Lessons in Loving a Laird

by Michelle Marcos

  For the first time, the duchess’s expression lost all serenity.

  Conall leaned forward. “We will, of course, take full responsibility for the child. You may stay at Ballencrieff for the duration of Lady Violet’s pregnancy and confinement, with full assurance of our discretion. Should you determine that the needs of the child are best served by giving it over to the parish authorities, then I will of course deliver the child personally without naming its mother.”

  Lady Violet whimpered, drawing Conall’s eye to her. She merely wrung her hands in her lap.

  The duchess looked up at him from under her delicate brows. “I am sorry to hear that you will not be cooperative. I must therefore tell you that if you do nothing to protect my daughter, I shall do nothing to protect your son.”

  At the mention of his beloved child, Conall’s body tensed. “What do you mean?”

  “I have it on the very best authority that your wife did not die of childbed fever, as you have so often asserted.”

  The ground disappeared beneath him. “I beg your pardon?”

  The duchess spoke with complete equanimity. “Christina MacEwan may have met her fate in bed, but it was not a disease which claimed her life.”

  His vision clouded over with rage. He never thought to hear these words outside his own head, but it infuriated him that they were carried on the tongue of such a ruthless serpent.

  “Well, Ballencrieff?” she asked. “What is to be your answer?”

  THIRTEEN

  Shona bounded through the house looking for Conall. She had a small fortune in a case under her arm, and maybe, just maybe, it would earn her another trip out to the tollhouse.

  He wasn’t in his study, and he wasn’t in the library. Just then, she saw Mrs. Docherty emerge from the kitchen with a large tray of tea and scones. Shona reached over the housekeeper’s shoulder and swiped one from the dish.

  Mrs. Docherty turned angry eyes upon her. “Those are for the guests, Shona! Put it back!”

  But Shona had already taken a huge bite of the warm, buttery cake. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten in ages. Who’s here? And why are there so many coaches outside?”

  Mrs. Docherty walked toward the end of the hall. “I haven’t got time to gossip idly about the guests. I’m as behind as a cat’s tail. Look at the time, and I’ve just got the tea prepared.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “In the drawing room.”

  “I’ll get the door for ye.” Shona jumped in front of her, and swung the doors wide open on the drawing room. “Greetings, all! I bring good news of—”

  The cheer she brought with her was quickly sucked out through the door. A pall of moroseness hung about the room like a thick winter fog rolling over a dark loch.

  Conall stood. Though he was dressed handsomely in a burgundy-colored coat, a doomed expression weighed down his features. “Er, Shona, this isn’t a very good time.”

  Worry gripped her. “Is everything all right? What’s happened?”

  “There’s no need for you to be alarmed. We just need a few moments to sort things out.”

  The two beautiful women on the settee stared at her in polite curiosity. Dressed in emerald and amethyst, they looked as if they belonged in a painting.

  The older of the two subjected her to an inquisitive assessment. A wave of self-consciousness splashed over Shona. Shona’s hair was unpinned and tossed about by the fierce winds outside, and her new bluebell-print day dress, though presentable, was leagues beneath the elegance of the ladies’. Although there was no expression of disdain on the woman’s face, Shona could sense her contempt.

  “Will you not introduce us, Ballencrieff?” the duchess asked.

  Conall’s lips thinned. “If you wish it. Your Grace, may I present Shona MacAslan, my factor. Shona, this is Gwendolyn, Duchess of Basinghall.”

  Shona dipped down, as she knew she had to before a peeress. “How do ye do?”

  A fine eyebrow arched into the duchess’s forehead. “A female factor? How very novel.”

  Shona smirked. “’Tis only because his first one was as useless as a two-legged horse.”

  “I see. Miss Shona, may I present my daughter, the Lady Violet.” The duchess focused her full attention on Shona. “Ballencrieff’s fiancée.”

  Shona’s eyes grew wide as saucers. She turned to Conall. “Fiancée?”

  Conall’s face flushed to the color of his coat. “Yes. It’s just been arranged. You’re the first outside the family to know.”

