The Whiskey Laird's Bed

by Donna MacMeans

  “This might help.” He stood, then walked to a chest of drawers. “Here it is.” He laughed low. “I recall my mother saying this was appropriate for a lord of the manor.” He removed a smoking jacket of bright paisley silk. She couldn’t imagine Cameron wearing such a thing, and judging by the glint in his eyes, he couldn’t either. He approached her with a more confident step than she could imagine herself executing. “Slip this over your shift. While it’s unlikely you’ll encounter anyone, if you do, they won’t see what I do.”

  His heated gaze dropped to her chest, evoking memories of his mouth at her breast the preceding evening. Did that happen, or was it something she had wanted to happen? Her nipples responded to his gaze, or perhaps to her own titillating thoughts, but she quickly took the proffered garment from his hand and pulled it on over her shift, tightly tying the silk belt.

  He gathered her clothes and then took her hand, leading her through the door that led to the circular stair. Together they climbed the steps. He checked the library first to make certain it was empty before he ushered her through.

  The empty glass decanter and scattered glasses remained on the table. Those whisky memories . . . they were not images of a dream. He paused before opening the door to the hallway and transferred the clothing into her arms. “It’s probably best if you go to your room alone. My presence outside this room will only raise suspicions—and not positive ones.”

  She nodded, knowing he was trying to protect her in some fashion.

  “Claire . . .” He tenderly stroked the side of her face. “We need to talk about last night. I can’t right now. But soon.” He kissed her forehead, then buried his chin in her unkempt hair. “I haven’t forgotten my promise. Soon.”

  He opened the door, and she was on her own.

  Chapter 30

  Crow . . . crow . . . crow . . .

  The disparagement played in her mind as she hastily gathered her belongings. It was bad enough that she’d acted so wantonly after playing his silly drinking game, whatever game that was—she really couldn’t remember. But she must have thrown herself at him, stripping off her clothes, and still he wasn’t interested. He must find her laughable. How could she face him again?

  “What are you doing?” Faith stood in the doorway of their connecting rooms. “I brought you some food, but it looks like you’re packing.”

  “I am. I can’t stay here any longer.”

  “Is this connected to where you spent the night last night?”

  “You knew?” Claire looked up so suddenly, her brain pounded against her skull, causing her to wince. Would more of Cailleach’s vile concoction help?

  “Come. You can tell me about it while you eat.” Amazingly efficient as she was with her single crutch, Faith carried the plate into her own, much larger room, then placed it on a table by the door. Claire took one look at the eggs and ham and almost lost her stomach. She selected a raisin scone and moved to the window. The fresh breeze, laden with the scents of cool water and fresh heather, helped calm her pounding head.

  Faith pulled a paper from one of her pockets. “Last night, I left this note on your undisturbed bed. It was still there earlier this morning.” She slid the note back inside her pocket. “I heard James say you went to your photography croft, but I knew that wasn’t true. Where were you?”

  Claire sighed, seeing no escape from the truth. “Last night, I went to the library for a book and found the laird instead. He challenged me to a drinking contest. I thought I won . . . but maybe I lost . . . Either way, I woke up in the whisky laird’s bed.”

  Faith stared at her with eyes as large as teacups. Her brows raised like twin peaks on a rooftop. “A drinking contest? You?”

  “It was for a worthy cause,” Claire insisted, surprised that Faith seemed more shocked by her drinking than by her wantonness. “I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” She dropped her gaze and studied the scone. “However, I can’t remember the exact prize at the moment. Neither can I remember how I arrived in the laird’s bed. But I know for a fact that I awoke there.”

  Faith sat on the bed near Claire. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Leave. I don’t think I can stay here knowing what he must think of me. Your ankle has healed sufficiently. You don’t need me anymore.”

  Faith hugged her. “Of course I need you. But I don’t understand why you feel you must leave. The laird was a party to what happened. He has a responsibility. You two must talk.” She brushed some lint from her skirt. “It’s not as if you spent the night with the earl.”

  “You knew he made sexual overtures?”

  “Sometimes a woman doesn’t need to hear the words to know of a man’s intent. I saw the way he looked at you at dinner.” She hesitated a moment. “And I’ve seen the way the laird has looked at you ever since you arrived.”

  Claire glanced away, not anxious to tell Faith she was wrong in her assumptions.

  Faith squeezed her shoulder. “So you see, there’s no reason for you to leave. It sounds as if no one else knows what transpired last night.”

  “Just James, and now you, of course—”

  “James knows?” Faith’s eyes got all large again.

  Claire nodded. “He walked into the laird’s bedroom while I was under the covers. He created that story about the photography croft to satisfy inquiries. So my reputation will not be sullied.” She attempted a weak smile.

  “Still, you and the laird have much to discuss. What if a baby results from your activities?”

  Claire dropped her head. “There’s little likelihood of that.”

  Faith snorted. “Sometimes it only takes once, Claire. Remember, Edwina said the same thing, and she was only with Ashton that one night.”

  “Yes, but he loved Edwina.” Claire swallowed, not anxious to admit the truth. “The laird doesn’t love me.”

