Kissing the Countess (29 page)

"Catriona, my own," he murmured, and her name was like the voice of the mountain, that strong, that splendid. He felt as if she worked some magic over him, and he its willing subject.

"Tonight," he urged.

She stepped back, went around the stone, and headed down the slope toward the group who waited, smiling up at them.

Following, he realized that she had not answered.

Chapter 20

"What a jolly fellow—a grand Highlander in full flourish!" Lord Wetherstone paused before a portrait of a Highland chieftain. "Another of Kildonan's ancestors, I suppose?"

Strolling between Lord and Lady Wetherstone, Catriona stopped with them to gaze up at the portrait in question. After returning from the hillwalk late that afternoon, most of the guests had rested after tea. Evan had gone to his study to look at estate records, while Catriona sat to transcribe some Gaelic songs, all the while feeling fluttery excitement. Would she go to Evan that night, later? Was it time to make her decision?

Now, having enjoyed a simple supper, Evan was conducting a tour of the castle for a few of the guests. The circuit took them up the main stairway to the portrait gallery.

"Oh, this is one of the best portraits we've seen so far," Catriona said, looking up. "What a handsome Highlander he is."

"Yes, but he looks like a savage with that wolf fur and all those weapons, and he's wearing such an awful lot of tartan," Lady Wetherstone observed. "Why is there so much cloth bunched around him? Lord Kildonan and Sir Aedan are wearing kilts tonight," she said, glancing at Evan and his friend behind them, "but their plaids are not like this one in the portrait at all."

"All Highland men wore such folded kilts, long ago," Anna Wilkie said, catching up to them. "It seems improper to us to show one's limbs, of course, but when the garments are worn by Highland men, there is a certain wonderful aesthetic, don't you agree, Lady Kildonan?" Anna looked at her. "Such marvelous masculine strength on display." Her pretty smile was surprisingly mischievous, and Catriona almost laughed to see it.

"Oh, aye, Mrs. Wilkie, I do agree," Catriona said.

She thought Evan looked marvelous himself, dressed in a pleated kilt of dark green and blue tartan with red and white accent stripes, with a black jacket and waistcoat and tasseled knee stockings. Glancing at him now, she admired the powerful cut of his well-developed calves and strong, flat knees. She felt a curious thrill at the hint of his long, taut thighs beneath the woolen pleats and sporran. She blushed and smiled to herself.

Aye, she thought, perhaps she was ready to go to him tonight—she did not think she could resist it much longer.

She had been fascinated by the portraits in the gallery, for many of the faces depicted there reminded her of Evan. Her husband's dark good looks and greenish eyes seemed to be an inherited trait among generations of Kildonan Mackenzies.

"That's the authentic Scottish kilt," Catriona said, looking up at the painting they stood beneath, a portrait of a fierce Highland warrior swathed in red plaid, brandishing a claymore and a brass-studded targe. "Plaids were originally one length of material, worn wrapped and belted about the waist. The free end was tossed over the shoulder and tucked to form a large pocket for carrying things," she explained. "At night, the Highlander could wrap himself in the long yardage of his plaid and sleep comfortably outdoors."

"Taking off one's clothing to make a bed out of it? What a dreadful thought," Lady Wetherstone replied.

"I rather like the idea," her husband said. "We could have used them on our outing today—what a brisk wind that was! And one would not have to bother with a change of clothes, a knapsack, or a blanket with such a practical garment, eh, Kildonan?" He grinned at Evan.

"Aye," Evan said, joining them. "Highlanders are a creative and resourceful lot. This is Sir Niall Mackenzie, by the way, second laird of Kildonan. He was called Clever Niall. He had this tower built, which forms the center of the castle."

"How did a poor Highland warrior acquire the fortune to build such a fine castle?" Lady Wetherstone asked.

"Cattle thief," Evan said succinctly.

"Ah, Clever Niall," Aedan MacBride murmured, coming up to join Evan and the others.

Evan led them toward another portrait. "This is my grandfather, the first Earl of Kildonan," he said, indicating a rather stiff gentleman in a black evening suit with white waistcoat and neck cloth. The chair behind him was draped with a length of plaid to indicate his Highland origins, but Catriona noticed that no plaid touched his staid person. A military medal adorned his coat lapel.

Evan's grandfather had a grim, humorless expression, and his back and long legs were ramrod stiff. He was among the handful who did not much resemble Evan and Jean.

She began to wonder what Evan's child and her own might look like—would it inherit the red hair and blue eyes prevalent in her line, or the greenish eyes and dark, glossy hair that occurred so frequently in his? Pausing beside the others, she put a hand subtly to her abdomen and wondered if a miracle was already occurring inside of her—or if it could soon be started. All she had to do was decide and accept. The rest would follow.

But their passionate union the first night they met might have already produced a child. She ducked her head and allowed herself to wish it so for a moment, and realized that sometimes it was possible for love and miracles to be that simple.

"He was already a viscount—Lord Glendevon—inherited from his father," Evan went on. "The earldom was granted only thirty years ago by Queen Victoria after his brave showing in India. He single-handedly rescued an entire besieged regiment and managed to bring back a fortune in gold and jewels, most of which he donated to the crown. That was enough to earn him the queen's gratitude, I suppose, since she honored him by creating him earl of his own estates—the whole of Kildonan and Glen Shee."

"Yes, I remember that story," Wetherstone said. "A small earl by some standards, but nonetheless a peer appointed by the queen. So you are the third earl, sir."

