears. His words, everything he was saying left her momentarily bereft of thought.

  ―Ah, love. I have injured you,‖ he said, and gathered her in his arms. ―I have apologized.‖

  She nodded. He did not need to apologize. ―I know.‖

  He let her pull away from him.

  ―Now tell me about your
school, love.‖

  He produced a towel that had been lying beside the washbasin for her nose. Welcoming the change of topic, she told him of the school and the plans she had for the tenants‘ children and how she hoped the lodge was close enough to the village to draw children from there. She blew her nose and ceased sniffling. ―I have written to Friar Tucker and asked if he would talk to the older girls to see if one or two might be interested in teaching positions. I told our kirk pastor that I would go over the applicants with him this morning.‖ She peered up at him. ―You do not object?‖

  ―Nay, love.‖

  She dabbed at her eyes and regarded him suspiciously. ―You are being very humble and cooperative.‖

  ―I am trying.‖ And the words went straight to the warm pit of her stomach.

  His dark hair was still wet from a recent bath and tied back at his nape, emphasizing the handsome sun-touched features.

  Dressed as he was in leather breeches and a simple white cambric shirt open at his throat, he looked neither aristocratic nor Scots today. He looked like he belonged on the sea. She slid her finger over the shell of his ear. ―Where is your earring?‖

  He wrapped his fingers around hers. Turning her palm upward, he pressed a kiss into her hand. ―I removed it, Rose.‖

  ―Why would you do such a thing?‖

  ―If you do not know, then it matters little why the thing is gone.‖

  Before she could respond, a knock sounded on the door in the bedchamber. ―That is Anaya,‖ he said. ―I took the liberty of sending for her before I came up here.‖

  Gowns and petticoats, shoes, hats, and sundry feminine articles lay on the settee, floor, and her dressing table. She had not finished looking at the beautiful things the modiste had brought her and not everything had been put away. A glance around at the abundance brought sudden amusement to his eyes. ―I will have to compliment the modiste. Shall I send up another maid?‖

  She never knew quite what to say when he teased her. It made her feel young because she did not always understand his mood. ―I should not have ordered so many gowns.‖

  ―You are not that extravagant. I can afford to purchase you gowns.‖

  Another timid knock sounded. Ruark strode out of the dressing to open the bedroom door and allow Anaya into the room.

  ―Ruark . ‖ Rose hurried to stand in front of him before he could turn the key in the door. She grabbed his sleeve. ―Wait!‖

  Despite his current cavalier demeanor, she felt the firmly muscled flesh beneath the sleeve hard with tension. She wanted to ask him what he meant about the earring and to understand him, but she suddenly found she wanted him to kiss her more than she wanted anything else at all at the moment. But he did not kiss her, and Rose withdrew her hand from his arm.

  ―Perhaps I can prevail upon you to join us in church,‖ she said. ―We will be picking peaches afterward.‖

  He arched a brow, and she could see the amusement in his eyes. ―A visit to the holy kirk and a day in the peach grove? Enticing, but the only peach I want to pluck is standing in front of me.‖

  And just that fast, he rescripted their dialogue, redirected her emotions and made a mockery of her will.

  His thumb stroked the line of her jaw, and with the gentlest of pressure, his other hand closed in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck to his hot, moist mouth. Her nostrils flared wide and she inhaled the clean scent of him. Then he lowered his head and seduced her mouth with a kiss that invited her to wrap her body around his and let him take her down to the grass.

  A kiss that reminded her of all the days he had been away. She resisted for a moment, because the simple pleasure of being in his arms was doing disastrous things to her heart and will. How easily she surrendered.

  He raised his head to look at her, and with the pads of his thumbs, he traced the curve of her throat. ―I want more than your surrender, Rose.‖

  He lowered his hands. Let her think about the words.

  He bent around her to open the door. ―Anaya awaits, love.‖

  Chapter 22

  Loki shied nervously at the darkening clouds and the brilliance of a distant crack of lightning. His gloved hand keeping a firm grip on the reins, Ruark soothed the horse as he awaited a man to catch up to him. He‘d seen him from a distance, a small speck against a turbulent sky. Ruark had been twice to the gatehouse looking for Duncan and thought the rider might be he.

