by Julia London
“Thank you, but I don’t require instruction,” Daisy said pertly.
“Ah, lass... I’ve yet to meet a woman who didna require a wee bit of instruction,” Cailean said with a wink as he stepped behind her. He slid his hand down her arm, to her hand, and then held it out. “When you throw, turn your palm up, like this,” he said and mimicked throwing as he held her hand.
Daisy nodded. Her son was watching with keen interest. She was very aware of the hard, broad man at her back, his hand dwarfing hers. He put one hand on her hip, and Daisy stifled a gasp. He was too bold! But she dared not call attention to it in front of Ellis.
“When I give you the word, throw the rock,” he said. He swung her arm back, then thrust it forward. “Now.”
Daisy released the rock from her fingers. It sailed perhaps a foot and splattered into mud a foot short of the water.
“Aye, I see that you are indeed quite the expert,” Cailean said softly in her ear. “Here, then.” He put a rock into her hand and shifted closer to her back.
“You are too familiar,” Daisy whispered.
“You didna think so yesterday, aye?” he asked with a chuckle, and this time, instead of his hand going to her hip, he put his arm around her waist and drew her into his chest.
Daisy’s gaze flew to Ellis, but he seemed not to notice at all.
“Och, breathe, then.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re as stiff as a new bride, aye?”
Daisy could feel the heat crawling up her neck; she couldn’t bear to look at Ellis, certain he was scandalized beyond repair.
“Hold out your arm, Mamma!” her son said encouragingly.
So he was not scandalized. He was interested only in the rock.
“Bring your arm back like this,” Cailean said, pulling her arm back. “As you release it, turn your hand up, like this. Do you see?”
“Yes, yes, I see,” she said curtly—her heart was beating so hard that she was certain he could feel it, and she wanted nothing more than to let go of the blasted rock. She elbowed him in the chest. With an oof, he let go of her and Daisy threw the rock as hard as she could. It skipped three times before it sank.
“You did it, Mamma!” Ellis shrieked.
“I did it!” she cried, throwing her arms into the air.
Cailean laughed at her glee, and his smile sent a rush of desire through Daisy.
Ellis was speaking to her, explaining, she thought, the nuances of rock throwing, but the blood was pumping so loudly in her ears that Daisy couldn’t hear him at all. She couldn’t seem to think of anything but yesterday, and how she’d felt in Cailean’s arms. Safe. Cherished. So exquisitely female. She couldn’t seem to think of anything but how she wanted to be there again.
“I’ve promised to take Lord Chatwick up to the bluff to the bonniest view of the glen. Would you care to join us, then?”
“Please, Mamma!” Ellis said excitedly.
“Yes,” she said, and held out her hand to her son. “I would like that.”
They walked for a half hour, meandering along a trail that had been forged by generations of wildlife. Cailean was patient with Ellis, answering his many questions about things ranging from stars to rocks to how one went about learning to shoot a bow and arrow. Ellis seemed to stand taller, and instead of speaking with his head down as he often did, he looked Cailean in the eye when he asked his questions, and he laughed at the things Cailean said.
Daisy was moved by it—even her uncle couldn’t elicit this from her son. Cailean had somehow seen past her son’s fears and timidity, and, as a result, Ellis was blossoming before her eyes.
Cailean led them up a rocky path, catching Daisy’s hand to help her up over some of the larger rocks. At the top of the bluff, they looked out over the lake and the hills beyond it, the landscape dappled with the shadows of the puffy clouds overhead, the tiny dots of sheep on one hillside and then the shimmering line of the sea beyond the loch.
The view was breathtaking. It felt as if they were the only people in the world here, rulers over all they saw. This was freedom. This landscape, these hills, this life—all of it freedom. Daisy could feel in her heart how much she would miss Auchenard and her freedom. It didn’t matter that she hoped to marry her first love. Her life would never be hers again.
Cailean was the one who broke the spell by suggesting they return to the lodge. It was time for Ellis to be at his supper.
