Never Kiss a Laird

by Byrnes, Tess

  The Viscount released her hand, sighing heavily. “Very well, my dear. We will do as you say. But if we have not had word from her in a se’nnight I am heading north.”

  “Let’s not make any hasty promises.” Lady Denham said complacently. “I am sure we will hear from her. And if we do not, we can send Rupert up to Scotland. He was always Sally’s favorite, and is the most likely of us to uncover her whereabouts.”

  The Viscount’s dark expression lightened. “You may be right, my dear. Let’s not wait. I will send for Rupert now, and he can travel to Scotland as soon as may be arranged.”

  “As you wish,” Lady Denham replied. She had no very good opinion of Rupert’s intelligence, but there would be no harm in letting him wander around the Scottish towns for a few weeks. Better that than look at his long face at dinner every night. “I’ll just go write a letter for him to carry to my mother.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” the Viscount said gratefully. “I will feel much better knowing that someone is looking for our girl.”

  Chapter Seven

  Over the next few days, Sally reveled in a returning state of optimism. The venture that had started out very shakily was finding roots and growing nicely. She had been taught the mysteries of turning a few oats into a lovely, smooth, nutty, and very filling, bowl of porridge. Bridget had shown Sally and her maid how to make a satisfying stew from a pile of vegetables, and how to wash and hang out clothes so that they remained wearable. In return, Bridget shared Sally’s bed chamber, and enjoyed for the first time the heady sensation of being valued for her contributions. She blossomed under the praise and gratitude that was showered upon her by her grateful saviors.

  Sally had also learned more about the romance that had burgeoned between her young guest and Robbie Fraser, the carrier’s lad. Bridget had first met her swain when a large order for draperies and carpets had been delivered to the Castle. The young maid had immediately been attracted to the tall, muscular boy who carried the heavy carpets so easily. She had volunteered to bring tea out to the lads, and had fallen into conversation with Robbie. Like her, he came from a large family, and had left to make his way in the world. He had grand plans that included one day having a carrier business of his own. That first meeting had been over a year ago, and when Mrs. Cameron had hired the carrier to bring all the household orders from London, Bridget had looked forward eagerly to the arrival of the carrier’s cart, and every month or two she and her lover had stolen a few precious minutes away together.

  “But you must not think we meant to misbehave, miss,” Bridget assured her earnestly. “We tried very hard to be good, but when he touches me, miss, I just don’t seem to remember anything my mam told me about how to act with the lads.”

  Sally, remembering her own recent, and quite reprehensible, encounter with a handsome young man, felt incapable of uttering a reproof.

  “Robbie asked me to marry him, and I said yes,” Bridget said with a reminiscent sigh. “He said we could live with his family until we can afford a place of our own. He even told his mam, and she gave her consent. Mrs. Cameron called me shameless, but Robbie and I are in love, miss. It’s not shameful.” She looked apprehensively at Sally, fearing to see censure on her face.

  Sally, with a thousand questions on her tongue that she could not ask, had reassured Bridget that she would help her find her carrier’s lad. Sally wondered if she could find an excuse to go up to the Castle, and talk to one of the maids. And if she should run into the Laird of the Castle while she was there, and had the opportunity to inform him of her opinion of his cruel treatment in ousting the poor maid when she was so much in need of help, well, so much the better.

  Sally was hampered in her quest by the inability to write a note to leave for the unlettered Robbie, and by Bridget’s inability to tell her what day the carrier was expected, or indeed the name of the carrier company. It could be up to two months before the carrier’s cart would be needed again from London, according to the maid. Sally formed the intention of asking one of the maids up at the Castle to direct Robbie to Whitethorne cottage on his next trip, a plan that seemed fraught with the possibility of error, even if she could pull it off.

  She was further hampered by the dawning realization of just how much work was involved in living simply in a small cottage. It seemed to Sally, and to the long-suffering Millie, that there were endless chores to complete from the moment they woke until they fell exhausted into bed at the end of the day. On the positive side, it gave Sally very little time to fret about the future; the present was providing more than enough fodder for worry.

