The Highlander's Brave Baroness (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 10)

by Emilia Ferguson

  Now, she held out a hand, hesitant.

  He grasped hers. Their palms touched, warm and firm.

  It felt strange.

  It was the way laborers greeted, but it wasn’t business-like at all. It felt intimate when he did it. When his eyes met hers, she looked down at the blanket, face heating up in a crimson rush.

  “Alexander, milady,” he said. “I was Alexander of McRurie. Now I’m Alexander of McRade.”

  “Oh?” Adeline frowned. His face had stiffened, and she sensed it would be wrong to ask how he’d changed allegiance.

  “I am Adeline, dowager Baroness Dunrade,” she said instead.

  “Baroness, eh?” His brow went up.

  “I told you that earlier, I recall,” she said, blushing again as she remembered their lively discussion. It seemed ridiculous now that she had only met him then. It seemed as if they’d known each other a lifetime.

  “Aye,” he nodded. “You did, that. And that you’re five and thirty.”

  He was looking at her with some skepticism. She grinned.

  “Are you trying to tell me you think I’m telling a lie?”

  He chuckled, those brown eyes crinkled half-shut by his smile. “I reckon I didn’t believe you, milady. Though I know it’s true you’re a baroness. Your man the baron?”

  “My man is deceased,” she said firmly. “That is why I am dowager baroness. I hold the place – with Uncle Alec – in trust for my son.”

  “I see,” he said slowly. “Well, he’s lucky to have such a strong mama.”

  She smiled. “Flattery is a fine thing,” she said. “But it oils no parsnips, as we say. Now, think you that you can sit up?”

  “For parsnips, milady? I can fly.”

  They both laughed this time. Adeline reached for the broth, feeling a pang of guilt.

  “I regret I have only broth,” she said. “My healer insisted – in quite strong words – that I feed you no solid food. If you eat the broth quickly, we can progress to the second course, however.”

  “Is it parsnips?” he asked, reaching for the tray.

  Adeline started laughing, standing to go to the bell rope. “I think we can do better than those.”

  “Better?” he asked, as she returned to the bedside. “A parsnip now would be very heaven.”

  Adeline laughed again and leaned back in the chair, watching him spoon down the broth. He ate with eager relish, stopping only twice to let his stomach accommodate the new fullness. While he ate, she tried to think of some subtle way to ask about his story.

  “Milady?” Barra asked, appearing in the doorway.

  “The patient is hungering after solid food,” Adeline said, with some relish in her voice. “If you can have cook send up a tray of stew? Thank you.”

  Burrell’s eyes lit up and she looked away, feeling happiness well up inside her.

  “When I was a lad,” he said, as Barra took away the empty dish and replaced it with a full one, this one richly spiced and steaming, “we used to have stew, but rarely. Neaps and tatties were what we had the most of.” He dug a generous spoonful out of the bowl.

  “Tatties?” Adeline raised a brow as he spooned up more stew, eagerly. Some of the juice ran down his chin, but she didn’t find such manners beastly – on him, it was merely a sign of his pleasure in life.

  “Potatoes, milady,” he said, swallowing firmly. “Reckon as in homes like this one, ye fed them tae your livestock, not so?”

  “I reckon so,” Adeline agreed, shivering. Where had he been raised? Her mind fed her images of a cottage, such as the laborers lived in, with moss on the low thatched roofs and smoke stains on the inner wall.

  “Ye ought tae try tatties,” he said, raising a brow at her. “Don’t taste like much, really, but wi’ a little butter? They’re a fine dish. Brenna made them with butter, and salt. And milk.”

  His face looked sad and Adeline instinctively felt that here was some deep wound. She reached a hand out to his. His eyes widened, but he left his hand where it was, beneath hers.

  “I will request the cook make some, if you like?” she asked.

  He sniffed. “That’d be something,” he said. “That’d be grand.”

  A silence stretched between them. He was looking paler than when she found him, she realized as she studied him, but he was awake, his eyes alert. The fever had gone as well.

