Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (13 page)

Ian swallowed the last of his ale. He did not want to talk about Lucy Stillwater any more. It seemed she addled his brain, and he had far more pressing
things to deal with. His father. His bastardy. His tenants. His brickworks. It was more than enough for any man. “I may come up to Edinburgh in a few
weeks,” he said in spite of all that weighed upon him. “Will you be at your house there? Or will you go on to Carriden Hall?”

“I’m going to Edinburgh,” Malcolm said. “I’ll be there for at least a few weeks.”

Ian would like to join him – and perhaps pay a social call to Kildrum and his family – but he had to get his father to reverse the changes in
his will and return the documents to the solicitor in Selkirk before he went to Edinburgh. It would be a disaster to give Duncan free reign over the
properties bequeathed to him. He’d just run them into the ground.

“Will your father be all right, do you think?” Malcolm asked.

Ian wished he knew. “It all depends on him. Dr. Henderson said he is unlikely to survive another bout of drinking.”

So Ian needed to talk to him soon. He needed his father to see reason, and he wanted to find out the truth about Duncan.

Malcolm nodded. “It can be difficult, though.”

“Aye,” Ian replied. “He lives for it, for the next drink.”

“You’ve made it inaccessible, I assume?”

“I have. But you never know,” Ian said, wondering if it was all for naught. “He could have hidden bottles in places I would never think
to look.”

“His valet will know.”

“Or it could be too late. He could be so far gone—”

“Do not borrow trouble, my friend.”

Ian shrugged. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Malcolm glanced around the room. “The serving lass is trying to catch your eye, Brox.”

Ian looked up and saw Nessa MacClure, a comely young woman who’d always let Ian know – one way or another – that she was available for an
intimate romp in one of the upstairs rooms.

He had to wonder what she hoped to gain by satisfying his lust. She had to know he would not marry a tavern wench. And that if he got her with child…

Was this how it had been with his own mother? Had she pursued the duke until he’d succumbed to his own needs and desires? Ian knew there were women
who could be persistent, if not blatantly dogged in their pursuit of him. But those were usually the daughters of noblemen who knew they had at least a
chance of becoming his wife.

He did not like to think his own mother had been a tart who’d hounded his father until he’d fallen. Nor did he care to believe his father had
taken wanton advantage of a virtuous servant. Whatever the truth was, Ian knew it was not going to sit well with him.

“I will not stay another day,” Aunt Arden said, though her voice was not as strong as usual. Lucy had no doubt she meant it, but she could
probably be persuaded to follow Dr. Henderson’s suggestion and remain in bed for the rest of the day.

The physician gave a subtle shake of his head. “You risk your health, madam.”

“I do nothing of the—”

“Arden.” It was Lucy’s uncle, and she had never heard him use such a forceful tone, especially with his wife. He always deferred to her
preferences. But apparently, not this time.

Archie sat down on the bed next to his wife and took her hand. “We will not endanger your health by leaving prematurely, pet.”

“Good,” Henderson said before taking his leave. “I will look in on you tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Archie said.

Lucy followed Henderson from the room. “When do you think my aunt will be able to travel, Doctor?”

“Think about the trip ahead, Miss Stillwater,” he said. “She will be in a stuffy, bouncing carriage. When she can stand it for a few
hours without becoming nauseated or developing a headache, then she will be ready. It is up to you and your uncle as much as me.”

“I see,” Lucy replied. “She did become dizzy and a bit nauseated when she sat up.”

Henderson nodded. “She will have a miserable trip home if she leaves here before those symptoms abate.”

The doctor left, and Lucy pressed her hand against the cold stone wall and took a deep breath. If only she could have ridden away this morning before
she’d had time to think, to remember…

But no. She’d already had half the day to think about that kiss last night…and the way Broxburn had created a physical connection between them.
The last thing Lucy should feel was a burning desire to repeat the experience. But she did.

What was the matter with her? The only man she’d ever cared for was Joshua Parris. He was the one she’d dreamed of. He was the one who…

Actually, she had never dreamed of kissing Joshua. She did not know if Joshua had ever appeared in her dreams. Lucy frowned. It was disturbing to think
that she’d dreamed of Lord Broxburn, but not Joshua Parris.

Lucy went to her room where Aileen was making the bed.

“Shall I do something for you, Miss?”

“No, I— Do you know if Lord Broxburn is at home?”

“No, he went down to Craigmuir Way with Lord Kindale and Mr. Ferguson.”

