“Gavin appraised ye ay th’ trouble ‘at’s come up?” Lily asked as she set her basket down on one of the consoles.
“Yes, what he knew of it.”
“Which isnae much since Ah sent th’ note in haste, but th’ most important thing tae ken is—”
The crash of glass shattering sounded from a side room, sending Daniel ducking behind a table, folding Lily along with him as he went. Lifting his gaze in the direction of the sound, he spied a man stumbling out from one of the doorways, hands up to protect his head.
“You’re mad!” he wailed, angling toward the door and his escape.
Daniel knit his brows together, trying to discern why this man looked familiar. Beside him, Lily squirmed, causing him to note the severity of his grip on her. His face warmed, and he loosened his hold, but before he could muster an apology, she patted a palm lightly to his chest and smiled as she stood, tugging him along with her.
“Mad, is it? Aam nae th’ one resurrectin’ a near-hundred-year-old idiotic squabble in th’ name ay greed!”
That voice. Daniel would recognize it anywhere. The most gut-wrenching banshee shriek he hoped never to have directed squarely at him, delivered by a blazing golden angel. His heartbeat ticked up as a familiar figure followed the man out from the side hall, bearing down on him with clenched fists.
As bright and shining as the sun rising on the ocean horizon, and a far cry from the teary-eyed, frightened little girl he once rescued from a mean-mannered neighbor all those years ago. He felt compelled to protect her then, and the same urge to lay this assailant flat assaulted him now, though it appeared she no longer needed his help. “Lenore.”
She stopped in her tracks, looking up at the name Daniel unconsciously uttered and gasping. “Daniel?”
“Here, now,” Lily broke in. “We’re in th’ Highlands, nae th’ hinterlands. Mind yer manners.” She sent a reproving look toward her niece and a similar raised eyebrow to Daniel. “Elenore, introduce his lordship tae yer guest.” She marched between Lenore and the thoroughly confused man who’d managed to straighten to a more normal stance and directed a sharp nod in Daniel’s direction.
“Erm...” The color drained from Lenore’s face, and she appeared to shrink as her lust for vengeance fled. “My lord, ye remember our neighbor, the Baron of Tyrsdale?” She indicated the man now standing with arms crossed, attempting to look down his nose at Daniel. A ridiculous task, given Daniel towered at least a foot over him. “Baron, Lord Langdon.”
Speak of the devil, Daniel thought. The man still lacked in temperament apparently. Nor did he feign any attempt at civility, instead narrowing his eyes at Daniel before charging out of the hall.
The echo of the door closing danced along the walls and up to the rafters, leaving in its wake a suffocating silence. Clearing his throat, Daniel mustered the courage to return his gaze to Lenore, relying on whatever ingrained manners he had to try to salvage his ill-fated arrival. “Miss. MacAllister. I—”
“Why are ye here?”
“Elenore!” Lily took on an exasperated appearance as Lenore ducked her head.
Daniel swallowed. Salvation in any form appeared lost to him. He should have known better than to agree to this errand. “Gavin requested that I aid Countess Dubois in an estate matter. I was unaware you were also here; Gavin didn’t mention it.” A hint of color touched her cheeks, causing Daniel to wonder at the apparent lack of communication in this family. “He did send word ahead that I intended to come here...” He looked to Lily for confirmation.
“Aye, he did,” she responded, earning a glare from Lenore. “Ye were sae busy, Aam afraid Ah couldnae find a good time tae tell ye,” she finished with an innocent shrug.
Daniel watched the interplay between the two, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Gavin would have some explaining to do if and when he ever returned home. The thought stabbed at him. Short of some sort of miracle taking place in the near future, Daniel couldn’t imagine forcing his presence on his family again any time soon.
“Aye, well,” Lenore responded in a tight voice, “speaking ay ‘at, Ah should get back tae work. Welcome, Lord Langdon.” She nodded in his direction but did not raise her eyes to his.
Daniel opened his mouth to respond and request she not address him so formally, but she turned and stormed back in the direction she materialized from before he had the chance.
