by Amanda Scott
Wending his way among trestle tables and benches to the dais, he stepped onto it and approached Lady Carmichael.
“Forgive me for interrupting your ladyship, but I wonder if you have decided yet when it will be convenient for us to meet with Eustace and Parson Allardice.”
Putting the back of one hand to her brow, she said, “Pray, Sir Christopher, can this not wait? I have been trying to get away this past hour to lie down and rest, and I promise you, I have such a headache that I could not discuss anything sensibly. As to my uncle, although he is the one who invited everyone to this feast, he has disappeared, and I believe he must have taken Parson Allardice with him.”
“I have no wish to distress you, madam, so I will go, but perhaps you would like me to send for Lady Anne first to assist you to your chamber.”
“I cannot think where she has gone,” she said pettishly. “I saw her come in, but she went straight to the stairs, and she has not come back.”
“Little coward,” he murmured.
“What’s that, sir?”
“Nothing, madam. Shall I send someone to fetch her?”
“No, no, that is not necessary. Nor should you leave Mute Hill House,” she added, sitting up straighter.
“I dislike trespassing further on your hospitality.”
“Nonsense, Sir Christopher, you have barely met Fiona, and if your betrothal to her stands, you will soon marry her. I should think you might at least spend the night as I had planned and try to get to know her a little. All these people should depart before supper, for they cannot require more food or drink after this, and I have invited no one to stay.” Raising her voice, she said, “Malcolm, I want you.”
“Yes, madam?”
“Pray, show Sir Christopher to a bedchamber,” she said. “Malcolm will see that you have everything you need, sir.”
“Thank you, madam,” Kit said, thinking that this would repay Anne Ellyson. He could hardly wait to see her again, if only to see the expression on her face when she learned he would remain an overnight guest despite his ducking.
Lady Carmichael said abruptly, “Where has my uncle gone, Malcolm?”
“I believe that he, Sir Eustace, Parson Allardice, and others left some time ago, madam. He suggested that Sir Eustace must be bored with the wedding feast since he would win none of the fruits of… that is to say since there had been no wedding,” he amended swiftly. “I believe they went out riding.”
“Nonsense, you know that Toby never rides a horse if he can help it.”
“Just so, my lady,” Malcolm said, darting a quick glance at Kit.
Lady Carmichael said, “My uncle travels in a specially made pony cart, Sir Christopher, and since the ponies refuse to carry him any great distance, I warrant they will have gone no farther than his favorite alehouse in the village.” Fluttering her eyelashes at him as she had once before, she added in a tone more suitable to a demure innocent, “I shall certainly scold him for neglecting you.”
“Unnecessary, I assure you, madam,” Kit said. “If we are not to discuss this odd situation in which we find ourselves, I shall welcome a good night’s rest.”
“Put him in the blue room near Sir Eustace, Malcolm.”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
Although Kit was by no means sure that he wanted to sleep so near his uncle if that gentleman was presently indulging himself at the local alehouse, he followed the steward obediently and soon discovered that Mute Hill House resembled a rabbit’s warren. They passed several stairways before coming to one that apparently met with Malcolm’s approval. At the first landing, Kit followed him down a gallery, assuming that his room would be somewhere along it. Instead, Malcolm led him to the far end and up a second stairway.
They went up only one more flight. This time, the gallery where they found themselves faced a bank of windows overlooking the gardens.
“A splendid view,” Kit said.
“Aye, sir, we like it,” Malcolm replied, as if the house were his own. “Sir Eustace is in that chamber at the end,” he added, opening a nearby door.
Kit stepped into a pleasant bedchamber and strode across it to open the shutters in the lower section of a window overlooking a central courtyard he had not seen before. As he peered down, he heard the steward moving briskly about the room behind him. Turning, he saw the man peer into the ewer on the washstand and touch the towel on the rod, as if to be sure that all was in order.
“Thank you,” Kit said. “I see that this house is even larger than it appears.”