  She cast a glance at the young woman in question. Her pulse throbbed thickly in her veins as she regarded Lady Violet. They were close in age, but Lady Violet was prettier even than Willow. Pale skin, elegant features, gorgeous clothing, sparkling jewels. And a title. Every single thing Shona lacked.

  “Well, thank ye for the honor. Glad I wasna the last.” She spun around and flew past Mrs. Docherty out the door.

  She got halfway down the hall when Conall gripped her by the elbow.

  “Slow down, Shona. Let me explain,” he said.

  She jerked her arm from his hand. “No need. I can see plainly. Ye exhorted the truth from me, but here ye are, a black-hearted liar. What was I meant to be? A little distraction to while away the hours before she came to be yer wife? Or did ye actually intend to make me yer official mistress?”

  “Shona—”

  “If ye had to be two-faced, the very least ye could have done is shown me the good-looking one.”

  At that moment, Mrs. Docherty walked past them with the empty tray under her arm. Her eyes never lifted from the floor, but she left with an earful.

  Conall ground his teeth. “Dammit, Shona,” he muttered hotly, “I will not have you insulting me in front of the servants.”

  “All right then.” She tossed her head back. “Who shall I insult ye in front of?”

  Irritation pinching his face, he pulled her by the hand into the empty library and shut the door. “Listen to me. I have no liking for this betrothal. But this marriage is being thrust upon me.”

  “Alas! Poor man to have to marry that. I don’t have enough tears to cry for ye.”

  “It’s true. I’ve only just met the girl this very day.”

  Shona crossed her arms. “Then why do ye have to marry her?”

  He wiped his hands across his face as if trying to erase his thoughts. “I can’t explain that to you.”

  “Well, I’m no book-learned gentleman like yerself, but I may understand if ye use really simple words.”

  He heaved a weary sigh. “Can we discuss this like civilized people? It does us no good for you to give me the sharp edge of your tongue.”

  Her finger poked him in the chest. “Ye’re lucky I don’t give ye the sharp edge of my blade.” She turned around, blinking against the hot sting of tears.

  “Shona, Lady Violet is not the woman I would have chosen to be my wife. This is simply a marriage of convenience. She will get a husband, and I will receive her dowry. And you know how badly we need that flow of capital into the estate. All the major improvements you wanted to make on the farms can now be done.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I know that’s a small comfort to you, in light of the romantic moments we’ve shared, but—”

  A knot in her throat strangled her words. “Ye needn’t worry aboot me. They meant nothing to me.”

  He turned her around. “They meant something to me. Look, I’ve not been a stellar landlord. I can’t figure out how to get us out of this financial muck. Perhaps marrying a woman with money is the only way out, I don’t know. But one thing I do know, Shona. I don’t want it to end between us.”

  A tear escaped down her cheek, just before her anger exploded. “Oh, ye are a selfish ape! Ye would have me be your Scottish bit of stuff while ye take Lady Whatsit on yer arm as your missus. Iona warned me aboot Sassenach masters. Now I see she was right. Well, I won’t be yer parlormaid paramour!”

  She stomped toward the library door, but then spun to face him.

 
“And if it’s money ye be after, then here’s yer wedding present!” She threw the box on the floor, exploding coins and notes all around his boots.

  Demo version limitation

  FIFTEEN

  Shona’s triumph was short-lived.

  It was the duchess who had the final word, but Shona was not around to hear it. Because the next day, Shona’s duties took her out into the field, leaving her to contemplate what mischief the duchess could be planning with Conall’s future.

  She heaved a profound sigh as she walked up the hill on the southern part of the estate. For as long as she could remember, two of the tenants had been arguing about the other encroaching on his property. Conall—after listening for hours to Grady and McKie recite tales of animals grazing upon the wrong owner’s land, relive decades-old harassments, and dispute over inches here and there—decided to build a stone dyke to separate the farmsteads at his own expense. It was now Shona’s responsibility to make sure that his decision was carried out.

