“I see you’ve skated before,” he called after her.
“Oh, yes,” Ella responded happily, gliding off as if she were born on ice. “We can skate for a thousand miles on our river when it freezes.”
“A thousand miles?” he asked, injecting humor in his tone as Freya pushed away from him.
“At least a thousand.” She smiled, following her niece and showing the same proficiency on skates.
He followed, a couple of strides behind them, appreciating the opportunity to observe the graceful way Freya’s body moved and swayed as she turned and danced across the ice. Sometime during their conversations yesterday and this morning a tie had begun to form—like a lifeline fired from the shore to a foundering vessel—connecting her to him. He’d begun to care about Freya and her situation. He worried of the tumble and fall that was ahead. He feared the outcome. He knew Ella would be provided for—by the Dacre family or the Sutherlands—but Freya’s future was at risk.
Her sparkling brown eyes sought him out, making certain he was nearby, and he relished the feeling that she also recognized the connection they’d established.
As they skated, the aunt and niece repeatedly reached for each other, linking arms and spinning and gliding off. This was as easy for them as walking.
Penn felt a pleasurable warmth well up within him when the object of his gaze extended a gloved hand toward him.
“Do you need help keeping up, Captain?”
He didn’t, but for the life of him he wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. Penn took her hand and drew up beside her. Effortlessly, they found their rhythm and began to circle the pond, trailing the mulberry-coated elf who moved ahead of them and around them, gleefully taunting them for being so slow.
“Can I ask you a question?” Freya asked.
“Please.”
“I always assumed men joined the military to fight.”
“So you don’t consider engineering a gallant or worthwhile profession?” he suggested.
“Quite the opposite,” she said quickly. “I find it fascinating. Many Sutherland men who were fortunate enough to survive the war on the continent came home damaged in body and spirit. Their sole task for many years had been to battle the Spaniards and the French. Since then, many have struggled with adjusting to the peace. They can no longer farm the land of their ancestors. But you’re a builder. Engineering is a life focused on designing and improving the world of tomorrow.”
Her eyes shone with interest when they met his.
“I am fascinated to know what made you decide on this path.”
Her curiosity pleased him. Her attitude, so buoyant and positive, warmed him.
“I believe you know about my older brother.”
“I know of Viscount Greysteil, the lord justice in Edinburgh,” she said. “But only a wee bit.”
“Well, he was always taller, wider in shoulders, quicker to fight. He’s a powerful force in person. From his youth, he’s been a man who leaves an impression. As his younger brother, I knew almost from childhood that if I chose to follow in his steps, I’d be lost in his shadow.”
“So you decided to make your own way,” she said, understanding.
“As a gentleman, I had few paths open to me. I could buy an estate or pursue a profession in the law or the church, but those did not appeal to me. I could see the world was changing, with new innovations emerging every day: steam engines and railway, improved methods of road and bridge building, and machinery that has radically changed the way we mine the earth and manufacture our cloth. We’re at the dawn of a new age, and I have always been drawn to that. Once I decided to pursue this passion, I realized the army would provide a valuable training ground. And it has, though the war against Napoleon made for a costly education.”
“What exactly does an engineer do during war?”
“Everything from creating and maintaining transport routes for the armies, securing water supplies, preparing defensive positions before battle . . .” His voice trailed off as he considered how far he’d come from those bloody scenes.
“Everything that the soldiers need to survive,” she surmised, drawing him out of his reverie. “A vital profession, Captain, in war and in peace.”
He didn’t have a chance to respond, for Ella was pulling her aunt away for a turn on the ice.
Penn watched them go and glided after the two. The surface was as smooth as glass, and for a moment he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky, reveling in the cheerful calm that had descended upon him, infusing his mind and body with a sense of well-being. Freya’s interest and her understanding of his career were a surprise and no doubt prompted this state of mind.
When was the last time that he’d felt such peace? Could he remember any time in the past decade when he gave no care to where he had to be, what he had to do, or what plan he needed to set in motion for the morrow?
He couldn’t, and perhaps because of this, he was happy. Unexpectedly happy.
Penn opened his eyes and saw his companion at his side again. Freya’s bright face and shining eyes would have drawn the envy of the angels.
Catching him staring, she linked her arm in his.
“I’d like to apologize for last night,” she told him when Ella rushed off toward the nursemaid.
“For what?”
“For sounding very much like a martyr. For deserting you as soon as you started talking about my complicated and troubling arrangement,” she said in a whisper, with a glance at her niece, who was now unsuccessfully attempting to pull Shona onto the ice. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
A chill wind, scented with the salty sea smell, swirled in around them, stirring up wisps of snow, and his thoughts darkened. “I felt no such intention in anything you said. And I hope you know my words were spoken out of concern.”
He was still concerned, today even more than yesterday. The more time he spent with these two, the more he knew how wrong it would be for them to fall under the influence of a man whose sole interest was undoubtedly to enrich himself through the marriage. Dunbar was infamous both for his gambling debts and for his shadowy dealings with women.