They made their way back down the hill and around the edge of the loch to the lodge. As they walked up the lawn, Daisy had a look at her son. His shoes were muddied, his breeches stained. He’d lain in the grass, and the elbows of his coat were stained, too. “Belinda will have an apoplectic fit when she sees you,” she said, tousling his hair. “You best find Uncle Alfonso first,” she told him with a wink.
When they reached the terrace, Ellis brushed his blond hair from his eyes and beamed up at Cailean. “Might we do it again?” he asked.
“I donna know,” Cailean said gravely, and Ellis’s face fell. “We best be about stalking the red stags first, aye? The season will be upon us soon.”
Ellis grinned. “Do you mean it?”
“Aye, of course I mean it,” Cailean said.
Ellis whooped with joy and bolted away from them, running for the lodge.
“Uncle! I’m to learn to stalk!” he shouted, as if Uncle Alfonso could hear him from somewhere inside.
“He’s too young to hunt,” Daisy said as she watched her son bound into the lodge.
“You mother the lad to death, aye? He’s what, twelve years?”
“He’s nine years!”
“Och, all the same,” Cailean said, grinning. “A lad should be about the world, learning how to be a man.”
“Yes, well, I’m to be the judge of that.”
“Beg your pardon, but you canna be the judge of that,” he said cheerfully. “You’re a woman.”
Daisy wanted so badly to touch him, to put her hand against his face, rough with the beginnings of a new beard. “I thought perhaps you might not return to Auchenard.”
He arched a brow in surprise. “Aye, of course I have. I said I would, did I no’?”
She smiled sheepishly. “You must think me beyond redemption,” she murmured.
“Aye, that I do,” he said, and touched his fingers to her chin. “You’re bloody incorrigible, Daisy.”
Daisy’s smile sank deeper. “Then do you forgive me? Will we still be friends?”
“No, I donna forgive you,” he said. “For there is naugh’ to forgive, leannan.” He winked at her. “Aye, we are friends yet, in spite of my better judgment, and only because you need a friend, quite obviously. But that willna happen again.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
“No, of course not,” she said. She felt lighter than air. “Because you don’t care for me.”
“No’ in the least,” he said, and with his hand to her back, nudged her to continue toward the lodge.
“Is it true you live at Arrandale with no one else?” she asked.
“Aye, for now,” he said. He began to tell her about Arrandale, of the house he was building there, stone by stone, timber by timber. She was enthralled, imagined him working, lifting beams by himself, hammering them into place. She didn’t look away from him at all until he said, “Who has come, then?”
“Pardon?” She turned her head and looked to the terrace. Her heart instantly seized—Daisy knew who it was. The way he stood, the color of his hair—she would know him anywhere. She stopped moving, rooted to the earth as she stared in disbelief at the ghost from her past. “Rob,” she said. “My God, it is Rob.” It was a dream; it had to be a dream. She stepped forward cautiously, trying to make sense of his being here. Rob lifted his hand.
Daisy glanced up at Cail
ean. The light in his eyes had changed. Gone was the shine—they had shuttered, his thoughts hidden from her. “It’s Rob,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said, as if he knew, as if he’d been expecting him. “Go on, then, lass. Donna let your one and only true love wait.”
Daisy ran. She picked up her skirts and ran for Rob, bringing herself to a halt at the edge of the terrace, out of breath, out of her mind. “Is it really you?”
Robert Spivey, her Robert, smiled. “Yes, it’s really me,” he said. He was older, naturally, but still the same tall, handsome man with sandy-gold hair and beautiful brown eyes. He moved forward, his hand extended for hers, smiling. “How happy I am to see you, Lady Chatwick.”
“But I only just received your letter! You made no mention of coming here. How did you know where to find me?”
He laughed. “Lady Beckinsal finally relented and told me where you were. I followed the letter not two days after I’d posted it. I beg your pardon if I was wrong to have come, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”
Daisy was too stunned to move; he took her hand, bowed over it, kissing the back of it. “You are a very difficult woman to find,” he said softly. “How grateful I am that I have.”