“Aam sure you’ll be wantin’ a rest before dinner,” Lily offered, breaking through the cord of confusion keeping Daniel’s eyes bound to Lenore’s receding form.
He turned to find Lily’s far too observant gaze assessing him again as it had when he arrived, a hint of something, anger perhaps? Simmering in its depths. Lacking the strength to continue wondering at this odd reception, Daniel contented himself with a brief nod and allowed Lily to guide him to his room.
“Out wi’ it,” Aunt Lily’s command stalled Lenore’s hands as they reached to fasten her necklace. She adjusted the angle of her gaze in the mirror to take in her aunt’s stern features. Lily leaned against the door jamb, having just entered without preamble.
“Out wi’ what?” she hazarded, putting effort into continuing her task as though her hands weren’t trembling.
“Ye ken what, there’s a game at play here an’ Ah huvnae th’ patience fur it,” Lily shoved away from the door and marched to the opposite wall, arranging herself directly in Lenore’s path of vision. “Gavin sent th’ Captain here wi’ a request nae tae mention his arrival tae ye in advance—”
“What?!” Lenore’s eyes shot to her aunt, and she completely forgot the bracelet she’d been reaching for.
“An’ now he’s here and you’re obviously displeased wi’ it. What else is going on?”
“Ah huvnae th’ slightest,” Lenore responded truthfully, though with her own suspicions growing.
“Ah ken Gavin would hae better sense than tae send a man ay questionable character up here, but men are never th’ best judge ay their brethren when women are involved...”
“Captain Langdon is a man ay excellent character,” Lenore countered heatedly, only tempering her tone when Lily’s brows slid upward. “What would make ye think otherwise?”
“He’s a seafaring man, tae start, ye may recall I’ve had mah fair share ay experience wi’ those in Dunkirk. Granted, from what little Ah know ay th’ Langdons, they seem tae be a good lot, but ye were none too pleased tae see th’ Captain.”
Lenore adjusted the folds of her skirt. “Ah was already overwrought frae th’ meetin’ wi’ Tyrsdale an’ seein’ him surprised me, ‘at’s all. Ah dinnae dislike th’ Captain.” I just prefer not to be within eyesight of him or else my heart begins to trip over itself.
An endless moment passed as Lenore bore her aunt’s scrutiny.
“Very well, Ah won’t press ye. Given th’ man is our only available savior at present, see ‘at ye behave yerself an’ keep ‘at sharp tongue ay yours under lock an’ key.”
“Ah hae nae intention ay—”
“An’ another thing,” Lily added before Lenore could warm to her defensiveness. “Helpin’ us wasnae th’ only reason Gavin sent him.”
That caught Lenore’s attention. “What dae ye mean?”
“Ah mean,” Lily’s features softened a bit, “Th’ man’s left th’ war but it sounds as though th’ war hasnae left him.”
Lenore furrowed her brows. Since Daniel’s return home she hardly saw him, mainly due to her own avoidance of him, but she’d noted for some time the brooding nature he took on after his father’s death seemed to be darkening.
“Ye ken what Aam meanin’, dinnae ye?” Lily continued.
Lenore nodded. “Ah think sae.” At least, she heard Gavin mention on occasion about the difficulties some returning military men were having. Fits of rage, over-use of drink, and being quick to startle. The associated repercussions among family and in the town made these tendencies troublesome to those the men came into contact with. Gavin had been spending a good amount
of time researching ways to help these men readjust to their surroundings, but as no physical ailment accompanied the symptoms in most cases, physicians like her brother could do little and the men and their families defaulted to pretending nothing was amiss.
“Gavin thinks some time away frae th’ pressures an’ obligations ay home might help, an’ requested we make up some ay grandmother’s teas an’ tinctures tae aid wi troubled sleep.” Lily continued as Lenore nodded, her thoughts reprimanding her for her hasty departure to Scotland. Caught up in her own selfish discomfort, she never stopped to consider the changes in Daniel’s temperament. Her own concerns shone exceedingly petty by comparison.
“Did ye hear me, Elenore?”
Lenore blinked up at her aunt, who barely suppressed rolling her eyes.