“You know the Dacre family and you know something about me,” she stated. “I’d like your honest answer, as one . . . as one friend to another. Disregarding the superior fortune that they undoubtedly possess relative to that of a Scottish baron, do you think Ella would be better raised by them or by us?”
There was no hesitation in his answer. “Without even knowing your father, you are unquestionably better suited.”
“And if you add the enormous wealth and influence of that family to your consideration?”
“Still you,” he said. Penn’s gaze drifted over to where Ella, having given up, was now sitting on the log beside Shona, swinging her feet as she chattered with her nurse. “You’ve done a wonderful job with her. She’s a delight. So full of life. Happy, intelligent. She’s a brave little creature.”
“Too brave.” Freya smiled.
“She has a strong spirit,” he said, pressing her hand on his arm. “A spirit that I believe she gets from you.”
“She is a great deal like me in many ways. And she is also very much like my father.” Her smile dimmed slightly. “My sister was Ella’s age and I was a couple of years younger when our mother died, so my father has extensive experience in raising little girls. And Ella and her grandfather dote on each other, in spite of their wicked tongues.”
Penn had no doubt the Sutherlands’ loving care would be far better than the slew of nannies and governesses Lady Dacre would assemble to break Ella’s spirit and mold her into a “perfect” lady.
But there was still the matter of Dunbar. Penn had to agree with Freya’s belief that the rumors of the colonel marrying the Caithness woman could be false. Now that he thought of it, what better excuse for putting off all the people he owed money to? From their perspective, what could be more attractive than him marrying an heiress with ready cash? The Caithness money co
uld easily pay off the man’s debts. Of course, sooner or later, they would catch up to his lie, but by then he’d likely have possession of Torrishbrae, either through marriage or inheritance.
Dunbar was poison for Freya and Ella, no matter how one looked at it.
“What if you were to speak honestly with Lady Dacre?” he suggested. “Perhaps she would give you time to find a more suitable husband, one you could care for and respect.”
Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head. He recalled seeing this same expression on Ella’s face when he jokingly asked her if she’d care for some cabbage with her porridge this morning.
“I’m years past such fanciful delusions. I’m set in my ways.”
“Twenty-two years of age,” he teased. “So old!”
“If fate turns its back on me and my cousin fails to appear, for whatever reason, and if, after substantial groveling, Lady Dacre grants me some time, where am I going to meet this suitable husband?” she asked, “It’s not like I’ll be leaving Torrishbrae, at the age of twenty-two or twenty-three, for a season of husband-hunting in London. And even if I were able to manage that—which I won’t—what man would want a bride who brings with her a five-year-old ‘daughter’ who is as unpredictable as a summer storm? And a father who relies on her living in the Highlands to help manage his affairs?”
A summer storm? Ella and Freya together were like the first warm breezes of spring after the bitter cold of winter. But Penn knew there was a great deal of truth in what she said. He had many friends, and he’d heard enough stories of their engagements and marriages to concede her point. Many men of rank and wealth maintained limited and superficial views of what they believed made for a good marriage partner. Wealth, a good family with a history of male offspring, and an uncomplicated personal history.
Giving up on him answering, Freya shrugged and smiled sadly.
“I’m resigned to what I must do.” She unlinked her arm and moved away. “The only purpose of having a man in my life would be to retain custody of Ella. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else?” he repeated, coming to stop in front of her. “What about companionship and friendship? Love and romance and passion? Don’t you think you deserve to experience the same breathless happiness that your sister experienced when she eloped with Fredrick Dacre? Don’t you want to have a child of your own? Don’t you wonder what it’s like to love a man?”
Penn didn’t know where this outpouring of emotion came from. His gaze fixed on her face. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. Her lips parted slightly, quick puffs of breath escaping.
At that moment, more than anything in the world, he wanted to kiss those lips. Dunbar be damned.
Chapter Five
This was not the time for confusion, Freya thought.
Her conversation with Gregory had continued during their ensuing time spent in the carriage, though she tried to focus her questions on his past and the career that appeared to match his personality perfectly.
She was fascinated with him. As a second son, he was exceptional in that he’d not wasted his life, like so many of his peers, on drinking and gambling. He’d made his own decisions, found a path to happiness, and carved out an independence that was so rare, considering his family’s rank and status.
The captain’s enthusiasm for his projects even drew the attention of Ella and Shona as they rumbled southward. The places he’d seen, the canals and bridges and roads his regiment had built, the adventures and obstacles he’d faced enthralled them.
Gregory Pennington was confusing her, however, with those stories of his life, with his kindness and his sweet words and his handsome face. He was muddying waters that had never been crystal clear to begin with.
Well, it couldn’t work, this . . . whatever it was between them. Attraction and foolishness.
A splash in the tub broke up Freya’s thoughts.
Ella, up to her armpits in the bath, was busily sailing a carved toy boat—bearing the princess—across the German Sea to the shores of Norway where she was about to do battle with a wicked colonel who was holding the prince in a tower. From the look of things, the wicked colonel had taken to the sea on a bar of soap for the epic engagement.
