by Sandra Heath
Hearing the door along the passage close again, Lauren peeped out once more. There was no sign of Jamie, and Emma had gone. Taking the skirts of her riding habit, Lauren fled on toward her own room.
Chapter 11
A little later, Lauren went down to the dining room. She did not feel at all tired after the ride; on the contrary, she felt quite refreshed and ready to enjoy one of the gargantuan Glenvane breakfasts to which Fitz had referred.
He had not exaggerated about the lavishness and variety of the table provided by the castle, as she saw the moment she entered the crowded dining room. The sideboards were laden with an astonishing array of silver-domed platters and the room was heavy with the smell of food, from bacon, sausages, warm bread, and coffee, to the more exotic aromas of kedgeree, deviled kidneys, and the much-praised finnan haddies. The chatter of conversation had not diminished in the time she had been changing, and it seemed that those guests who had finished were content to linger with their companions just to talk.
In the few seconds that Lauren stood in the doorway, she noticed that Emma was with Jamie, and that Isabel was seated beside Rory. Rory looked displeased about something, indeed it seemed to Lauren that he was decidedly irritated, although he strove to conceal the fact. Hester and Alex were at the other end of the table, deep in conversation with some old London friends, and they didn’t notice her. Rory did, however, and to her surprise he immediately left his place to come to her. It was a courtesy which angered Isabel.
Rory smiled at Lauren. “Have you recovered from your exertions?”
“Most definitely, sir.”
“I’m filled with admiration.”
“Whereas I intend to be filled with finnan haddie,” she replied promptly.
He laughed. “The thought of our best smoked haddock appeals to you?”
“A great deal more than the prospect of haggis, I must admit.”
“Then filled with finnan haddie you shall be, Miss Maitland.”
His good humor and apparent delight on seeing her again seemed quite natural, and, again, if it hadn’t been for what she’d overheard the night before, she would have thought him sincere in his attentiveness. If only he were. If only he felt as much for her as she did for him…
He was about to escort her to the sideboard when suddenly Jamie appeared beside them. “Good morning, Miss Maitland.”
“Sir.” She glanced surreptitiously at Rory. His expression was mixed, although what that mixture was she couldn’t quite tell.
Jamie smiled into her eyes. It was a practiced smile, smooth and confident. In his vanity it simply did not occur to him that his prey might not wish to be caught. “Miss Maitland, I was wondering if you would care to join me for a drive after breakfast? I have my cabriolet and thought you might like a tour around the loch?”
Rory replied before she could say anything. “You’re too late, brother mine, for Miss Maitland is already spoken for. I’m rowing her across to Holy Island.”
Lauren stared at him and then smiled a little apologetically at Jamie. “Another time, perhaps, sir.”
He gave his brother a dark look, but then dissembled as he returned his attention to her. “Then at least allow me to assist you in the more mundane matter of selecting your breakfast,” he said, offering her his arm in such a way that Rory would have had to make a thing of it to exclude him again.
Rory stepped aside. “Until a little later, Miss Maitland.”
She smiled at him and then reluctantly accepted Jamie’s arm. From the corner of her eye she saw that Rory did not return to his seat next to Isabel but left the room instead. She didn’t know what to make of him, except to wonder how he could possibly still be assisting Jamie when he had quite deliberately put a stop to any thought of a cabriolet drive around the loch. Unless, of course, when they’d been in the courtyard earlier, he’d meant that he would personally take her to the island as soon as possible. But even as she considered this possibility, she discarded it, for if that had been the case, then surely he would have made certain that she understood.
Jamie had been lifting the domes off several platters for her, but she was so lost in thought about Rory that she wasn’t paying any attention. He paused. “Perhaps you aren’t hungry, Miss Maitland?”
She came back to the present. “Forgive me, I was thinking about something else.”
“So I noticed.” He smiled into her eyes again. “Would that I were the subject of those thoughts,” he murmured, with just the merest hint of gallant flattery.
She feigned not to have heard. “To the matter in hand, sir. What’s that?” She pointed to the platter he’d just displayed for her.
“Herring and potato cakes,” he said flatly, a little disgruntled that his expert flirting wasn’t earning the desired response.
“Oh. Well, I don’t think I have a fancy for them,” she said quickly, moving on to the next dome and lifting it herself. “And this?”
“Pigeon pie.”
“For breakfast?”
“There are many who like it, but usually they are of the older generation, who also like roast beef and ale at this time of day.”
“Indeed?” She gave him an innocuous smile. “I fear there is only one thing I wish to sample this morning, sir, and that is finnan haddie.”
He blinked. “You are acquainted with the dish, Miss Maitland?”
“I was told about it earlier, when Lord Glenvane and I were returning to the castle.”
He became still. “You and Rory?”
“We were coming back from our ride,” she said, being deliberately ambiguous.
She was rewarded by the slight darkening of his eyes. “It seems one cannot trust one’s own brother,” he murmured to himself, not realizing that he’d spoken loud enough for her to hear.
“Not trust one’s own brother? What do you mean, sir?” she enquired innocently, determined to cause him as much subtle discomfort as she could.