“Grandmother’s recipe book. Ah huvenae been able tae find it. Dae ye ken where it’s been tucked away?”
“Ah believe Aunt Heather put it in th’ greenroom hutch,” Lenore responded after a moment of thought. “Ah can fetch it fur ye.”
“Thank ye, dear. I’ll see ye at dinner.” Lily retreated, leaving Lenore to the silence of her thoughts and the cold drafts of her room.
With a shiver, she reached for a shawl. No longer interested in her toilette, she decided she looked presentable enough and went off on her errand.
The book had indeed been tucked away in the greenroom, though it required a few minutes of searching to find the volume in the plethora of cupboards and drawers. Taking up almost the entire wall, the hutch would have provided a proud addition to any London apothecary. The greenroom once functioned as a greenhouse of sorts, and as Lenore turned from the faded cabinets, her memory came alive with images of running through a colorful landscape of potted plants as a child, pausing at the work bench where her mother or aunts tended their medicinal wards to watch as they pruned, re-potted, assessed, and diagnosed.
Recent years saw a decline in the functionality of the space as family moved further afield and individuals became more absorbed in the day to day demands of life. She sighed, wondering what would become of this room, and this home, in the no longer distant future. Shaking her head against those thoughts, she hurried back to the main hall.
Soon lost again in her own concerns about how she might stall for time with Tyrsdale, she darted around a corner into a little-traversed side room, the location of which provided a shortcut to the hallway nearest the dining room. Not expecting to encounter another living soul until she reached the dining room, her sudden collision with a solid mass of muscle wrapped in a deep blue summer wool startled her enough to elicit a squeal of surprise and send the book in her hand to the floor with an undignified rustle and thud.
“Forgive me,” Daniel murmured as he steadied her teetering form, gloved hands warming her shoulders.
“Oh, Ah—” Lenore stuttered, attempting to find her bearings again when all her mind seemed capable of doing was assessing the warmth of those hands and the pristine fit of the coat over broad shoulders and chest. “Ah wasnae watchin’ where Ah was going.” With great effort, she brought her eyes up to meet his, wishing her lungs would function properly.
Something haunting lingered in his gaze, but before Lenore thought to consider it, he blinked it away, releasing her and crouching down to retrieve the mangled heirloom.
“Your great-grandmother’s recipe book.” He noted with a half-grin as he straightened, the lines on his brow softening. “I haven’t seen this in ages.”
The thrill of shared nostalgia crossed over Lenore’s heart. “Aye, Aunt Lily said Gavin requested some recipes.” She paused as a shadow descended over Daniel’s features, alerting her to her error. With a brisk nod, he handed her the book.
Each of them sent their gazes into opposing corners, Lenore desperately seeking some other venue of conversation. In the end Daniel recovered first.
“May I escort you to the dining room?” he asked, offering his arm.
“Aye, ay course.”
They traveled in that direction without a word until reaching the main hallway.
“When I arrived,” Daniel began, clearing his throat. Lenore tilted her head up toward him. “You mentioned something about a centuries-old squabble. Might I ask what that referenced?”
“Och aye, ‘at’s th’ reason you’re here.”
He raised his brows and ducked his chin in mirror of her stance.
“Tyrsdale has made a claim on this property, citin’ events which hearken back tae our great-grandparents.”
“That sounds rather excessive.”
“It is. Th’ local authorities initially refused his petition, which is what’s granted us a bit ay time, but his persistence has forced their attention.”
“What makes him so adamant? As I recall he couldn’t wait to renounce his connections to Scotland.”
“Desperation. He’s squandered his inheritance.”
“Ah.”
“While th’ entire thing is a farce, Aunt Lily and Ah hae been hindered frae collectin’ our ain supportin’ documentation.”
“How so?”
“Women arenae allowed access tae th’ county records.”
They had entered the dining room and stood beside Lenore’s chair. Daniel’s brows knit together, and he opened his mouth to continue his questioning, but lost the opportunity when Aunt Lily entered on their heels.