  One bright morning, a few days after Bridget’s arrival, Miles saddled Beauty for Sally, and, taking a few coins from her carefully hoarded purse and the charily prepared shopping list, she set out for the village. Millie had ruthlessly removed all the items from the list that she deemed frivolous, paring it down to a very economical catalog of necessities only. But the early March sun was shining with unexpected warmth, and a few brave crocuses were poking their purple heads through the earth, and Sally couldn’t repress a bubble of happiness as Beauty picked her delicate way along the road to Thorne village. The world may be an unfair, censorious place, but a sunny spring-like day was stretching before her, and Sally’s natural optimism surged to the fore.

  She had to admit that the addition of Bridget to the little cottage community had been an unexpected stroke of luck. Not only did the ingenious girl know how to cook, but she had told Sally exactly where to go for her purchases, and warned her against the butcher’s heavy thumb, which found its way onto the scale if you weren’t watching carefully when he weighed your purchases.

  Finding Bridget’s beau was a priority for Sally, but not knowing when he was likely to be at the Castle next was definitely a problem. Sally silently railed again at the owner of the Castle, the judgmental and censorious Laird, who could just toss a young maid out, with no thought of how she would find her way in this cold world. Sally was self-aware enough to know that her own deep hurt was adding fuel to this anger. She still could not believe that her father had been willing to exile his only daughter on the basis of public gossip. Taking control of her own life was a balm, but it couldn’t erase the fact that to her family she was entirely expendable. Never mind that she was innocent of the charges laid at her door, if the world saw her as tarnished, then tarnished she was.

  Her mind went back, as it was doing with alarming frequency, to the day of the thunderstorm, and the very unexpected events that had transpired in a cave off the moors. The thought occurred to her that she was already paying the price for exactly that sort of behavior, so why shouldn’t she indulge her curiosity and just do it? She had been intoxicated by the touch of Hugh McLeod; that was the only explanation she could come up with. Not unlike Bridget and her carrier’s lad, Sally had been completely unable to stop herself from responding to the man’s touch and, if she was honest, she was intensely curious to try it again.

  As she sat atop her horse, her mind pleasantly caught up in these reminiscences, Sally became aware of the sound of hooves approaching from behind. Turning Beauty, she saw Hugh McLeod approaching on his magnificent stallion. She felt her cheeks flush and her heart started to beat uncomfortably fast. It felt almost as if she had summoned him with her thoughts. Pushing this fancy aside, Sally composed herself.

  “Miss Denlington,” the Earl called when he was close enough. “Are you heading into the village, too?”

  “Mr. McLeod,” she greeted him in turn. “Yes, I wanted to exercise Beauty, and I do indeed have some purchases to make in the village.”

  “What do you think of our Scottish countryside?” he asked conversationally, allowing his horse to drop into a walk beside her.

  “I find the starkness most beautiful. Especially the moors.” she replied. “And with the sun shining, who could not be pleased.”

  “The weather is very changeable, I’ll grant you,” Hugh replied, wondering how she would respond to this oblique referenc
e to the weather the last time they met.

  A mischievous smile crinkled Sally’s eyes, and she surprised him by saying, “Yes, the weather today is much more conducive to a ride than it was three days ago.” She patted the smooth brown neck of her horse. “Beauty is much happier today, too.”

  “There are some definite advantages to being caught in a storm, though,” Hugh murmured provocatively.

  Sally, unused to being alone with a gentleman, let alone one with whom she had shared those intimate moments, knew that she should bring this line of conversation to a close. But with her new-found freedom as a compromised woman, she looked over at her companion, one eyebrow raised.

  He was dressed in a brown tweed riding jacket, buckskin breeches, and his thick, dark hair was contained at his neck with a brown riband. His eyes were searching her face, a disturbing smile in their brown depths. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and she could remember in every detail the feelings generated by his lips on hers. Looking up again, she saw a challenging question in his eyes. She knew that she should drop her eyes and look away, but what if she didn’t? What was the worst that could happen? That she would act on those feelings again, and somehow ruin her reputation further? She was already as compromised as she could possibly be, so why should she simper and act like an innocent debutante? Her curiosity, whetted by their last encounter, was bolstered by the very freedom of the fact that she no longer had a shred of reputation left to her.