  “Who was Barra?” she asked at length.

  “A lass,” he said.

  His voice wept. Adeline instinctively knew he wanted to leave the topic. She looked round the room, searching for another.

  “Would you like to try and walk?” she said, brow raised.

  He stared at her.

  “Milady, it would be a veritable pleasure. I’ve been in this bed all day. I’d love to get into fresh air.” He looked wistful.

  “It seems my manor is too stale for you?” she teased. “And no tatties, either! What deprived sorts we are.”

  “I didnae say that,” he said, quite harshly. “The manor’s fine. And thank ye for the food. It might be too highfalutin for a feller like me, but it’ll do.”

  Adeline blinked.

  “Finish your stew,” she said.

  Her hurt and rage tightened in her throat. How dare he? She stood and went to the window. She had been a fool. Why had she come here? She should have sent Brenna to tend him herself.

  The silence stretched between them.

  All she could hear was the clink and scrape of the spoon. She waited, back stiff, for it to finish, followed by the clink of the bowl rested on the tray.

  The silence was a living thing, prowling the room. When she thought she could bear it no more, she turned from the window, readying to leave.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Adeline stared. The plate set aside, Alexander was sitting in the bed, bowed head bent, eyes focused on his hands.

  “What?” she said.

  His head came up. He looked into her eyes.

  “I said, I’m sorry,” he said, more quietly. “I said stupid things. I didnae mean them. I’m sorry.”

  Somewhere deep inside her chest her heart began to thump, steadily. In all the years she’d shared with him, Camden had never, not ever, said sorry.

  She cleared her throat.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said, awkwardly. She’d been out of practice, too. She frowned. “It’s alright.”

  “It isn’t,” he said with a grin. “I behaved like a scunner.”

  “Scunner?” her brow went up.

  “Well, like a not very nice fellow.”

  She giggled. “I reckon that if I were my governess, I would tell you I’d clean your mouth with soap.”

  “I reckon if it were me granny, she’d already be doing’ that for me.”

  They both laughed.

  “You had a granny?” Adeline asked, curiosity prompting her in spite of herself, as she came to stand by his bed again.

  “I had a fine granny,” he nodded, grinning. “Me mother’s mama. She were a strong woman. Not that different to ye,” he said slowly. “When she passed, the world lost a grand soul.”

  Adeline blinked. “Again, you say I’m strong,” she said slowly. “I’m not at all sure I am.”

  “Och, ye are,” he said. Grinning, he added, “ye’ve known me two days and no’ throttled me yet.”

  She laughed. “Well,” she said, “it remains to be seen whether my restraint will last another day. Now, see if you can get any of that bannock down, and then I’ll take away the tray.”

  Alexander nodded, and, still grinning, turned to the loaf with a relish. He managed two bites, then fell back to the pillows, tired.

  “I reckon it’s all I can manage in a day,” he said softly. “More’s the pity – ye keep a grand kitchen.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Adeline said, grinning.

  He regarded her with level brows. “Ye’re a lass of rare talents, so you are.”

  “Rare talent, indeed!”

  She was
still chuckling as she bent to take the tray, then headed to the door.

  “Lady Adeline?”

  She stopped, stunned, and turned around. His voice sounded worried, almost afraid. She frowned.

  “Yes?”

  “Ye will visit me again?” he asked. “Ye’re not vexed wi’ me?”

  Adeline stared. She couldn’t have been more surprised. He wanted her to come back?

  “I’ll come back. If you wish it,” she added slowly.

  His face brightened. She felt her heart stop. It was unexpectedly beautiful.

  “That’s grand,” he said. “See you later, milady?”

  “I will see you later,” she said. The words were firm, a promise.

  Then, before she could think about what she’d said or why, and how strange it seemed, she was walking briskly through the door, tray held in both hands.

  When she returned to her chambers, she sat down heavily on her bed.

  I couldn’t care less what Burrell – no, Alexander – thinks about me.

