Kissing the Countess (12 page)

"Lord Kildonan," Finlay said, "while you were consulting with Mr. Grant, Mr. Fitzgibbon rode to Kildonan Castle to inform your family of your safe return."

"Thank you. My sister and brother-in-law will appreciate knowing that all is well."

"Now, Lord Kildonan," the reverend said, "Mr. Fitzgibbon told us you went climbing on Beinn Shee yesterday and lost each other in the mist. The weather turned poor. All that is very unfortunate, of course. What I want to know now is how you and my daughter came to be alone in the shieling for a day and a night."

"Certainly. After I lost Mr. Fitzgibbon, I had a fall while climbing," Evan said. "Miss MacConn came along the drover's road and saw me and assisted me to the shieling hut. The storm grew worse and stranded us there. The slopes were iced over, and there was no question of attempting to get down to the glen."

"A dreadful experience, I'm sure," Finlay said. "That hut is in bad repair and would not offer much shelter. I have been intending to hire a carpenter and a thatcher to fix it up. With your permission I will arrange that."

"My permission?" Evan frowned, puzzled.

"The hut is on your land, sir, since the estate of Kildonan includes the whole of Glen Shee in its eighty-two-thousand acres. Indeed, much of Beinn Shee is yours as well." Finlay straightened and bowed his head a little. "Sir, in the commotion, I had no chance to introduce myself fully. I am the factor for Glen Shee and Kildonan. I took over for the previous factor, the elder Mr. Grant, after he died. You and I have not had a chance to meet yet. Most of my dealings have been with Lady Jean and Sir Harry."

Evan nodded, already aware that Finlay was his factor. "Aye, Mr. MacConn. My sister has mentioned what an admirable job you've done on the estate."

"Thank you, sir." Finlay leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He was a tall young man in his late twenties, large framed and slightly padded in the torso, with dark brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin that flushed easily. There was honesty in his attractive features, and Evan saw a resemblance to Catriona. Jean and Harry had often praised the new factor.

"As soon as possible, Mr. MacConn, we'll meet so that you can apprise me about matters at Kildonan," Evan said.

"Of course. Sir, I apologize for interrupting your story. Do go on—the weather turned on you quickly. That happens in this part of the Highlands. It must have been devilish cold in that shieling."

"It was, but we managed," Evan said.

"We all saw that a hearth was in use and a kettle over the fire," the reverend said. "Perhaps you were not as uncomfortable as it might seem."

"The roof was open to the elements. We did have a small fire, but the peat was damp and quickly burned out. A few oats and some whisky was all the food we had between us."

"My daughter," Reverend MacConn said, "only partakes of strong drink for medicinal purposes."

"Under the circumstances, this was medicinal. We were freezing. Miss MacConn suffered greatly from the cold and damp and was showing all the early symptoms of the freezing death, but without complaint. Sir, you should be proud of your daughter. Her behavior, in my estimation, is without reproach." Evan knew he was the one at fault. He looked hard at the father, who harrumphed.

A tapping sounded on the door, and Mrs. Judith Rennie entered. Evan had met the reverend's sister upon his arrival, and clearly recalled her cold reception. Dressed in unrelieved black except for a white lace collar, she wore a perpetually severe expression on her thin face. He drew up a chair for her, and she sat with scarcely a nod, her back arrow straight, her hands, mittened in black lace, folded in her lap. They looked capable of clawing or clutching.

"Judith, my dear, Lord Kildonan has explained that he and Catriona were stranded by the weather," the reverend said. "They had no other way to stay warm in that dreadful hut."

"Oh?" Mrs. Rennie fixed Evan with a stare, her eyes an eerie pale gray, her iron-colored hair tucked under black netting. He nearly shivered under that chilly glare. "I suppose you decided it was your gentlemanly duty to keep the lass warm. She was without her proper clothing when you were found together."

"Her outer things were wet. Should I have let her freeze while I saw to my own comfort?" He returned her stare calmly. "Would that have been more appropriate behavior than sharing a jacket and a plaid?"