  So instead she smiled in a way that she hoped looked more sophisticated than it felt, and replied, “I will grant you that. But I must admit to preferring a dry coat and the sun overhead. What is your errand in the village, Mr. McLeod?”

  Hugh knew that he should correct her, and inform her that she should be addressing him as my lord, or your lordship. But the anonymity of being plain Mr. McLeod was oddly enjoyable, so he allowed her to continue in ignorance. “I am executing a commission for a friend up at the Castle,” he replied.

  “Are you a friend of the Laird’s?” Sally asked, wondering if there was some way she could turn this to her advantage. Maybe Mr. McLeod could help her find Bridget’s Robbie.

  “I know him,” Hugh said easily. He looked over at Sally, and saw a look of disapproval on her lovely features. “Are you acquainted with him?” Hugh asked, his interest piqued.

  “I am not,” Sally stated baldly. “And I have no wish to be.”

  Intrigued, Hugh asked, “Has the Earl offended you in some way, Miss Denlington?”

  “I’m sorry if he should be a friend of yours,” Sally informed him. “But I have no patience with those who set themselves up as if they are without fault, and punish those who have made an honest mistake.”

  “And has the Earl of Kane done so?” the Earl queried.

  Sally’s quick temper blazed and her eyes flashed angrily. “I feel strongly on the subject of autocratic and high-handed males. I ask you, if one has been privileged from birth, and enjoyed every luxury, wouldn’t you think that would make one more compassionate, rather than completely inflexible and odiously judgmental?”

  Hugh scrutinized her. The wintry day had given her cheeks a high color, and despite her slight figure, she bristled with determination. He found the juxtaposition of delicate beauty and such strong-mindedness entirely captivating. “And you find the Earl of Kane to be such a man?”

  Sally gave a rueful laugh. “In truth, I have never met him.” A cart approached on the narrow road, and Hugh was forced to allow his horse to drop behind. When the road was clear, he snapped the reigns and surged forward again, bringing his horse alongside Beauty.

  “Then may I ask upon what you are basing this opinion of him?” he asked.

  Sally smiled at Hugh. “I’m sorry. I am putting you in a difficult position if you are a friend of the Laird’s.” She said the word as if it was unpleasant to utter. “What is your destination this morning, sir? I can see the post office, and that must be my first stop.”

  Hugh felt a strong unwillingness to bring their conversation to a close. “I have to pick up a package at the posting house. May I offer you a cup of tea there, when you have finished your errands, Miss Denlington? We can warm ourselves before tackling the chilly ride back to our respective houses.”

  Sally met his intent look, and felt her pulse quicken. In her previous life she had never been allowed to spend any time alone with a man. In fact, the only time she had been truly alone with a man had been in the cave by the moors, and her behavior at that time would have confirmed Lady Denham’s worst fears regarding her daughter’s virtue. If a strong desire to repeat that wanton behavior was the invariable result of private conversation with a handsome man, then perhaps her parents had been right to worry about her, she thought impishly. Hugh McLeod, with his handsome face, and his graceful, athletic seat as he controlled the playfulness of his stallion, was without a doubt causing a physical response in her own body. Sally found it exhilarating.

  ‘Very well,” she said, surprising herself.

  “Good,” Hugh exclaimed. “I will meet you at the Dancing Maiden in half an hour. Will that amount of time suffice for your errands?”

  Sally nodded and smiled, mostly at her own daring, and the Earl found himself grinning at her in return. What was it about this girl? he wondered as he wheeled his horse about and headed for the posting house.

  He handed his reigns to the groom at the Dancing Maiden, and entered the low building. He had been coming into Thorne Village ever since he was a child, and had known the publican at the Maiden for many years. His business, picking up a package from London on behalf of his steward, was soon concluded, and he requested a private parlour, and asked the publican to direct a Miss Denlington there when she should call. He spent a few minutes choosing what cakes and pastries he thought his guest would fancy, and then subsided into a chair before the crackling fire, the image of a beautiful red-haired girl before his mind’s eye.