Oh, so was she. For many reasons, so was she.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAILEAN GAVE THEM time to greet their guest, of course. And he needed to collect himself before he met Spivey face-to-face. He retreated to Daisy’s garden and idly looked around as the happy reunion took place, pretending to examine a wind chime that had appeared since the last time he stood there. His mind was racing, a thousand thoughts slamming through his head at once.
He could not understand what the man was doing at Auchenard. While it was possible Spivey had somehow heard of Cailean here, had somehow used Daisy as an excuse to pursue him, it really made no sense. It was too much of a coincidence. But he slipped his dirk into the waist of his plaid all the same, prepared to defend himself if necessary.
When he could stand it no more, when his curiosity threatened to choke him, he walked out of the garden and onto the terrace. Miss Hainsworth had joined them, and the four of them—Daisy, her cousin, her uncle and Spivey—were laughing, all of them happy, all of them acting as if the great problems of the world had just been resolved and there would be no more war or famine.
They didn’t notice Cailean at first, but after a moment, Daisy caught sight of him. “Arrandale!” she said, reaching out her hand to him.
Arrandale. Not Cailean. Not friends, then.
He walked toward them, his gaze on Spivey. He was as tall as Cailean, but younger and fitter. His hair was dark gold, and his clothing looked as if it had been recently sewn; the collar of his coat was too stiff to lie down properly, his knee breeches shiny. He did not wear the uniform of a captain in the king’s navy. He looked like a country gentleman.
“I, ah... Mr. Spivey, allow me to introduce my neighbor, Lord Arrandale,” Daisy said. She was smiling, but it was not as bright as he’d come to know it. She seemed slightly ill at ease.
“Laird,” he said. “I am laird of Arrandale.”
“How do you do,” Spivey said and walked forward, his hand extended to greet Cailean. But as he neared Cailean, something flickered in his expression. He shook Cailean’s hand enthusiastically, as if meeting the vicar who would perform his marriage to Daisy here and now...but his gaze was shrewd.
“Mr. Spivey has come all the way from Cornwall,” Daisy said.
“Captain Spivey,” he said, and smiled indulgently at Daisy.
“Oh yes, I beg your pardon. Captain Spivey.” She laughed. “I’m not yet accustomed to it.”
“Pardon, sir...have we perhaps met?” he asked Cailean. “You are somewhat familiar to me.”
“Aye, I suspect I am. I am Cailean Mackenzie of Arrandale.”
The color drained from the captain’s face. He jerked his hand free of Cailean’s and put it on the hilt of his sword. “What are you doing here?” he demanded sharply. He looked all around them, as if he expected more Mackenzies to appear.
“I live here,” Cailean said calmly. “I am a Highlander, aye?”
“What you are, sir, is a smuggler!” Spivey said and abruptly pulled his sword. But Cailean had been trained by his father and had trained Highland guards. He moved quickly, knocking the sword from the man’s arm and at the same moment drawing his dirk. He twirled him around, putting the knife under the man’s throat.
Miss Hainsworth screamed.
“Arrandale!” Mr. Kimberly shouted. “The captain is our guest! Put down your knife!”
Cailean kicked the sword and heard it scud across the terrace. When he was certain it was out of reach, he pushed Spivey out of his grip, but held on to his dirk. “Have a care, Captain,” he said, pointing the dirk at him. “You are in Scotland now, and unless you’ve brought an army with you, keep your sword in its sheath, aye?”
Spivey’s hat had been knocked from his head. He bent down and swiped it up, then yanked at his waistcoat. He looked at Mr. Kimberly, who held his sword and nodded curtly. “I do not understand how you have welcomed this smuggler into your home,” he said coolly.
“Smuggler,” Mr. Kimberly said angrily. “He is not—”
“Aye, I am, Mr. Kimberly,” Cailean said. “I am indeed a free trader.”
Mr. Kimberly swung his gaze to Cailean. “You’re what?”
“A free trader.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the tax the Crown has imposed on goods we need to survive here has exacted a toll on our clan. We’ve had to seek relief—we bring in the goods our people need without paying tax.”