  Duncan‘s continued absence weighed heavily on Ruark, and he was not in the most restrained of moods, having spent the last three days searching for his uncle to talk about what Hereford had told Ruark, which was beginning to prove a fruitless endeavor.

  Yesterday, Angus told him that Duncan was not with the others bringing in sheep from the northern pastures as he had first thought. Today he had sent Colum to Hawick to speak to the coroner who supposedly had viewed the bodies of both Ruark‘s father and Kathleen‘s husband.

  Angus approached and, seeing Ruark, reined in his horse. ―A bit restless are ye, lad,‖ he quipped as his eyes narrowed on the sky. ―Out on an evening like this.‖

  Ruark looked beyond the wild glen, then across the fells. ―Aye, that I am. Are you not supposed to be escorting McBain and my wife to the village today?‖

  He scratched his heavy beard. ―They returned some hours ago. Ye have no‘ been back yet?‖

  Ruark told Angus to return to Stonehaven and thumped Loki into a gallop. He would be late returning home that night. Aside from the quick trip to look over the new foals yesterday morning, Ruark had spent little time at Stonehaven.

  For the last three days, Ruark had settled into a routine of normalcy as much as was possible with Rose in the adjoining chambers and him playing the celibate monk.

  His wife had gone about her business as mistress of Stonehaven, overseeing Mary‘s duties during her absence. He barely saw her unless it was late at night and he stood in the doorway between her chambers and his, trying to remember all the reasons why he should turn away.

  And so he kept himself occupied learning what it meant to be Stonehaven‘s laird. Yesterday he had gone with Angus to look over the new foals and discuss next year‘s acquisitions. Before that, it had been the barley fields that occupied him, and learning that some of the fields had not seen crops planted last spring. Tomorrow he would go south to the mill on the river and meet the foreman.

  After a while Ruark quit thinking. The air was cool and crisp, as heady as rum punch as he rode Loki across the field. He rode up on the lodge, his gloved hands keeping a firm grip on the reins as he dismounted in front of Rose‘s school. The scent of larkspur and juniper mixed with the smell of earth and rain and familiar memories as Ruark looked up at the high roof. All but the watchman had left for the evening, leaving Ruark to walk the empty rooms in the fading light of the day, freshly painted with whitewash and windows newly glazed and the smell of plaster in his nostrils. He was impressed with his young wife‘s accomplishment. The building would make a fine school, and he felt pride knowing Rose was responsible.

  Ruark walked around the grounds. The wind caught his hair. Dusk had left the countryside bathed in the deep magenta that mixed with the swirl of dark clouds as if the tempest came from within him. His head came around at the sound of a horse. He looked to where he had left Loki hobbled and grazing on a patch of grass.

  It wasn‘t until he was nearly upon the stallion that he saw the second horse hobbled nearby. Rose stood beneath the branches of a large oak looking at him, her hand gripping her copper hair to keep it from whipping the air around her. She wore a cloak over a gown, the color of the surrounding tempest.

  And he walked to where she stood, the sudden sharp stab of desire worse than when he had seen her dancing at the bonfire.

  Worse even than last night, when he had returned home late to find her asleep on the settee in his library, the lamp burning low on the table beside her, a book upon her chest as if she had been trying to stay awake and wait for him. He had carried her to bed and
she had not even awakened when he set her beneath the covers.

  He stopped just beneath the branches.

  ―Angus said he saw you coming this way,‖ she said.

  ―You were following me.‖

  She made the smallest nod. Neither took a step toward the other though he could feel the pull between them.

  ―I have always considered myself judicious and balanced in my outlook,‖ she said.

  ―Quite above it all. I do not know about the kind of love hailed by poets. No one in my life has ever born witness to such.‖

  Her voice wavered. ―I only know that ever since I found the puzzle box in the abbey‘s crypt with the ring inside, my life has not been the same, almost as if a hole opened in my heart. Mrs. Simpson warned me that I was tampering with something beyond my ken. Yet, I opened the box without fully understanding the power. My heart is like that box.