  By the time Sally arrived at the Dancing Maiden, she had made all her purchases, and had splurged on having them delivered to Whitethorne Cottage, not having considered ahead of time how she would ride home on Beauty’s back carrying flour, oats, a small quantity of beef, sundry other groceries and a large quantity of candles.

  Despite the sunshine, she was feeling a little chilled by the brisk air, and as she entered the warm parlour the sight of the cheerful fire and the well-laid tea tray pulled a satisfied sigh from her lips. Looking up at the sound, Hugh was momentarily bereft of breath at the sight of her. Her red-gold curls had been tossed in the wind, and framed her face enchantingly. A blush of colour set off her high cheek bones, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the anticipation of a warm room and a cup of tea. She was unbuttoning her jacket, and pulling off her gloves, and Hugh knew a wish that she would not stop there. Shaking away these improper thoughts, he stood and welcomed his guest.

  “Did you accomplish all your errands, Miss Denlington?” he asked, and Sally was aware once again of wishing she could use her real name. There was a feeling of dishonesty in assuming a false name. But hiding her location was a necessity, so she merely smiled and nodded.

  “And you?”

  “Indeed. May I pour a cup of tea for you?”

  Sally took the cup gratefully, and added some biscuits to the saucer. “Thank you!” She sipped from her cup for a moment, reveling in the warmth coming from the fire. Hugh added a piece of wood to the fire, and as he did so, Sally had an opportunity to scrutinize him. His brown tweed riding coat showed off his broad shoulders to advantage, and the legs that were encased in buckskin breeches were muscular and strong. He was a very handsome man, she decided, as she looked at the way his dark hair sprang from his broad forehead, and at his straight nose and firm lips. She started to feel an involuntary response to his proximity that started in her chest and moved distractingly to other parts of her body as well.

  At that moment Hugh looked up and met her eyes. Sally cast about her mind for a conversational gambit, anything to break the spe
ll, but her mind was as dry as her mouth suddenly seemed. She licked her lips, trying to moisten them, and the Earl’s eyes were pulled to her mouth. He straightened, and stood looking down at her, a harsh frown on his face.

  “Miss Denlington,” he uttered in a husky voice. “I do not know what it is about you, but I find myself wishing to repeat my very reprehensible behavior of the other day.” He met her gaze and gave a rueful laugh. “Perhaps we should drink our tea, and resume our homeward journeys.”

  Sally knew that he was right. If she had a reputation to protect, she should immediately excuse herself from the room, have Beauty saddled and head instantly for Whitethorne cottage. A thoughtful gleam came into her eyes. In truth, the only benefit she could find in the dreadful situation she had landed in was her freedom. Unlike girls who were trying to make a respectable match, Sally could not come up with any convincing reason to follow the conventions of society. If she were to be condemned for being a fallen woman, why should she not allow herself to fall? She had been reliving over and over in her mind the events that had transpired at their last meeting. What reason could there be not to relive them again in reality? She was aware of the distracting way her body was responding to the handsome Mr. McLeod, and she knew an overwhelming curiosity to experience more.

  So instead of rising and preparing to leave, Sally merely took another sip of her tea. “Yes, I suppose that would be the prudent course of action,” she replied. She wanted Hugh to kiss her again, but she had no idea how to make that happen. Then she remembered that Hugh had been trying to keep her warm in the cave, and the proximity of their bodies had facilitated the actions that followed. So she stood, setting aside her teacup, and crossed the room. She rubbed her arms briskly and said plaintively, “I fear that I became quite chilled this morning. I don’t seem to be able to warm up.”

  As she stood looking at Hugh expectantly, a smile came into his brown eyes. “Then you must come closer to the fire,” he replied, and came forward to take her hands. He attempted to pull her over to the warmth of the hearth, but she resisted. She tried to think of another gambit, and stood indecisively, her hands still held by the Earl. A small pulse was beating in her white throat, and a sense of frustration was rising within her. Should she shiver and act ill, she wondered? Or should she just kiss him herself? Why was this so difficult, she frowned in frustration, her chest rising and falling more rapidly.