  “I don’t think love is a necessary ingredient for conception. Lust works just as well,” Faith argued.

  Claire’s lips tightened, and she met Faith’s gaze for a moment. “There’s little likelihood of that because we didn’t do anything.” She reminded herself to stay strong and ignore the tightening in her throat. “I didn’t even merit his lust.”

  Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  Claire tossed the remainder of the scone on the plate and turned to the window that faced Loch Rannoch. She remembered that morning when Cameron had rowed her out on that loch and how even then she’d admired his power and strength. As they spent more time together, she’d learned to respect him—even though he was a whisky distiller—and care for him, and . . .

  “He didn’t want me, Faith.” Her voice developed a hitch and her eyes burned. “I thought he was different, but I was wrong.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Faith scoffed.

  Claire shrugged her shoulders, fighting to keep control of her emotions. “I thought he might care for me, but he didn’t take advantage of the situation, even though he had ample opportunity.”

  “It’s because he cared for you that he didn’t take the opportunity,” Faith said, turning Claire around to face her. “You both were drinking whisky. You don’t know how you came to be in his bed. What would you be saying now if he had taken your virtue when you couldn’t protest?”

  “I’d be saying that I finally knew how it felt to be desired. I’d know what transpired between a man and a woman. I’d know how it felt to be with a man I loved.”

  A silence settled in the room. Claire recognized she had admitted the one thing she’d been denying herself. She was in love with a whisky distiller who didn’t return her affections.

  She held a handkerchief to her lips to muffle her sob while a tear tracked down the side of her face. “He doesn’t love me, Faith.”

  “No,” Faith said calmly. “You’d be blaming the occurrence upon the whisky and would have d
ismissed the possibility of true feelings between the both of you. Don’t you see? The laird is not rejecting your affections. He’s attempting to earn your respect.”

  Was it possible? Could Faith be correct in this? Hope expanded in her chest. “Do you think so?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  “I wish I was,” she admitted. “How can I know?”

  “Ask him,” Faith said. “Ask him about his intentions.”

  But what if he were to laugh at her suggestion that they had a future together? She wasn’t attractive, not like Faith. His mother didn’t care for her. She wasn’t rich like Lady Helen Kerr. So what did she have to offer? That brief spark of hope began to sputter. “I don’t think I could do that. “

  “Then we’ll have to arrange it so he must explain his feelings. But no whisky this time,” Faith scolded. “Now, go unpack and we’ll figure this out.”

  Chapter 31

  Cameron stayed behind to accompany the women to the spot chosen for both the hunters and the other guests to share a mid-afternoon repast. Cailleach and several temporary footmen had gone ahead to set up a tent and prepare the meal. Miss Huddleston joined Lady Kerr and her sister, along with his mother, but Claire was not part of the party. While that didn’t surprise him, he was disappointed. He had been looking forward to seeing her after last night.

  “She said she wasn’t interested in the murder of innocent animals,” Miss Huddleston said.

  That sounded like his Claire. He struggled to keep a smile off his face. Ever since the warehouse fire, he hadn’t been fond of killing for the sake of trophies himself. Life in any form was too precious—but in deference to his mother and her guests, he kept his opinion to himself.

  “She’s staying behind then?” Already he was formulating excuses to leave the hunting party and return to Ravenswood early.

  “She said that she’d promised you photographs of the distillery. Given the light this morning, she thought she should take the photographs today so she’d have time to process them.” She leaned closer, then added, “We haven’t much more time here, you know.”

  She’d gone to the distillery without him? That was disappointing. She’d be fine in Hamish’s capable hands, but he would’ve liked to have been the one to show her about. Without Claire, there’d be no reason to leave the hunting party. He’d have to wait till the group’s return to Ravenswood to see her again.

  The carriage set off for Lachulain Ridge. Cameron rode Buaidh. The hunting party had already been out in the early morning and had returned to the tent for the repast by the time the women arrived. Even though Cailleach was assured of venison for future dinners from the visitors’ early-morning hunt, Lord Lothian and his son were determined to set out again after the midday meal. They’d spotted a handsome twelve-point stag that both men desired for a trophy. Cameron joined the hunters after their respite. To remain at the tent would mean dodging the attentions of Lady Helen Kerr. He preferred the company of the men.

  “I’m surprised Miss Starke didn’t come with the others,” James said, once they were out of earshot of Lord Lothian and his son.

  “As am I,” Cameron replied, his rifle pointed at the ground while they walked. “I’d hoped to speak with her about last night before today’s hunt. But we were interrupted.”

  “My apologies,” James said. “I don’t believe you’ve entertained company in your room since I’ve been at Ravenswood. I hadn’t thought it was a possibility.”

  Cameron took a step back and regarded James. “You seemed conspicuously absent last night. Where were you?”

  “Your mother felt it best if I didn’t join the family for dinner. I think she thought my face might scare the ladies.”

  “She said what?” Cameron turned to go back and speak with his mother, but James restrained him.

  “Don’t,” he said. “I’m never comfortable at those things. I preferred eating in the kitchen with the help. Besides, I had a visitor later that evening who did much to soothe any ruffled nerves.” A smile tipped his lips.