“In other words, a thief,” Spivey said. “I’ve chased him and his ilk for years,” he said, his voice full of disgust.
“Some would argue the Crown is the thief,” Cailean said with a shrug. “But you didna come here to debate with me, aye?” He glanced at Daisy, but she was not looking at him. She was looking down, her expression calm and slightly distant. She had adopted the demeanor of a proper English viscountess. Detached. Polite. Emotionless. Was she shocked? He’d told her the truth, just as he’d promised. Always the truth.
“Smuggling is punishable by death, Mackenzie,” Spivey said. “You could very well hang for your crimes. These good people could be charged with offenses for harboring you in their home.”
“No one is harboring me,” Cailean said sharply. “And I willna hang here in the Highlands, so again, sir, unless you’ve brought a bloody army with you, donna make trouble.”
Spivey clenched his jaw and exchanged a look with Mr. Kimberly. “I may not be able to bring you to justice today, but if you ever step foot in England, there is no one who will protect you. I will personally see to it.”
Cailean smiled wryly. “I know that, man. Just as you know there is no one to protect you here. It is perilous in these hills for any Englishman, much less a captain of the navy.”
“Please,” Daisy interjected, holding up her hands. “Please let us have no more talk of hanging and...this.” She looked at Cailean, her eyes pleading. “Mr. Spivey—beg your pardon, Captain Spivey—has heard of my husband’s death and has come to me straightaway after all these years. He didn’t come to root out smugglers. And the laird,” she said to Spivey, “has been our friend. I don’t know what he has done, but he has been our friend. Please... I should not like to ruin your welcome here.”
Straightaway? Did Daisy realize that straightaway would have been upon the occasion of her husband’s death? Cailean didn’t believe that for a moment—the word of this widow’s fortune had spread like a plague in the Highlands, and he’d wager there wasn’t a man in all of bloody England who hadn’t heard it. Including this man.
Spivey lifted his chin, as if he knew what Cailean was thinking.
“He’s c
ome all this way,” Daisy said, her eyes still pleading.
“What a comfort he must be to you now, madam,” Cailean said. “After more than two years since your husband’s death.”
Miss Hainsworth gasped softly and gripped Daisy’s hand, while Daisy stared with disbelief at him.
Spivey actually looked surprised by Cailean’s lack of decorum. “I hope to be of some comfort, of course, as any decent gentleman would do. I am well aware that Lady Chatwick is without family.”
“Without family? Her uncle and cousin are with her now.”
“Look here,” Mr. Kimberly said curtly. “Enough of this.”
“I’ll take my leave,” Cailean muttered.
Daisy didn’t try to dissuade him. “At least let me see you out.” She held out her arm as if to show him the way to the door.
Her stride was brisk; she said nothing as they walked through the lodge to the front drive. When they reached the portico, she paused, turned to him and put her hand to his arm. “You didn’t tell me you knew him,” she said, her voice accusatory.
“I donna know him. I know of him.”
“You drew a knife on him!”
“Before he put his sword through my gut, Daisy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “I told you the truth. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Diah, I didna expect to ever encounter the man face-to-face, aye? I didna see a reason to distress you. Why is he here?”
“I told you,” she said, clearly annoyed with him.
“No, I mean here. Do you no’ think it a wee bit strange that he would take the risk of coming into the Highlands, where he might assume he has enemies?”
“No!” She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know,” she said. “How can I possibly know? I’ve only just been reacquainted with him, Cailean.”
He sighed and ran his hand over the top of his head. This was not his concern. He ought to be happy that she had found someone to marry, someone she could accept. He ought to go, be happy he was leaving with his throat intact. But he felt only the air shattering around him like a thin sheet of ice, falling into nothing. This...affair? Friendship? It had come to its inevitable end. He started to move, but he paused and glanced at her, at the pear-green eyes, the shine gone from them at the moment. “Donna make a hasty decision, aye?” he said softly. “Heed me—there is something peculiar about his appearance.”