  But while she was supervising the hired hand who was told to dig a shallow trench to embed the dyke, her mind kept wandering back to the library. At breakfast that morning, Conall had promised to show Lady Violet a rare volume in the library. Even though she knew that Lady Violet had no interest in marrying Conall, Shona couldn’t help feeling a stab of jealousy. He never showed Shona such a volume.

  She could see it all now, as clearly as if it were happening before her eyes. Conall escorting Lady Violet to the library, now warmed by the morning sun. The duchess also following, but wanting to encourage their attraction, would find an excuse to discreetly remove herself from the room. Conall ascending the ladder to retrieve a dusty book from a high shelf, leaving Lady Violet to finally appreciate the length of his legs beneath the polished Hessian boots, the toned sinew of his thighs, and the height of his square buttocks.

  Conall pulls down an ancient book of love and seduction, and they look at the illustrated pages together. A tendril of hair falls from Violet’s perfect coif, and he reaches out to pull it away from her face. His touch sparks a feeling of desire in her, and she leans in close. Her hand splays flat on his chest as he lowers his head to put a kiss on her mouth.

  “That’s mine!”

  The shout pulled her from her uncomfortable reverie. She glanced up. McKie was shouting at the hired hand digging the trench.

  Grady, who’d been seated upon a felled tree trunk on his own property, bolted upright with a finger pointed at a boulder. “Don’t ye listen to him! The laird’s already agreed it becomes part of my property.”

  “The hell it does! This boulder’s been a landmark on my property for ages. It’s even got m’name carved on it. See? It says ‘McKie.’”

  “Bah! Ye put that there t’other day.”

  Shona advanced upon them. “What fresh hell is this?”

  McKie pointed at Grady. “There! See the cheatin’ kind of man he is? He waits until the laird is gone to take what doesna belong to him.”

  Grady shook his aged fist at his neighbor. “Ye’re the one who’s cheatin’! The laird said that this rise belongs to me, and ye get the footbridge over the burn.”

  “I canna feed m’flocks on a fuckin’ bridge. It’s the land I want, and it’s the land I’ll keep!”

  Shona pinned her fists to her hips. “Shut yer pie-hole, McKie! And ye, too, Grady. I’m sick to death of the quibbling between ye. Ye’re like children fighting over the same toy.”

  “Toy?” cried McKie. “This boulder’s defined the end of my property for ages.”

  Her patience shattered. Shona squared up on McKie, and though he was a burly man and outweighed her by at least seven stone, he backed off.

  “Fine! Ye want the boulder? Ye can have it! Horner, dig the trench as I instructed ye, and roll the fuckin’ boulder onto McKie’s property. See there, McKie? It’ll still define the end of yer property!”

  A satisfied grin marched triumphantly across Grady’s face.

  “And Grady?” she said, facing him. “As ye’ll be the new owner of this eighth-of-an-acre strip, I’ll be tacking on the two shillings sixpence to yer annual rent. I expect full payment on it in January.”

  Shona stomped down the hill, leaving silence in her wake. Though she’d finally gotten the two men to stop arguing, she was unhappier than ever. She wished Conall were as easy to divide as the land. But the truth was that he could not belong to both her and Lady Violet. And even if Shona could win him over just long enough to be free of her indentures, she would not be satisfied if she didn’t also have his heart.

  The way he already had hers.

  * * *

  As the afternoon died, a dense fog rolled in on the Ballencrieff estate.

  Shona gazed out the nursery window at the thick soup gathering at the foot of the hill. Usually, fog made her happy. The world lost its sharpness, the flapping of birds’ wings became muffled, and time seemed to still while a web of water was spun over everything. A person could even gaze upon the sun when the heavenly veil was thrown over its face.

  But this evening, the fog reminded her how unclear everything had become. Her future was as murky as the gray mist outside. She gazed at the haunted moon, gnarled and yellowed like one of Mr. Seldomridge’s teeth, and a terrible sense of doom fell upon her. No matter which way she considered it, Shona could see no happiness for herself.