"He has a point," Finlay said.

His aunt huffed. "No one should have been up on that mountainside overnight in such weather. There is no excuse for it. You could have come down, both of you."

Evan glanced away quickly, impatiently, controlling his temper. Finlay snorted and sent Evan a sympathetic glance.

"Finlay, see what's keeping your sister," Thomas MacConn said. "She was to come as soon as she finished with Mr. Grant."

"She will be here soon enough. She will not want to miss this either," Finlay said.

Bemused by Finlay's quiet rebelliousness and squelching a streak of resistance himself in the current company, Evan glanced toward the door. Anticipating Catriona's arrival, he felt like an anxious schoolboy.

"Lord Kildonan, it is true that Catriona was caught in a state of undress," Reverend MacConn said. "Can you explain that?"

"She fell in an icy burn, and her clothing was wet. She was chilled to the bone, which was dangerous in such cold temperatures. She was shivering violently, her teeth banging together, and she was blue around the lips. I suggested that she remove her wet things, have a little whisky, and... bundle with me in the blanket to keep warm."

"Ah, bundle," Finlay said. "That makes sense to me."

"Not to me," Mrs. Rennie said. "They were alone. He told her to do these things—and she complied. What else do you suppose he told her to do? Thomas, I feared the new Lord Kildonan would be no better than the old, and now it is proven. Luring a young lass like that—oh!" She sniffed into her lacy handkerchief.

Evan's temper soared, fast and hot, but he quelled it by placing his fingertips together in a controlled arch. "I assure you the young lady was not harmed. And you have no reason to judge me by my father's behavior."

"You were alone for a day and a night," Thomas MacConn said. "You could easily have taken advantage of the girl when she was so vulnerable."

How on earth was he to answer that? "I admire your daughter, sir, and treated her with respect." Well, he had, in a way. Frowning, he gazed at them defiantly over his steepled fingers.

"The lass will not admit to anything either," Mrs. Rennie said, "out of some misplaced loyalty, I suppose."

Evan regarded them in cold silence, keenly aware of his growing loyalty to Catriona and his anger toward her hard-hearted aunt and her stern father, who showed surprisingly little backbone. The brother, though, seemed worth his weight in gold.

He would not explain last night any further. Catriona was clearly in deep disgrace, and he had caused her ruination. The awareness sat on his shoulders like a heavy stone.

"Thomas, the implication is clear," Mrs. Rennie said.

Thomas MacConn frowned. "Aye. The lass is ruined and in a state of sin." He glared at Evan. "And you, sir, are to blame!"

Standing, Evan leaned forward and smacked his palms on MacConn's desk. "All that we did," he said, low and fierce, "was help each other survive."

"A convenient way of wording it," Mrs. Rennie sniffed.

Evan sucked in his breath. True, the girl had been innocent, and he had gone too far. His passion and flaring need for her had taken him by surprise, overwhelming his will and common sense. Offended by the lack of compassion in a righteous household, he knew he had little defense.

"I have the utmost respect for Miss MacConn. And it was hardly a romantic rendezvous," he snapped.

"However indelicate it may be, we must know what happened last night," the reverend's sister said. "Did you—"

"Judith, that hardly matters now," Thomas said with surprising reasonableness. "The fact is that they were alone and unchaperoned overnight, and that is the awkwardness of it."

Judith Rennie gave her brother a stare so fierce that Evan thought the big man might buckle under its force. Then she turned her pale gaze on Evan.

He was not about to give way to tyranny. "I will not discuss particulars. You are determined to make your conclusion, madam. What difference the details?"

Mrs. Rennie gasped, while Finlay huffed a laugh. "My guess is that they behaved themselves. Catriona is strong willed but levelheaded, and my sense is that Lord Kildonan is a gentleman and can be trusted."

"Everyone knows about this, or will soon enough," Mrs. Rennie insisted. "Word will go all the way to Inverness and Fort William and beyond. You know that Mrs. MacAuley loves to gossip. She will write to her kin in the cities, and your father's name will be attached to this horrible scandal."