“It is a good size, which suits us, for Sir Stephen was accustomed frequently to entertain large parties, and her ladyship enjoys company, too,” Malcolm said. “I’ll send up a lad with hot water, sir, and despite what her ladyship said, I assure you supper will be served in the hall as usual, although not until eight o’clock.”
Glancing out at the sky, Kit was surprised to see how late it was, for the sun was low and the light had begun to fade.
“Faith, but it must be nigh onto five already,” he said.
“Aye, sir. Shall I shut that window now?” he asked as Kit stepped away.
“No, leave it,” he said. “I’ve spent much of my life in the open air, and I dislike being shut in unless it’s raining hard or snowing. As for that hot water, I’d prefer you to send it up when I retire for the night.”
Malcolm nodded and left.
Under ordinary circumstances, Kit would have had clothes to change and a personal servant with whom to chat. Since he had neither but did have three hours to spend before folks would gather in the hall for supper, he decided to go outside again and see if he could learn where Willie had gone.
Returning to the hall proved easy, but although he usually had a keen sense of direction, he was not sure he would as easily remember the way back to his bedchamber. However, he decided to worry about it only if he got lost.
Chapter 11
Anne was hungry. She had eaten nothing since breakfast other than the orange she had taken into the garden, and the thought of that orange reminded her that its bits of rind were now floating in the brook, doubtless well on their way to Ewes Water. Instantly, her imagination produced the picture of Sir Christopher, sitting in the swiftly flowing water with his hat tilted over his eyes.
He undoubtedly wanted to murder her. As she changed from the green velvet gown into a more informal one, she wondered unhappily when she would see him again. So certain was she that he had gone rather than face anyone in his sodden state that it came as a shock to find him at the high table when she went down to supper. It was even more surprising to find Olivia smiling and chatting with him, but Olivia’s smiles were soon explained by her flirtatious manner.
Turning to Anne, she said lightly, “Where is Fiona? I was sure she would come down with you.”
Guiltily, Anne admitted that she had assumed the opposite and thus had not even gone to Fiona’s room.
“Well, you must go and tell her I want her here. She has hidden away too often of late, and with Sir Christopher spending the night, she has a duty as one of this household to make him feel welcome.”
“Yes, Aunt Olivia,” Anne said, intensely aware of Sir Christopher but avoiding his eye by the simple tactic of keeping her gaze riveted to Olivia.
Glad to escape before she had to see the anger he undoubtedly still felt toward her, she hurried to her cousin’s room, wondering if there were any way to send Fiona downstairs without accompanying her. The thought had barely passed through her mind, however, before she rejected it. Not only would Fiona refuse to go without her but she would despise her own cowardice if she avoided him. She owed him an apology, and she would simply have to get it over with.
As she had expected, Fiona did not want to leave her bedchamber, insisting that she would send Molly to fetch food for her when she grew hungry.
“Which I’m not now, Anne, I promise you. I don’t want to see anyone!”
“Don’t be a goose. You must go downstairs, or your mother wil
l be up here in the twinkling of a bedpost. Kit Chisholm is spending the night, and she wants you to get to know him.”
“Mercy, do you call him Kit?”
“No, of course not,” Anne said, annoyed with herself. “I don’t know why I did just then. But that is not important. You must come downstairs, Fiona.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Then tell your mother so when she comes to fetch you,” Anne said, turning back toward the door.
“Oh, very well, but if Sir Eustace is there, I’ll turn right around and come back if I have to get sick all over the floor to prove to them that I must.”
“Eustace and Toby have gone to the alehouse,” Anne said. “And you know that your uncle will not leave it until someone rolls him out the door to his cart.”
“Good,” Fiona said, turning more cheerfully to let Molly straighten her dress.
Downstairs, Anne felt only relief to see that her cousin was shyly polite to Sir Christopher and that he was charming to her. The conversation that ensued was desultory, even boring, so when she took a sip of her claret and chanced to catch his eye over the rim of her goblet, his teasing expression startled her into a smile.