  She stared at herself in the mirror, feeling angry with the woman who stared back. You are a baroness, she told herself sternly.

  In her head, her voice became that of her uncle, lecturing her.

  “You are in charge of this estate until your son is ready to take on his father’s position,” she told herself loudly. “You are not, absolutely not, going to spend your afternoons in conversation with an outcast rogue.”

  She stood and walked to the window, leaning on the sill. Looking out over the fields, the hills, the distant moor, just cloaked in early mist, she felt her breathing ease. Her mood lightened somewhat.

  She loved this estate. Of all the things about being wed to Camden that she’d actually been grateful for, the estate was one of them. She loved this place. As well as Tam. If she had to thank Camden for anything, it would be for those two things. With its distant, mist-cloaked hills, the pine trees swarming to the edge of the moorlands, the estate was like something from a dream.

  At that moment, she heard McInnes coming up the stairs.

  “Milady?”

  “Yes?” she asked, turning to face him. He looked embarrassed, which was a good sign. She raised a brow, trying not to make it obvious she recalled, all too well, his earlier humiliation.

  He cleared his throat, and it was impossible not to see the crowing glee in his eyes.

  “It’s your uncle. He wishes to talk to you.”

  NEWS AND PLANS

  Adeline went to her room quickly. She wasn’t going anywhere near Uncle Alec without some preparation. She was wearing a simple day gown of dark taffeta. Plain, high-necked, it swept the floor, hiding her day shoes below. It was demure and covering, and that was exactly what she wanted.

  Good. Now, how do I look?

  She studied herself in the mirror, fighting the rising panic and distaste that the man always inspired in her. She looked a little disheveled, she thought. Her hair was coming loose from its up-do, a strand or two falling down to touch her neck.

  “Barra?” she called aloud, pulling the bell rope. Uncle Alec was the last person she wished to see when she looked any less than her best. He pounced on any sign of weakness. Even a hair out of place could be a weakness with him around.

  “I need to see that blackguard like I need a day in Purgatory,” she told herself firmly.

  She looked at her appearance critically in the ornately framed mirror. She didn’t want her uncle to have any chance to say anything bad.

  But then, if I looked like I was going to a ball at Holyrood Palace, he’d still find something bad to say.

  “Milady?” Barra appeared behind her in the doorway as Adeline quickly painted rouge on her lips.

  “Barra? Fix my hair, please,” she said quickly. “And tell Tam he’d best be on time for dinner tonight?” she added. “I don’t need him being late.”

  “What’s happening, milady…?”

  Adeline shot her a sharp look, and Barra seemed to understand.

  “I just don’t need any…discrepancies, Barra.”

  “I see.”

  They worked in silence awhile, Barra combing her hair while Adeline passed her pins.

  “I suppose this will do?” she asked her maid, looking at the day gown as they finished her hair.

  “By, ye look bonny, milady.” Barra encouraged.

  “I hope not,” Adeline said grimly. Before her confidante could say more, she brushed quickly past, heading up the stairs. Her uncle would be where he always met her – in the study that had once been used by Camden.

  Upstairs, the evening light was seeping through the windows, painting bars of gold on the floor of the hallway. She stood there a moment, catching her breath. She could see the door to the study was open. Around the corner, she knew, was the infirmary, where Alexander lay. Strangely enough, that made her feel safer. At the door to the study, she paused.

  “I have heard from your steward your coffers are getting empty.” The voice was surprisingly loud in the room.

  Adeline tensed. “Uncle…”

  He took a slow step, turning to face her. The black cloak he wore swung as he moved. His well-trimmed beard was whiter than when she’d seen him last, though his dark eyes were steely as ever. Taller than her, he looked down at her, his eyes tight at the corners despite the polished smile.

  “Ah, niece. How fares the Baroness Dunrade?”

  “As well as when you saw me last,” she said, dropping a curtsy. It gave her a chance to avert her eyes. The man disconcerted her more than she cared to admit.