He managed a light laugh. “I meant that Rory has stolen a march on me, Miss Maitland. Here I am, striving to ingratiate myself in your favor, but it seems he has beaten me to it.”
She replied with a tinkle of false laughter, but did not confirm or deny any of his suppositions. Then she looked him in the eyes. “The finnan haddie, sir?” she prompted.
“Er—yes, of course.” Trying to hide his annoyance with the way things were going, he ushered her further along the sideboard to another dome, which he raised with a flourish to display the succulent contents.
She gazed approvingly at the plump, straw-colored haddock. Smoked fish had always been one of her favorites, and this appeared to be particularly appetizing.
Jamie looked enquiringly at her. “Does it meet with your approval, Miss Maitland?”
“It does indeed, sir.”
“Then please allow me…” Taking a warmed plate and the fish slice, he deftly scooped a generous helping, then led her to the table, where he drew out her chair for her. She couldn’t help noticing that there was a vacant place next to the one he’d selected, so it came as no great surprise when he sat down as well.
For the next half an hour he put himself out to be as attentive as possible. He obtained the perfect bread to go with the finnan haddie, and retrieved the silver cruet set from the other side of the table. He even poured Lauren’s coffee, and then purloined the blackcurrant preserve so that she could finish her breakfast with something sweet. No one could have been more flatteringly considerate, but by the end of the meal she knew he was frustrated in the extreme, because each of his careful advances had either met with bland indifference, or had apparently not been noticed at all. She enjoyed her secret advantage over him. The Ashworth fortune was remaining tantalizingly out of his reach, and he was far too arrogant and conceited to guess why! She had wondered what Emma’s reaction would be to his attentiveness to another, but Jamie’s mistress appeared unconcerned. The likely explanation for this was that he must have confided his urgent need for a wealthy wife. Unlike Isabel, Emma
certainly did not look as if she feared she was losing her lover to the impertinent upstart from Boston.
The dining room was gradually beginning to empty now, and as Lauren murmured that she had something to attend to in her room, Jamie detained her for a moment by getting up to pull her chair back, at the same time bending down to speak close to her ear.
“I crave two favors, Miss Maitland,” he said softly.
“Sir?” She didn’t look at him.
“Promise that you will honor me with a drive tomorrow and a waltz tonight.”
“I’m flattered, sir.”
“Do I have your promise?” he pressed, still standing with his hands upon the back of her chair.
“Unless I wish to remain pinned in my chair indefinitely, you leave me no choice, sir.”
“Then I consider your word binding,” he murmured, straightening to draw the chair away and allow her to get up.
She quickly withdrew from the room. Drive with him? Waltz with him? She would as soon walk barefoot over hot coals! She would have to dream up adequate excuses for reneging on both undertakings, for the last thing she intended to do was oblige him in any way.
The hall was still a scene of confusion and bustle as the ball preparations proceeded. The floral decorations were becoming more and more beautiful, with garlands twining around banisters, newel posts, suits of armor, and everything else that Tam’s ingenuity happened upon. Bolts of the Ardmore tartan had been brought in to swathe around the walls, and there were silk ribbons of the same tartan pinned among the flowers. By the evening, the hall promised to be a veritable Scottish arbor of blooms and foliage.
Rory was waiting at the foot of the staircase. He’d plucked a carnation from a huge vase standing on the floor beside him, and was twirling it between his finger and thumb, raising it to his nose now and then to savor the scent.
He discarded the flower and turned as he realized she was approaching. “I trust you have no objection to my taking the liberty of asking your maid for these so that we can leave for the island straightaway?” He held out her shawl and parasol.
She looked at them, then raised her eyes to his. “I don’t mind, Lord Glenvane, but I confess to a little surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“When I mentioned going to Holy Island earlier, I didn’t really know we had a firm arrangement to go there together now.”
“We didn’t.” He held her gaze. “Do you mind?”
“I don’t mind at all, Lord Glenvane,” she replied honestly.
“Good,” he murmured, placing the shawl gently around her shoulders. She took the parasol and accepted the arm he offered, and they went out into the courtyard. As they emerged into the gardens, they heard hoofbeats approaching the castle near the bridge over the River Vane, and they turned to see Fitz and Mary returning pell-mell from their ride. Mary’s laughter rang out as she tried to outpace him, but as they vanished toward the stableyard it was Fitz who was in the lead.
Rory watched them until they vanished from view, but he didn’t say anything to Lauren. Whether or not he was mulling over her comments of earlier, she couldn’t tell, but surely it must be clear to him that his sister didn’t regard Fitz simply as a friend. Lauren’s eyes were thoughtful as she and Rory proceeded down through the gardens, for although Mary’s feelings were occasionally written rather too large, Fitz’s were far more difficult to gauge. If he were aware of how Mary felt, then he had no business at all spending so much time with her. He was older and supposedly wiser, and certainly should know better. On the other hand, if he secretly returned Mary’s affections…
At last Rory led Lauren on to the jetty, where the rowing boats rocked on the crystal water. He stepped down into one of them, and then held his hand out to her. She descended gingerly, her breath catching slightly as the boat swayed.
