by Aubrey Wynne
She listened to names of various businesses as they passed, which ones were associated with the mill and those that were not. This was not a posh area of Glasgow. The latest fashions would not be seen here. This was the where money was made and commerce created. The fine ladies her mother wanted to be associated with would never be seen in such a neighborhood.
Fenella was in heaven.
Lachlan pointed to an office with a sign. Her eyes lingered on his strong forearm, wondering what the light dusting of hair across it would feel like. Her mouth went dry.
“That’s owned by Gilbert MacLeod. He’s a wee radical for my taste, but Ian likes him well enough.” Then she followed his finger and read Spirit of the Union. She recognized it as the name of another newspaper, but had not read a copy. Her grandmother preferred the Glasgow Herald. And since it had brought her to MacNaughton Textile, Fenella favored it also.
The wagon crisscrossed the traffic and pulled up to a large building. She squinted up at the imposing smokestack she’d only seen from a distance. St. Rollox Works was known for their enormous chimney. MacGregor had pointed it out to her the first day he’d driven her to the mill.
“Bleach is made here?” she asked.
“Aye, a dry bleaching powder we use for the wool. They also produce soda from common salt. Faeries work here, ye ken.” His expression was serious, but his blue eyes teased her. He put his hand over hers and squeezed, sending her nerves into a frenzy. “I’ll be right back. The lad will spit in any man’s eyes who bothers ye, so ye’ll be safe enough.”
She grinned at Malcolm’s puffed up chest as he held the horse’s bridle. True to his word, he kept his mouth tightly closed. Lachlan walked to a large metal door and pulled it open. His stride was confident, masculine, afraid of nothing. Her breathing quickened just watching him move. Yet when he spoke to a worker in the dim interior, she saw Lachlan give him a friendly smile as he nodded toward the wagon. The man’s head dipped obligingly and soon he leaned against the exterior wall, thick arms crossed over his wide chest, facing them. It sent a rush of pleasure through her, knowing Lachlan wanted her protected while he made his transaction.
“Malcolm, do one of your parents work at the mill?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’m an orphan.”
Fenella pressed her lips together, not allowing the sigh of sympathy to escape. She had a feeling the boy wouldn’t appreciate it. “How did you come to work at MacNaughton’s?”
“Sorcha found me one day. I was sick with fever, curled up in an alley.” He shuffled his feet. “I’d run away from the orphanage. They didna feed me enough to put up with the beatings. She took me home with her.”
“She’s a good woman.”
“She’s treated me like her own. I’d do anything for her,” Malcolm added fiercely.
Within minutes, Lachlan returned. The man waiting against the wall nodded and returned inside.
“The kegs are ready. We’ll just drive around to the side and get them loaded.” Lachlan drove the horse down a narrow alley and stopped in front of a large opening, great oak doors pushed open against the sandstone of the building. Inside were hundreds of sacks and barrels stacked along the wall. He jumped from the wagon again and showed another shorter, rotund employee a piece of paper. The foreman waved his arms and yelled at several workers. They hauled a dozen small kegs of the powdered bleach and loaded them in the back of the wagon while Lachlan introduced her to the man in charge.
As they pulled away, Lachlan handed her the paper. “Could ye put this invoice away for me? I’m no’ good at holding on to papers and such, and ye’ll need to enter this in the books on Monday.”
She opened the satchel and placed the paper inside. “Will you be making a stop each time you bring me home?”
“When I can, if ye dinna mind.”
“Not at all. Unless it’s raining.” His look made her giggle. “I suppose rain doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s how I met an enchanting lass with hair of spun gold and eyes like a winter’s sky.”
The blush surged up her neck and covered her face. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Drat! Is that all she could come up with? She moved on to an easier subject. “So, Ian will be gone a month?”
“Or so. It always depends on the weather and what we encounter along the way.” He nodded at the driver of a phaeton and slowed to let it join the traffic. “I think it will be closer to two. It’s been a while since he’s been home.”
“How long has the mill been in your family?”