“There ye both are, just in time. Cook’s ready tae serve an’ we hae a fine table tonight. Ah was fur fowl, but she insisted ye favor her mutton chops, Captain Langdon. Is she justified, or must Ah tak’ her tae task?”
With a smile, Daniel relinquished the conversation, holding out Lenore’s chair as a footman assisted Lily at the head of the table. “Cook has a fine memory, though it may only be because I was the only child in temporary residence to have expressed the preference. I never saw the word mutton accompanied by anything but a grimace in the countenances of either my siblings or the MacAllister children.” He sent a half-grin across the table, melting Lenore’s insides in an instant.
“An’ none ay us will thank ye fur instillin’ th’ fond remembrance,” she quipped in response.
On that note, the dinner platters arrived, sending the conversation into recollections of childhood adventures and misadventures, briefly brightening and rejuvenating Daniel’s features and causing Lenore’s heart to ache for the lost innocence of childhood.
Chapter 4
The wind howled through the flue with all the terrifying ferocity Daniel remembered from his infrequent childhood visits to the MacAllisters. In the past, he attempted to convince himself the wailing must have been amplified by the irrational fears of a boy far too enthralled by ghost and horror tales recited by superstitious sailors. Alas, such was not the case. If any locale could honestly claim direct access to the underworld and all its nightmares, the moors and this castle could.
He shivered and ran his hands over his arms to warm them. The night cooled considerably and though exhaustion pulled at him, he found himself reluctant to give in to the vulnerable depths of sleep. Instead, he wandered the halls, trying to recall brighter days, making a game of recognizing the different rooms and all their antiquities, the stories behind which he’d mostly forgotten.
Until he reached the family gallery and the tapestry that enthralled him as a child. A depiction of some medieval MacAllister sailing with sword drawn into the unyielding path of a multi-headed, tentacled creature of the deep.
As a boy, he instantly envisioned his father, fearless hero of the seas, journeying to the ends of the earth to rid the world of evil. He couldn’t wait for his chance to prove his own worth, begging his father for a cabin boy assignment. As a man, the image took on a far different tone. His hand tightened around the forgotten tumbler he procured from the study.
“What calls a man tae th’ sea?”
Lily’s voice startled him, but her movement at the side of the room caught the attention of his senses faster than that of his disquieted and distracted mind,
preventing him from jumping into any action more embarrassing than sloshing a portion of whiskey over the rim of his glass. He drew in breath to apologize, both for the mess and apparently having woken her with his midnight wandering, but noted her attention directed firmly at the tapestry, as though his presence were a mere coincidence.
Wrapped in a dressing gown and heavy shawl, her hair tucked into a night cap, she moved silently toward the depiction, a brew of a more benign nature steaming in a mug between her palms. Her eyes took in the scene, moving between the valiant sailor and the sea creature, anger and something akin to jealousy glinting in her eyes in the dim light from the taper in the corner. Try as he might, Daniel couldn’t determine which figure incurred the larger portion of her ire.
“Idle folly?” She continued. “Irresponsibility?” She looked at him then, and her heretofore steely blue eyes shimmered with uncertainty, perhaps a hint of pain. She blinked away the sentiment as quickly as it appeared, adding with a lopsided smile, “or is it truly a siren ay the deep none ay us land dwellers can hope tae compete wi’?”
The skill with which she hid the momentary lapse prompted Daniel to almost think he imagined it, but he trusted his instincts better than that, despite their propensity for causing him trouble.
“The siren call,” he affirmed, following her gaze back to the tapestry. “But very subtle at first. A compelling lure to cast off the restrictions this land shackles us with, fully realize the potential of one man against the world, unencumbered.”
“Irresponsibility, then,” she reiterated bitterly.
He turned his head, tracing the outline of her profile with his observation until she reciprocated. “No,” he declared with finality. “Freedom. Freedom from the land we feel meaningless on, and freedom to hope the sea will transform us into something worthwhile, something the land will accept.”
She furrowed her brows at him, looking at him as though some different quality presented itself from what she observed the day before.
The Captain's Surrender (Currents of Love Book 6) Page 3