  “You did? Och, I should’ve—”

  Shouts interrupted their conversation. The group had crested Lachulain Ridge and were advancing down the far side when the earl sighted a royal stag across the glen on the rising slope. Though he was the better shooter, he deferred the shot to his father. James hurried to check Lord Lothian’s position and sighting as his position as ghillie demanded.

  Cameron watched from a distance as the others prepared for the takedown of the magnificent beast when he noticed movement on the road below. A gig had stopped between two peaks. A woman in a shawl with a white blouse and black skirt jumped to the ground—a very familiar woman.

  “James!” he shouted, pointing below. She was precisely in line with Lord Lothian’s rifle. Should his gun not have sufficient reach, or should his aim be off, the falling bullet could strike Claire.

  James immediately pushed the barrel of the Lord’s gun to the ground. The shot plowed into the heather a few feet down the hill, but the sound carried and alerted the stag to danger. He escaped into the cover of the trees.

  “Idiot! What did you do that for? We’ve lost him now!” the lord blustered.

  Cameron didn’t stay to listen to James’s attempts to pacify the irate lord. Instead, he found Buaidh and raced to intercept Claire.

  ***

  The narrow glen bordered by two high, craggy hills took her breath away. The Grampian Mountains rolled before her in the distance. So beautiful. So peaceful.

  A gun fired. Thistle reared while the shot echoed off the hills. Claire grabbed the harness and tried to calm the horse, keeping the gig between her and the shooter—whoever they might be—even as she managed to keep Thistle from running. Her own heart pounded at a furious pace.

  Was someone trying to kill her? She knew her position on temperance was not popular, and the redheaded woman had threatened to do her harm, but shoot her?

  When the echoes from the first shot had faded and a second hadn’t sounded, she used the gig for cover while she carefully spied up the steep ridge to her right.

  Three men stood arguing, if she could read their gestures. One pointed to the other side of the glen. Rattled by the shot, she climbed back into the gig to get away as quickly as possible. But before she could move, Cameron galloped toward her as if the very Devil were on his heels.

  “Are ya daft, woman?” he shouted. “Did ya not hear James say they’d be hunting along Lachulain Ridge?” He pointed up the hill to her right. “You could have been shot!”

  “They weren’t aiming at me?” Claire asked, ready to bolt.

  Her response apparently surprised him. “Of course not. They were aiming for a stag that, thanks to you, got away.” He brushed the hair off his forehead. He took a breath, then squinted at her. “Hunting is no that precise, Claire. One slip, one mistake, and you’d have been the casualty of the day.”

  “You’ve forgotten that I’m not familiar with these parts. I’d no idea where Lachulain Ridge is, though I’m guessing this is it.” She nodded up the hill, where Lord Lothian had thrown his gun down in disgust. He and the earl were climbing up to the crest while James collected the discarded guns. She shivered. Had she truly been close to being an accident?

  “It’s beautiful here.” She shielded her eyes with her hand. “A photograph won’t do it justice, though I thought I’d try. I’ll miss this place.”

  “Must you leave so soon?”

  “Soon!” She laughed. “Faith and I have been here three weeks. I had only planned to be here two days!” Her lips tightened, the mirth gone. “But yes, I have obligations. I must return.”

  He sat on Buaidh while she sat in the gig. Peat, who’d followed, jumped in the gig alongside her. Cameron’s eyes lowered. His lips tugged to one side. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with her reply. That gave her hope.

  “There are places.”
He frowned up at the hill, where the lord and earl were still arguing. “Quiet places that I’d like to show you, were you to stay longer.” His eyes pleaded. “Places where we could talk and you could take your photographs without the danger of bullets from above.”

  Recalling her earlier crushing disappointment, she schooled herself not to respond heedlessly to the warming touch of his hand or the banked fire in his eyes. She smiled tightly. “You have guests who require your presence. Otherwise I would remind you that I’m still here this day.”

  He glanced again up the slope, where the men were slipping over the crest in obvious agitation. “Those are my mother’s guests, no mine. They’ve already bagged enough antlers to line a wall or two. As it is, we’ll be eating venison for the next two months.” He returned his gaze to her. “They’re no happy with me at the moment, and I’m in no hurry to return to their company.”

  “Are any of these places nearby?” she asked.

  His eyes crinkled. “One in particular. Aye.”

  Chapter 32

  “It’s beautiful,” Claire said, taking in the tumble of water over broad limestone rocks. A higher waterfall fed one side of a quiet pool, edged by flatter rocks jutting into the pool around the perimeter. Leafy birch and oak trees and some low spreading foliage spilled over the tops of natural rock walls, making the area feel secluded and isolated. Large patches of limestone rock opposite the falls would be perfect for setting up the camera to capture the pool and its surroundings. “I don’t want to chance it, though.”

  “Chance what?”

  Surprised she’d spoken aloud, she explained, “To get the camera out there, I’d have to jump from one rock to another in that curve.” She pointed to the rocks. “I don’t want to risk ruining the camera should I slip or should the camera fall in the water.”