“Weel, let’s see.” He rubbed his jaw, his calloused fingers scratching softly against the emerging shadow. “When my aunt married an English earl, he proposed a business venture with Grandda. As a wealthy nobleman, he provided the investment, not wanting to get his hands dirty. The MacNaughtons handled the daily running of the mill.”
“So, this is the second generation to run the business. Do your aunt and uncle come to Glasgow often?”
He shook his head. “My cousin is the earl now. Gideon’s a good man, and I think he’ll be more involved than his father and less narrow-minded. We’re looking forward to that.” He grinned. “I imagine my aunt will be demanding more frequent visits. The old earl wasna fond of the Highlands.”
Fenella thought of her own mother’s aversion to her own countrymen. “I’ve never been farther than Glasgow. Is your home much different?”
“As different as a kitten from a mountain lion. The Lowlands are tame compared to the Highlands.” His voice softened. “It’s a rough but stunning beauty, harsh in many ways, but a part of me I couldna live without.”
She watched his face brighten as he spoke of his home. The country was like him, she thought. Rugged yet striking. “My grandmother talks of the mountains, the fields of heather, the lochs in summer. I’d like to see it someday.”
“I hope ye do, Fenella.” His eyes held an expression she didn’t recognize, but it made her breath catch. “Now, ye’ll have to tell which home is yers.”
The wagon slowed, and she realized they had turned onto her grandmother’s street. “It’s the red brick there on the right, next to the modiste shop.”
He pulled in the horse and tied the reins. “Laddie, take the bridle.” Malcolm’s thin frame scrambled over the kegs and hopped to the ground.
When Lachlan helped her down, the warmth of his hand, the glitter in those sapphire blue eyes, filled her with an intense, fiery excitement low in her belly. A new and foreign feeling that made her legs wobble and her hands tremble. It made her feel truly alive.
She opened the door and called to her grandmother, who seemed to be waiting right around the corner.
“There ye are, my dear. Right on time,” Aileen said. She indicated the carved walnut platter on the hall table. “Ye have letters from home.”
Lachlan bowed to the older woman. “Mrs. Douglas? I am Lachlan MacNaughton. May I say it’s a pleasure to meet the woman who has such finesse in the kitchen.”
The compliment sent a slight blush to her cheeks. “Keep it up, lad, and ye’ll be getting a whole dinner from me.”
“I look forward to it.” He smiled at her as he bent over her hand, his eyes remaining locked with hers. “We thank ye for allowing yer granddaughter to work for us.”
“I couldna stop the chit once she’d made her mind up. She’s inherited my stubbornness, I’m afraid.” Aileen’s gaze traveled from the man’s auburn hair, past his chiseled features, down his dark waistcoat and kilt, to his stockings and shoes. She transferred her scrutiny to Fenella and then back to Lachlan.
Drat! It must be written all over my face, she thought, as a slow smile appeared on her grandmother’s face.
“She’s been quite happy in her new position,” Aileen continued. “Did ye have a pleasant ride through town?”
Fenella found her voice. “Oh yes, Grandmama. And Lachlan had Malcolm, the boy I told you about, ride along with us. So, you need not worry about any impropriety. It
was all… very business-like.” She closed her eyes. That sounded ridiculous.
“Glad to hear it, lass,” Aileen acknowledged. She focused her attention on the Scot. “Would ye care to dine with us on Sunday afternoon? Nothing fancy, but tasty and filling.”
“I would be honored, Mrs. Douglas.”
“Please invite Colin, too. I’m sure Grandmama would like to meet him as well,” Fenella added, in a rush. Why was she suddenly self-conscious in front of her grandmother?
Because the woman could read her too well. One look and the words would tumble from Fenella’s mouth.
“It’s a day off for both of us, and I’m sure he’d enjoy the company and the meal.” Lachlan bowed again, his eyes now lingering on Fenella. “Until Sunday, then?”
She nodded, watching his Adam’s apple move up and down his corded throat as he swallowed. The ties on his shirt had come loose, and she could glimpse the springy brown hair on his chest. Her tongue turned thick; her heart raced. An elbow jabbed her arm.
“Yes, Sunday,” she murmured.
Chapter Eleven
A Dinner and A Dalliance
“Why am I going?” complained Colin as he lifted his chin and dragged the razor over his lower jaw. “I didna want to shave today.”