"It would be more horrible if the girl had frozen to death—pardon me, Father, but you know it is true," Finlay said. "In her wet clothing, buttoned to the neck, while Kildonan sipped whisky and borrowed her plaid to warm himself. If it were me, I would have done the same as he did—helped the lass, whatever it took and however it appeared to others later." He nodded to Evan.

"It is a disturbing situation," the reverend said, and he lifted his hands as if he did not know what else to say or what to do. "I thought I had lost the lass—but this—this is almost worse." He shot Evan a furious glare.

"Regardless, Catriona cannot live under the minister's roof after this," Mrs. Rennie said. "We are simply too upset and distressed, for so many reasons. And it's unthinkable for her to stay in the reverend's house while in a state of sin."

"How can you suggest that?" Finlay asked angrily.

"I shall simply have to stay here myself and take over the running of this household," Mrs. Rennie sighed. "We have kin in Glasgow who might take her in."

"Glasgow!" Finlay burst out.

Evan sat forward. "You have my sincere apology. Hold any grudge against me that you like. Do not punish the girl."

"An apology is not enough," Mrs. Rennie replied. "Catriona is not some dairy lass to be taken at the whim of the earl. This is not the Middle Ages."

"Madam, that is an insult," Evan said. "She saved my life."

"It may be best that she leave here for a little while," Thomas MacConn said. He glanced almost guiltily at his sister.

"My brother could lose his living over this scandal," Mrs. Rennie said. "You do not know what you have done, sir. Or perhaps you do," she added.

A dark ferocity rose up in him—anger or will, guilt and remorse, or all of those. Evan stood, breath heaving, and turned to the reverend. "You would condemn her and send her away from her home and this glen, for saving a man's life?"

"I—" Thomas MacConn looked down. "She was a brave lass, but I am not convinced that you both needed to stay the night."

"It pains us," Mrs. Rennie said, though Evan had not addressed her. "But her father is God's representative. He must uphold only what is virtuous."

"Compassion is virtuous, madam," Evan snapped back. "Gratitude for her safe return is virtuous."

Blasting out an angry, exasperated sigh, he spun away, fisting his hands, his thoughts roiling. Catriona would be sent away—and like the Highlanders who had been cleared off this land, he realized, her bright, warm spirit would wither if she left the glen that she loved.

Her brave rescue of him and her generous act of loving him, would reap heartbreak for her, and it was all his doing. He already carried the burden of another catastrophe, which he believed he had caused, at least in some part. Last night had taken no lives, but he had ruined something beautiful all the same—a bright, innocent Highland girl.

But this disaster he could right. She had saved his life, and he owed her a rescue in return. He knew what he must do.

Turning, he regarded her family. "I will marry the girl."

"You what? Oh! Catriona!" Mrs. Rennie's voice was hushed.

Heart pounding, Evan glanced up.

Framed in the doorway, Catriona stood very still, her face pale, her eyes wide with a look that bordered on shock. She stared at him—only at him.

"I said," he murmured, watching her, "that I will marry Miss MacConn, if she will have me."

* * *

At first Catriona was not sure what Evan had said, as if he spoke in some strange language. Staring at him, she felt caught in his thrall as he moved toward her. His gaze was penetrating, the hazel green of his eyes intensified by the sunlight that filtered between the curtains. She could not look away.

He approached her. "Miss MacConn, will you marry me?" His tone was soft and low, his gaze wholly on her, as if they two were the only ones in the room.

Stunned, she stepped back. What had he admitted to her family about last night? Her father watched her with a sad and disappointed expression, while her aunt glowered, thin fingers twitching. Finlay regarded all of them with the bemused air he often adopted. He, at least, would not condemn her.

Clearly they surmised the worst. She felt a sinking sense of dread and humiliation. An earl would never offer to marry a minister's daughter after a brief acquaintance, except in a case of utter scandal.