Freya soaked the wash towel in the warm water and draped it over the little commander’s shoulders. Shona was sitting in a chair on the far side of the hearth, stitching a seam on one of Ella’s gloves.
As she absently stirred the soapy water, Freya’s mind drifted back to her current situation. The outcome was as predictable as Ella’s drama. Gregory was the son of an earl, Lord Aytoun. She was a baron’s daughter. And a Highlander. Though Aytoun was not a duke, the family was extremely wealthy, powerful, and well-connected in England and Scotland. They traveled in the same society as the Dacres. Gregory’s brother, Viscount Greysteil, was a lord justice in Edinburgh and a war hero. Baronsford, their home in Scotland, was one of the grandest castles in the Borders. She’d even seen an etching of it in a book in her father’s library.
She was a fool, she chastised, to torment herself with hopes that would never be realized. Captain Pennington was too far out of her reach.
But at the same time, she sighed thinking of the moment when he’d almost kissed her while they were skating. She’d seen it in his eyes. The battle had been visible in his features, in the way he’d struggled to stop his hands from reaching for her. She’d felt it as certainly as the ice beneath their feet.
His words about passion and love had stirred a deeply buried need inside of her. Freya hadn’t known until then how starved she was for a simple kiss. For the lips of the man who made her mind and body catch fire when she was with him. For Gregory’s kiss.
She knew it would be a kiss that would change her life.
When they weren’t together, she thought of him. She relived the words he spoke. The sense of humor he maintained while dealing with Ella’s playful antics. The lingering looks he sent her.
Today, as the carriage bumped along, the imp sat beside him as the two worked with charcoal, drawing pictures of Freya. He was a surprisingly good artist. But she’d squirmed and blushed as he stared openly at her eyes and cheeks and lips, moving appraisingly downward over the bodice of her travel dress.
A splash of water yanked her from her reverie. Shona was standing beside the tub.
“I don’t want to get out,” Ella complained as the nurse tried to convince the child to come out of the warm bath and dress for bed. “The princess still needs to rescue the prince, who had been secretly taken to the Rajah’s cave. Five more minutes should do it.”
“You said that ten minutes ago,” Freya reminded her. “Up you go. Look at your wrinkled fingers. You’re already a prune.”
Ella studied her fingers. “Grandfather says cock-a-leekie soup’s not cock-a-leekie soup without the prunes. He says only a bloody Englishman would think so. Do you think so, Shona?”
“I think you need to watch your language, lassie. And don’t go saying things like that in front of the captain, a chloiseann tú? Do you hear?”
“Why? Is the captain a bloody Englishman, Fie?”
“He’s part English,” Freya said. “But Shona’s right. You need to stop repeating everything your grandfather says.”
As Shona lifted the child out and dried her, Freya placed another log on the fire. Adding hot water to the bath from a pitcher on the hearth, she quickly undressed and climbed into the tub herself.
“These are fine rooms the captain has taken for us all,” Shona said, wrapping Ella in the towel and standing her by the fire to stay warm. “Dougal was more than grateful that his lordship insisted on the two of us sleeping in the third bedroom.”
“You’re right about the captain’s kindness. He insisted on me and Ella taking this room, while he’s in the smaller bedchamber.”
This inn, overlooking Huntly’s market cross, was far more elegant than the places they’d stopped their past three nights on the road. The captain had taken the entire apartment on the upper flo
or where three bedchambers and a large sitting room were at their disposal.
“The captain even took a room for his driver and the groom.”
“So I understand,” Freya responded, quickly washing her hair.
“Do you want help with that?” Shona asked, pulling a nightgown over Ella’s head. “This wee one is going right into that bed.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, pouring water over her hair.
“I am not sleepy,” Ella complained.
“You will be as soon as you close your eyes,” Freya told her.
“But I saw a backgammon game on the shelf in the sitting room.”
“I’d wager there are games waiting for you when we arrive at Baronsford,” she said. “You need to get your sleep. We’ll be up early and on the road again.”
The shutters on the windows rattled with the wind, a reminder that even with no fresh snow, winter ruled the landscape.
“Will the captain’s family like me?” Ella asked, climbing onto the bed.
“I believe they’ll love you,” Freya said.
“So long as you don’t go calling them bloody Englishmen,” Shona added.
“Will they let me play games?”
“I think they will. But you’ll have to ask nicely, and be on your best behavior.”
The nursemaid tucked the child into the bed, and Freya smiled gratefully at her. “You should get some rest too, Shona.”
“I think I might just do that, mistress.” Bidding them both good night, she picked up her sewing and went out.
From where she sat in the tub, Freya had a clear view of the cherub’s face. Her little head lay on her arm. Her eyes struggled to stay open.
Freya thought about getting out, but the warm water and the heat from the fireplace felt too good to waste.
“Is Colonel Richard going to be there with us at Baronsford?” Ella asked.
“I believe so.”
When they stopped at Inverness two nights ago, after their skating stop, Dougal had made the rounds of the better inns. Still no sign of her cousin. She had no way of knowing if he was ahead of them or behind them.
Christmas in Kilts Page 42