“Mrs. Douglas invited ye, and we’re no’ in a position to decline. Do ye want to lose our new accountant?”
“I’m no’ an eejit. Ye’re besotted and need me to help ease yer way.” He glared at Lachlan’s reflection. “Admit it, ye’re high on the ropes when she’s around.”
“Stop yer bletherin and get dressed. Put on yer dress kilt, as I have, and wear a shirt that’s no’ too rumpled.” Lachlan stood, hands on hips, realizing he sounded like his mother. “And aye, I like the lass. She’s…”
“A gooolden angel,” finished Colin, raising his eyes and hands to the ceiling in mock prayer.
“Dinna start with that again.”
“So, I have to get cleaned up and wear my courtin’ clothes because my cousin finally wants to woo a woman. Why could ye no’ decide to become a gentleman when ye were at home?” He snatched up the MacNaughton tartan of red, dark green, and blue, fastening it around his shirttails and yelled, “Ye’ll owe me for this.”
Lachlan heard the last words and hollered back as he retreated down the hall. “I’ll bring the horses around. Ye’ve got twenty minutes, ye whining ninny.”
*
The pair left the townhouse on High Street and headed toward the neighborhood of Grahamston. Lachlan patted Charlie’s neck. The chestnut gelding nickered, enjoying the extra outing. As they entered the busy crossroads area of Boots Corner, Lachlan slowed his mount and rode next to his cousin’s massive steed. The horse could have pulled three wagons, which was why he’d been chosen. A man of Colin’s size would look ridiculous on a smaller animal.
“Any news on our friend Pelling?” he asked, squinting at the afternoon sun as he looked up at Colin. “Ye were at the Pigeon til the wee hours.”
“Nay, it seems he’s disappeared. I wonder how often he’s done this, and if he uses different monikers.” His jaw twitched. “By Christ, if we catch him—”
“We’re to save a piece of his hide for McPherson,” finished Lachlan.
They passed a market garden and left the light commercial district behind, entering the quieter residential area. There were several carriages parked in front of brick or timber homes. Residents were enjoying the mild May weather and a leisurely afternoon stroll after Sunday service. It was a pretty street with flowering shrubs along the property borders. Bluebells and sweet purple violets bloomed on window ledges. Lachlan pulled Charlie to a stop near the two-story red brick townhouse. White lace curtains covered the downstairs window, pulled back today to let in the afternoon light.
MacGregor strode around the corner of the house and greeted them. He pulled his wool cap tightly over his faded red hair, scratching at his matching beard.
“Mrs. Douglas is expecting ye,” he said, and held the bridles of both geldings. “I’ll take yer horses for ye. There’s a livery just down the street where we keep our own.”
Both men dismounted. “I dinna believe we’ve formally met. I’m Lachlan MacNaughton, and this is my cousin Colin of the same clan.”
“Fergus MacGregor,” he said simply with a nod. “I do what’s needed for Mrs. Douglas.” And with that, he gave them his back and led the animals away.
“Friendly sort,” noted Colin. “Or is it he doesna like ye sniffing around his mistress’s granddaughter?”
Lachlan shrugged. “Perhaps he’s just slow to warm up to strangers.”
Mrs. Douglas answered the door herself. “Welcome, gentlemen.”
Lachlan realized he hadn’t paid much attention to the older woman when he’d first met her. His eyes had been on Fenella. Slightly plump, her thick gray hair pulled back in a chignon with ringlets falling over her ears, she just reached his shoulder. When she smiled, a dimple pierced each cheek, evidence of her past beauty. She swished by them in a burnt umber silk dress that matched her eyes. Pulling the creamy lace shawl over her shoulders, she led them into the parlor.
After the introductions, Colin stood awkwardly in the center of the room, studying the russet carpet. He stuck a finger in his neckcloth and pulled. Lachlan watched the big oaf with amusement, then perused the room. In one corner stood a pianoforte. A penny whistle leaned against a basket of sheet music. But what caught his eye were the bagpipes, old but well cared for.
“Do ye play, ma’am?” he asked, tilting his head toward the musical instruments.