  “I see,” he said.

  When she looked up, his eyes were still on her. She felt them travel to her chest and back up to her face, brow raised in assessment. He smiled.

  She felt, very strongly, a need to run. Or scream. Or attack. None were possible, however, so she made herself breathe.

  “You say things fare well?” he asked, one brow raised.

  “They seem to, Uncle,” Adeline said, frowning. What did he mean? The estate was well-managed, the farms cared for, the accounts all paid.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. She felt annoyed. He turned to her with a half-smile.

  “I always said it was a fool’s mistake to leave a woman in charge alone.” Uncle Alec mused.

  “Why?” Adeline asked, shocked. “Tell me how I have been careless!” Her voice was like a whip, as strained and tight.

  He smiled, thinly. Let the silence stretch just that bit longer, knowing what it did to her.

  “I see. You have been very careless, apparently – or I would not need to tell you,” he said.

  She took a deep breath. He was smiling, and the way he looked reminded her of a mountebank in the fairground, selling some magical potion.

  Always trying to be clever. Like this information he has produced, like producing a gold coin from thin air.

  Except that there were no discrepancies for him to find. She knew that!

  “I have checked the accounts with McInnes.” she said tightly. “I am as knowledgeable about the content of those ledgers as any man could be.” She stressed the word, glaring up at him.

  He smiled, sweetly. “Oh, well, that is why I say you’re not fit to do this on your own,” he said. His voice was heavy with condescension. “You have no idea what is in these ledgers, clearly. Or you would know precisely how you have erred.”

  “Show me!” she said.

  He stepped back, grinning. “Oh, my nephew was most remiss – he should have curbed your tongue. Here. Look.”

  She looked at him, wordlessly. There was no point in arguing, even had shock not stolen all words. He was trying to make her rail at him. She knew all too well what he did: like Camden, he would make her lose her temper, then quietly suggest she was losing her sanity.

  She did as he suggested, stepping to the desk, and looking down at the pages. “These numbers are erroneous,” she said, casting her eye down them. The figures were shocking. They recorded a whole
three pounds spent on silks and velvet. Another two on imported brocade from France. That was enough money to employ three more servants for a year!

  Adeline paused, frowning. There was no way she would have spent that. She knew precisely how much cloth she had in storage in the attic – enough for two new sets of clothes for Tam, and one more dress for her, for winter. Nowhere in this house were there three pounds worth of silk and velvet!

  “Oh?” he smiled. “Well, a little extravagance here and there…of course you try to hide it.”

  “Uncle,” she said, trying not to raise her voice, “I never bought these things. Not ever. Ask the merchant.”

  “Oh?” he looked condescending. “Well, then. Where did this fine creation come from, eh?” he asked, running a hand down her sleeve. His palm was firm and clinging.

  She stepped back, and he must have seen an expression cross her face. He let his hand fall.

  “This dress was made two years ago. You can ask my maid to vouch for it. And I would thank you to let your presumption go only so far.”

  She let the expression on her face sink into his mind a moment longer. The room filled with icy quiet.

  “I see,” he said. He turned his back.

  “I tell you, I never bought these things,” she said firmly. “McInnes is mistaken – he must have been, when he made these records.”

  “Oh?” he raised a brow. “Well, we can get him to confirm it. McInnes..?” he queried.

  She thought of that morning, when she had slapped her steward, and then, later, the look of grim satisfaction in his gaze. He was not somebody she could trust – of her own household or not, bound to serve her or not, she didn’t want him to see her like this, so unsettled.

  “Wait,” she said.

  “Oh.” He beamed. “I see. Well, then. We’ll say no more of this.” He winked, as if he was concealing a secret for her.

  “Uncle, I did not buy those bolts of fabric,” she said firmly. “I don’t know who did.”

  He chuckled. “I am the uncle of many nieces, Adeline – I know women have their fancies. I will say nothing. But it must not happen again. And you must have a strong personality beside you to run this estate, if you cannot do it alone.”