"A few generations back, we were really no different from most of the people in this glen—small lairds with herds of cattle and some sheep, involved in clan wars and loyal to our kin above all else." Evan looked pointedly at Catriona. "To be honest, I have never been comfortable with my titles. I would rather be simply a Scottish laird. That would be enough for me." He smiled faintly.

Lady Wetherstone and the Wilkies, along with MacBride, strolled ahead to study the portraits at the far end of the hallway. Catriona looked back toward Evan, hesitating between her duty as hostess and her desire to be near her husband. Wetherstone and Evan lingered with the grandfather's portrait.

"A pity to reduce the estate, really, with its proud history," Wetherstone said, rocking back on his heels as he contemplated the starched painted figure of the first earl.

"Reduce?" Catriona glanced at Evan.

"A shame," Evan answered Wetherstone, "but the place cannot be managed properly from a distance of three hundred miles. I have a town home in Edinburgh—and I am often far away from there, working on engineering projects. Sir Aedan, for example, would like me to go to Skye to consult on a road project there. Being laird of such a large estate needs my full attention. Otherwise the needs of the glen will simply not be met—and I would be a very inadequate laird, indeed."

"I understand your position, absolutely. Dividing it into smaller estates and renting out the castle seems a better solution," Wetherstone commented.

"Aye. I had thought so too," Evan said, "when I first came back here to Kildonan." He caught Catriona's gaze, and she saw something in his eyes, in that moment, that seemed like pain.

She glided closer, not caring if it seemed rude to leave those who had wandered ahead. This conversation had her whole and intense attention. Her heart beat fast, for she realized he was discussing the possible sale of Kildonan to Wetherstone.

"I see your position," Wetherstone said. "If one comes all the way up here, one would want to stay for a while. Perhaps spend at least the hunting season or the summers here. Certainly not winter—wouldn't want to be stranded here, eh?"

"Certainly not," Evan murmured. His glance flickered again toward Catriona. She felt as if they were having a silent conversation of their own—he somber and almost apologetic, she increasingly stunned—and she further imagined that it would become very fiery, very shortly, when they were alone.

After those luscious, fervent kisses at the standing stone that afternoon, she had craved to be with him that night. But now, realizing the awful implications of this conversation, she felt the flames of anger and fear rather than desire. She could not bear to see him give up Glen Shee and Kildonan to another man—an Englishman, no less—who would change it at will.

Nor could she bear to lose her new home with her husband just when she felt that the dream might come true. Kenneth Grant had claimed that Evan would sell. She hated the fact that Grant might be right about anything to do with Evan.

"Now that I've seen the place myself," Wetherstone said, "I'm seriously considering the purchase. How is the hunting? Good, you say?" He looked at Evan.

"Evan?" Catriona asked quietly, glancing at her husband. She did not care about the question of hunting. She wanted to know the full truth behind this dialogue.

His gaze skirted hers, piercing and quick, before he looked at Wetherstone. "Excellent hunting, sir. My father was quite the sportsman, and his hunting trophies are throughout the place. There's a sixteen-point stag head mounted in the smoking room if you're interested. I've never been keen on hunting myself. Arthur can tell you more about that. He was out with Mr. Grant, a local laird and physician, just today."

"So there is a physician nearby? Very good. My dear, there is a physician in the glen," Wetherstone called out.

Lady Wetherstone turned and came back toward them. "Is there? Excellent. That was one of my questions."

"He's not a qualified physician," Catriona said.

Evan and the Wetherstones looked at her as if she had sprouted another head.

Lady Wetherstone blinked. "Oh dear! An impostor?"

"He never finished his education and does not know as much as he claims. For medical knowledge in this glen, we often consult croft wives skilled with herbs and potions. Although they may give you a strand of knotted red thread to carry with you, or rub snails upon your person, or recite a fairy charm,"—here she looked hard at Evan—"they will invariably help whatever ails you."

"Oh!" Lady Wetherstone looked shocked. "But one would be so healthy living here in the Highlands, with such invigorating air, one might never need a doctor." She smiled.

"Such a healthy environment," Lord Wetherstone agreed.

"But for the lung fever," Catriona said. "We are prone to it here in the winter months—young and old are so susceptible." She shook her head. "But a good remedy for the cough is to swallow some roasted mice several times a day and rub a stone covered with saliva on the chest. Works quite well," she said. "So you need not worry about ailments here."

"Oh, oh!" Lady Wetherstone raised her lace-mittened hand to her mouth and looked slightly green.

Evan narrowed his eyes to glare at Catriona over Lady Wetherstone's head. "Certainly if you and your lady wife were to purchase part of the Kildonan estate," he said, turning to Wetherstone again, "you would never regret it. The scenery here, as you learned today, is utterly spectacular."

"It is quite beautiful, and seems so good for the soul," Lady Wetherstone said, recovering a little.

"Aye, we often go to the hilltops to watch the most terrible storms sweep toward us from the islands to the west," Catriona said. "They are magnificent to see. Lightning sometimes strikes and the wind can tear the roof off the house. You'll be glad to be snug in your castle. Unless the old stones topple."

"My dear," Evan said in a warning tone. "The hillwalking, of course, is another enjoyable benefit. The landscape is so wild and romantic here."

"So vast," Catriona agreed, "that one could get lost in it, and the weather so unpredictable that one never knows what will happen next." She smiled at Evan. "Isn't that so, dear?"

"Sometimes," he said between his teeth. "I do want to point out that we have at present about fifty thousand sheep on the estate, sir. The income from that can be very respectable."