She smiled. “My fingers canna move over the keys like they used to, but I still enjoy playing. The pipes belonged to my father. He taught my husband, so when Da died we kept them.”
Lachlan walked over and ran a hand over the wooden reed pipes and the goatskin bags.
“Colin can blow a tune or two. I prefer the fiddle myself.”
“After dinner we’ll enjoy some music, and if Mr. MacNaughton would be kind enough to see if the old bags still work…” She sighed. “It’s been a long time since this room has been filled with that sweet, haunting sound. It makes me think of my childhood home, when I was a young lass.”
“A ballad or two, then, after our meal? Ye’re kind enough to feed us. We’d be happy to repay ye the best we can,” Lachlan said, ignoring his cousin’s scowl.
“Perhaps. It’s been a spell since I’ve entertained. Now, would ye like some tea?” Mrs. Douglas considered her guests. “Or something a wee stronger?”
Colin’s face cracked with a relieved half smile. “Whisky would be my preference, ma’am.”
Lachlan gave a nod in agreement. To his surprise, she poured a finger of the amber liquid into three glasses. “This is from a local distillery.” She raised a glass, gave them a nod, and finished it in one swallow.
Both men followed her lead and tossed back the whisky. Mrs. Douglas held up the decanter, one eyebrow arched.
“This is a fine selection, ma’am.” Colin stepped forward with his glass, warming up to their hostess.
“Mr. Douglass favored it.” The dimples in her cheeks deepened.
“Yer husband had fine taste.” He sat down on a leather chair near the fire, an easy smile on his now-relaxed face. “We met the personable MacGregor.”
“Och, he just worries over me and mine. Once he kens ye, he’s amiable enough.” She sipped at her drink. “So, the third MacNaughton has returned to the Highlands? Whereabouts is yer home? It’s been too many years since I’ve visited.”
“Dunderave is a wee distance from the castle.”
“My mother took me there as a girl.” Her face lit up. “Do ye ken any of the MacDunns?”
“Aye,” both men answered.
Lachlan leaned against the mantel and half-listened to the lively conversation that ensued. Highlanders always found some place or clan in common. His cousin was comfortable again, trading stories with one who was familiar with their home.
Light footsteps sounded in the hall, and Fenella appeared in the doorway. Gone were the somber colors of her work attire. A sky-blue muslin gown draped her tall, willowy form. A wide satin ribbon hugged her waist just beneath her bustline, and a trim of white lace drew his eyes to her soft, creamy mounds. Opals sparkled blue and green at her ears and throat; her pulse evident in the hollow of her neck as his gaze lingered. But it was the dusty charcoal eyes that beckoned him forward.
“Ye’re a vision, Fenella,” he said simply.
“Thank you.” Her head tipped as she accepted the compliment. Flaxen curls tumbled from the loose knot on top of her head and brushed the back of her long slender neck.
His fingers itched to touch the silky coils. Sweet Mary, he’d thought she was beautiful before. The throbbing began, a slow steady reaction his mind could not control. It would be a long, excruciatingly sweet evening.
“May I introduce my companion, Rose LaCross? She came with me from England and assists me with everything,” Fenella announced as another young woman followed her into the parlor. She was as dark as her mistress was light. A dusky deep orange muslin enhanced her ebony hair and raven eyes. With her golden skin and coloring, Lachlan thought she had an exotic quality.
As Fenella made the introductions, he held back a chuckle. His cousin had stood, almost dumped his whisky, righted it, and gawked at the newcomer with cow eyes.
“It’s lovely to meet you both,” Rose said in a husky voice, her eyes straying to the biggest man in the room. “I’ve heard some interesting stories of the MacNaughtons.”
A smile curved Colin’s lips, his blue eyes darkening as he stepped forward to take her hand and kiss it lightly. The awkward giant had disappeared, and a charming Scot had emerged. Lachlan saw the color rise in the woman’s face as Colin’s lips brushed her skin. She was a beauty in her own right, he had to admit.
This was an interesting development.
“Humdudgeon!” exclaimed Mrs. Douglas. “This will be a memorable summer.”