He was still looking at her when Olivia said, “You should more properly ask him questions about himself, my dear. Men like to talk about themselves.”
Startled, Anne turned toward her aunt, only to realize that she had addressed her remark to a deeply reddening Fiona.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Fiona exclaimed. “I don’t know what to ask him!”
“I am sure we’d all like to know where he has been hiding himself,” Olivia said, turning to Kit. “We’re eaten with curiosity, sir.”
“I have been many places,” he replied with an easy smile. “I have been to Italy and Spain, and sailed the Mediterranean Sea, and I’ve seen Ireland, too. I know little about what has transpired here in my absence, however. Perhaps you can tell me about life in Roxburghshire. For example…”
Anne watched with increasing admiration as he adroitly led Olivia away from a discussion of his activities and deep into Border gossip, flattering her one moment for her keen insight into her neighbors and friends, and affecting astonishment the next at the vast extent of her knowledge.
Just as deftly did he draw Fiona into the conversation, and within moments, Anne saw her cousin begin to gaze raptly at him. Telling herself she was glad that Fiona liked him, she had nonetheless to relax fists that had somehow clenched so hard in her lap as to leave fingernail marks in her palms.
It became clear that Olivia intended to make the evening last as long as possible, but Fiona was soon yawning behind her hand.
The tables in the lower hall had been cleared and dismantled, and only the jug of claret remained on the high table when Kit said, “Perhaps you should seek your bed, Mistress Carmichael, before you fall asleep before our eyes.”
“Yes, do go up, my dear,” Olivia said. “Sir Christopher is right. I can see that he is a man who knows how to look after his own.”
Anne blinked, finding it suddenly hard to maintain her serene expression. Apparently, Olivia had decided to shift her support from Eustace to his nephew, and she wondered what Eustace would think of that. Indeed, she wondered what she thought of it herself. Surely, it was a good thing, because Sir Christopher would certainly make an excellent husband, so it was vexing that just that thought alone was enough to make her want to cry.
She arose from the table when Fiona and Olivia did, but to her surprise, Sir Christopher said, “I wonder if I might have a word with you, Lady Anne.”
Olivia looked from one to the other. “It is late, sir, and Fiona and I long for our beds. I thought you understood that we mean to retire.”
“I won’t keep either of you, madam. I just want a word with her ladyship.”
“The young women in this household understand that they are not to have private words with young men,” Olivia said sternly. “Anne will go upstairs with us. If you want to speak with her, you may see her in the morning when we break our fast. Until then, good night, sir. Come along, Anne.”
Obeying, Anne glanced over her shoulder. Encountering a teasing grin, she knew as surely as if he had said so that he was thinking again of their first meeting.
His attempt to steal a private moment with Anne thus foiled, Kit sat comfortably in front of the fire, enjoying the solitude of the empty hall until he heard sounds heralding the return of the men from the alehouse. Deciding it would be less than helpful to confront his uncle when Eustace had undoubtedly (from the sound of it) imbibed more ale than was good for him, he got up and left before the revelers entered the chamber.
He had not found Willie or anyone who had seen the lad. It occurred to him that until supper, Anne had been his only friend, although he doubted she believed that after what she had done to him. Lady Carmichael seemed disposed to like him, but he had seen enough of her to realize she was fickle at best, so he could not count on her. He would doubtless be safer in his bedchamber, but he would not be completely safe until he could reclaim Hawks Rig and man it with his own people.
Taking what he hoped was the right stairway, he went upstairs and along the first gallery he came to until he found the second stairway at the end. On the next level, he easily found the door he sought.
He opened it and stepped into the darkened room.
Someone had shut the window and kindled a fire in the fireplace, clearly having expected him to return sooner, since it had burned to embers. Using the orange-gold glow to light his way, he crossed to the window, pushed aside the curtain, and opened the shutters, drawing a welcome breath of the cold night air.