“It’s all right, I have you,” he said, his fingers tightening over hers as he assisted her to the cushioned seat at the stern. A minute later he had cast off the mooring rope and the boat slid out on to the loch as he rowed strongly toward Holy Island.
Lauren lay back on the cushions at the stern, her face shaded by her parasol. The sunlight shone brightly upon her locket as she dipped her hand into the loch, savoring the current of the water as it swept through her fingers.
She could not help but be conscious of Rory, of the litheness of his muscular body as he rowed and the way the sun shone with almost blue lights upon his dark hair. This Scottish lord was the personification of temptation, kindling sensuous desires which warmed her very soul. To save herself from the perdition of unrequited love, she should leave Glenvane as soon as possible. But she knew she wouldn’t. She’d stay, simply to be near him…
After about twenty minutes, they reached Holy Island, and the prow of the boat grated on the shingle of the small beach where they landed. Behind them the castle rose above its mirror image in the loch, and all around there were the splendid heights of the mountains. A light breeze rustled through the oak trees on the island, and the first thing that Lauren saw as she stepped ashore was an ancient stone cross, its weather-beaten surface almost completely concealed beneath a cloak of shining dark green ivy. It faced toward the castle, and she felt that the monks must have placed it there as a deliberate admonishment when they found the then Lord Glenvane’s activities too much for their pious sensitivities.
Rory dragged the boat a little further on to the beach and then indicated a barely discernible path leading between leafy banks. “This way,” he said. It was so cool and shady on the island that she left her parasol in the boat and then followed him. Soon the loch was lost from view behind them as the thick greenery of the island closed around. There were wild roses and honeysuckle, and the moss beneath their feet was like a carpet, smooth and untrodden. The path led down a slight dip, and he turned to assist her up the other side, where the ground promised to be a little slippery. As he drew her safely toward him, she was again conscious of the electric sensation that passed between them. It was as if her whole body were alive, tingling the moment he touched her. Did he feel it too? How could he not, when it was so real it could almost be heard?
Because the island was so small, it wasn’t long before they reached the center, where the ruined monastery stood in a dell. It was a quiet, impressive place, the ruined walls crumbling and yet still strong, as if they had done with aging and would now remain forever as they were. The crowding trees stole much of the sunshine, but there was a sunny bank nearby, and Rory led her there.
“Your green velvet sofa awaits, Miss Maitland,” he said, referring to the thick moss.
She smiled as she sat down. “A sofa worthy of a palace, sir,” she answered.
“In the early spring this place is white with snowdrops,” he murmured, glancing around for a moment and then sitting down next to her.
She glanced around as well, and then thought about its rather disappointing history. “I wish the island had a more romantic story than a mere quarrel between stuffy monks and licentious lords,” she said, pushing a stray wisp of hair back from her face as the breeze blew it loose from its pins.
“Then your wish is granted, for there is a legend that Mary, Queen of Scots, used to come here to meet her lover, the Earl of Bothwell.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Her affair with Bothwell was frowned upon, and so she kept it secret as much as she could by meeting him at night. It was autumn, a season of heavy mists hereabouts, and she was rowed over without anyone knowing. She was warned when it was time to return because she had arranged with the piper at the castle that he would play half an hour earlier than he should, thus giving her time to be rowed back.”
“Bagpipes played at the castle can be heard here on this island?”
“Miss Maitland, there are those who declare with considerable feeling that the pipes can be heard from any distance,” he replied.
“I will have to take your word for that, sir.”
“Tonight you will have the evi
dence of your own ears by which to gauge.”
“I will?”
He nodded. “There will be pipes in plenty at the ball, and all manner of other things Scottish and traditional, including my good self and all north-of-the-border gentlemen in full highland toggery.”
“Do you cut a fine figure in a kilt, Lord Glenvane?”
“I will permit you to be the judge of that, but I’m told I have a pretty enough ankle.” He smiled.
“I will be sure to let you know my opinion, sir.”
“Just be gentle with my pride, for it is a fragile thing.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“How cruel you are.”
“There is safety in attack, Lord Glenvane.”
He looked enquiringly at her. It was an expressive look, conveying so much more than the mere words he said. “Meaning by definition that there is danger in acceptance?” he asked quietly.
“Acceptance at face value, yes.” They were fencing, and she knew it. Her heartbeats had quickened, and her mouth was suddenly dry. There was much, much more to this than idle banter, for behind it all they were both very serious indeed.
“Why should you not accept at face value, Miss Maitland?” he asked.
“Because things are not always what they appear to be, sir.”
“I am what I appear to be.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I could believe that, Lord Glenvane.”
Suddenly he put his hand to her cheek. “Then believe it,” he said softly.
The air was motionless around her, and all sound died away except for the pounding of her heart. A bewildering weakness spread through her, and her whole body ached with desire as he pulled her gently down on to the bank and then leaned over her. The sunlight was behind him, dazzling and distracting, and she felt a warm sense of inevitability stealing treacherously over her. Luxurious shackles bound her, and she was a willing prisoner as he kissed her on the lips.