  The duchess had not wasted any time. The vicar of the local parish had been asked in to tea, and arrangements were made to publish the banns in the kirk on Sunday. And in two days, Conall, Lady Violet, and the duchess would set out for Buckinghamshire, where the wedding was to take place within a month.

  It felt as if she were standing on the edge of a great precipice. And the rocks under her feet were beginning to give way.

  * * *

  The house was curiously silent.

  Mrs. Docherty was lighting the candles in the hall, illuminating the house in the premature darkness.

  “If ye be looking for the master, he’s in his study,” she said.

  Shona’s eyebrows curled in puzzlement. “How did ye know—”

  “Go on,” she whispered, flashing Shona a knowing look. “He’s alone now.” She returned to her task, as if she’d never been distracted from it at all.

  Shona approached the study quietly. Her mind was tormented by the imminent loss of him. There was so much she wanted to say, but words were lost in a jangle of emotions.

  The door was ajar, and she peeked in. He was absorbed in the study of a large book in his hand, its pages open to face the candelabra upon the desk. Soft light was cast upon his handsome profile, and Shona was mesmerized by his manly beauty. Shadows pooled in the recesses of his cheeks and in the hollows below his brow. But the candlelight danced upon the golden speckles in his chestnut hair, twisting and turning in the waves until his hair began to look like warm rushing water.

  She glanced at the page he was so intently scrutinizing. Upon it was an illustration of a naked woman’s body.

  Shona’s mind immediately jumped to her jealous imaginings of that morning—the ancient book of love and seduction, and Conall and Lady Violet kissing over a shared secret. Except it no longer made her mad to think on it. It made her heartsick.

  With effort, she adopted a lighthearted tone. “Staring at naughty pictures? You dirty sod.”

  He turned around and his expression lit up.

  “Shona! It’s good to see you. Come, sit down.”

  She did so. Suddenly, she felt happy again. It was alarming how much her mood was dependent upon his. As if his good graces could direct the flow of her happiness.

  His expression became mischievous. “I have a surprise for you. Wait here.”

  Her eyes followed him out the door, which he closed behind him. She didn’t know what he was going to give her, but there was only one thing he could do that would lighten her mood forever. Stay at Ballencrieff and marry her instead.

  Her eyes drifted to the book on his desk. She slid it toward
her and spun it around. It was a line drawing of a naked woman. Of a naked pregnant woman.

  She glanced at the title on the cover. The Practice of Physic, Surgery, and Midwifery on the Human Female. Once again she looked at the diagram of the woman with a child in her womb. Lines radiated out from the drawing, showing the names of all her parts in Latin.

  Why was Conall so engrossed in this book? Was this the book that he was so eager to show Lady Violet that morning? Shona flipped through the pages. There were chapters covering how to treat any ailment, from the vapors to hysteria to twisted limbs to incontinence.

  She heard the door open behind her. Conall peeked in through the opening and smiled.

  “There’s someone here who’d like to say thank you.”

  He opened the door, and Dexter bounded in. On four healthy legs.

  As soon as he sensed Shona, Dexter squealed in happiness, and raised himself up on her lap to lick her face.

  Elated to see him well and happy, Shona hugged his spotted torso. Dexter’s high-pitched squealing spoke the joy in the dog’s heart.

  “It gladdens my heart to see you, too! I see yer pointing arm is back up to snuff!”

  Conall chuckled. “Thanks to you. He owes you his life. And the use of his legs.”

  “’Twas the least a feelin’ heart could do.”

  “If that is true, then I would very much like to see the most your heart could do.”

  She smiled halfheartedly. Marry me, and I shall show you.

  Conall sat down in the chair behind the desk. “Shona, you know how fond I am of you. I shudder to think where I would be if not for you being my trusted friend, and my factor, and my … companion. I just want to tell you how much I wish things had turned out differently between us.”

  She nodded, the desperate words in her heart somehow getting tangled in her throat.

  “I know that your birthday is in a few weeks, but I doubt I shall be here to celebrate it with you. Therefore, I wanted to give you your present early.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He took out the paper at the very top of the pile, and looked at it with something like trepidation.