“Faith, but you’re as bad as your horrid uncle!”
Turning sharply to find himself face-to-face with an angry Anne Ellyson sitting bolt upright in her night shift and apparently nothing else, he snapped, “What the devil are you doing in my bed and where are your clothes?”
Unable to sleep, Anne had been staring at the canopy overhead, thinking she probably owed a debt of gratitude to Olivia for sparing her “just a word” with Kit Chisholm, when she heard him come in. At first, she thought Peg must have forgotten something and, fearing to wake her, had entered without her usual double rap to announce herself. Anne nearly spoke before she realized that the footsteps of the person rapidly crossing the room were much heavier than Peg’s.
Sitting up and peeping between the bed curtains, she watched the tall, shadowy figure stride across the room and open the shutters before it dawned on her that it was Sir Christopher.
Shocked and furious to think that he would enter her room, she had shoved the bed curtains aside and told him exactly what she thought of such behavior.
When he whirled to face her, demanding to know what she was doing in his bedchamber, she realized what must have happened and saw the same realization dawn in his expression.
“Faith, I’ve come to the wrong room, haven’t I?” he said.
“Aye, sir, you have,” she said, striving to recover her calm and failing completely. He was in her room with her and far too close for comfort, and she was sure, despite his teasing look earlier, that he must still be angry with her for pushing him into the brook. “There are separate stairs leading to the east and west wings of the house,” she explained. “The rooms and galleries are much the same on both sides, and in the guest bedchambers the furnishings generally sit in the same positions with respect to the fireplace. If your fireplace is in the same—”
“Put a robe on, lass,” he said, his tone still harsh.
“You need not bite my nose off,” she snapped. “You are in my room, after all, and you must leave at once, so it does not matter if I put on my robe or not.”
“It matters,” he said.
“Now, see here—”
“No, you listen to me for once,” he said. “I wanted to speak to you below, but your aunt prevented that. Still, until this moment I have not been able to find two minutes to speak privately with you, exce
pt when I got doused for my efforts, and I do not want to have this conversation before an audience.”
“There can be no conversation,” she said. “I know I owe you an apology, and I do apologize, so if that is what you came here seeking, you have it. Now, go.”
His gaze fell upon her old robe draped across a nearby stool, and he snatched it up, flinging it at her. “Put that on, or I won’t hold myself responsible for my actions. I’ve warned you before, my manners are not up to their old standard.”
“Because of being with sailors so long,” she said acidly. “Yes, you told me.” But when he continued to look grimly at her, she sighed and put on the robe, saying, “Very well, but I cannot imagine what you think you must say to me.”
“First, I am not angry with you. If I were, you’d have had no doubt of it, because my temper is the sort that flames high and loud, and burns quickly.”
“You were angry when I left you sitting in the water.”
To her surprise, he grinned but turned toward the fireplace as he said, “I was, and you should consider yourself lucky that I couldn’t reach out and grab you then, because you’d have found yourself sitting beside me. Still, I know I deserved your anger, lass. I behaved badly, and I know what I’d do to any man who treated a woman the way I treated you on that bridge, so I have nothing to say about that aside from offering you my apology.”
Anne could not remember any man other than a servant apologizing to her before. The experience was unique and surprisingly pleasant. Moreover, it instantly put an end to the nagging distress she had felt since running from the bridge.
He knelt beside the fireplace, took a log from the nearby basket and put it on, then began to blow on the hot embers to encourage their appetite.
She said, “If you are not angry, then what have we to discuss?”
Flames leaped in the fireplace, and as he stood and turned, they cast a flickering glow behind him that outlined his tall figure, making him look larger than life. Anne realized that she felt no less vulnerable with her robe on than she had felt without it. He was too large, too near, and entirely too masculine. Moreover, she had already learned that his behavior was unpredictable.