“Oh.” That was a relief. She needed to clear her mind and put everything into perspective. She put on her hat and gloves and told Aileen she
was going out. A walk would do her good, and there was no chance of running into Broxburn alone.

“I shall be outside walking, if my aunt asks for me,” she said. “I won’t be long, though.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Lucy left the castle and walked out to the gate. Following the path to the river, she stopped at the vine-covered cottage she’d seen on her last
walk.

It was made of stone, with stout wooden doors at the front and the back. Lucy walked around it and noticed there were windows on all four sides.
She’d remembered thinking it was dilapidated, but that was not entirely correct. It was in decent repair, although neglected.

She tried one of the doors and it opened on squeaky hinges. The room she stepped into must have served as a kitchen and workroom. There was a long, heavy
table at one end, with wooden buckets nested inside each other, and tools on shelves. She saw fishing rods and dusty hunting rifles lined up against the
wall next to a large stone fireplace.

It was a rustic, wholly male setting, and Lucy concluded it must have been the huntsman’s cottage. The only other room held a bed with an old straw
mattress and an empty set of shelves. She could not help but wonder what had happened to the huntsman, because it was clear no one lived here now.

There were many hunting tools and weapons in the cottage, and Lucy suspected most of them were centuries old, like the artifacts in Lord Broxburn’s
tower. She stopped short, unwilling to think about the man unless absolutely necessary. She might not be able to avoid another encounter with him, but she
had absolutely no intention of being caught alone with him again.

Because her body would surely betray her. The sensations he’d aroused were not to be denied. If only Joshua had kissed her, she would have something
to compare with Broxburn’s. No, if Joshua had kissed her, she would not even be here in Scotland. She’d be safely married and ensconced as the
mistress of Long Willow Place.

But Joshua did not love her. Not yet. He’d pined for her friend, Eleanor Easton, for years. Eleanor was married now to the Duke of Beckworth –
and Joshua had had more than enough time to get over his feelings for her. Besides, how could he have loved Eleanor when she’d lived in London and
Italy for the past several years? Joshua could not possibly have nurtured a love that was so far distant from his home in Berkshire.

Lucy picked up an old, rusted knife from one of the shelves and turned it over in her hand. Then she found a leather-bound journal from a century ago, with
fragile pages detailing a hunt in 1739 – a lifetime ago! She loved old places and things; loved imagining the lives of the people who’d lived
in bygone times.

She knew she romanticized things, but she was sure that some day Joshua would realize that he loved her, and then he would not be able to stay away from
her. He would begin their courtship in earnest, bringing her flowers and pretty trinkets – the same way her sister, Jessamine’s suitors did.

She sighed just thinking about it.

Malcolm rode up to the castle to collect his things and depart for Edinburgh while Ian returned to Craigmuir Way to see how Ferguson was progressing. All
was well on that front, so he headed up the path to the castle. It was time to have that all-important talk with his father, if he had his wits about him.

Or perhaps it would be better to bypass his father on the issue of his will. He could have MacAdams write up an official reversion of the last changes and
have the duke sign and seal it. Ian could argue that his father had not been in his right mind when he’d amended his will to make Duncan a major
beneficiary. He’d most certainly been drunk.

He rode up the path past his fishing spot, and when he reached the old ghillie’s cottage, he saw that the door was open.

He dismounted, and when he went to investigate, found Lucy Stillwater standing near one of the shelves in the work area. She turned and faced him when he
entered and her brilliant smile sucked the air out of his lungs.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked, barely containing her excitement.

He took a deep breath and looked at the book she held in her hands. Bloody hades, she was stunning when she smiled at him that way. Unbidden, the thought
of her looking at him like that when he made love to her—

“Yes. I saw it once before,” he said when she held it out to him. “Years ago.”

He walked toward her, forgetting all about the talk he was about to have with his father.

“It is very precious,” she said quietly. “You should put it in your tower for safekeeping.”

“No doubt you are right,” Ian said. He’d touched her earlier and she’d fled. It was the last thing he wanted her to do now.

But he still wanted to touch her.

“This hasn’t been used as a ghillie’s cottage in years,” he said, looking around at the decaying room.

She made a subtle move away from him. “What is a ghillie? A huntsman?”

Ian nodded. “Ours lives up at the castle these days. He hardly ever comes here.”

“Yes, it seems quite neglected.” She seemed to realize he might take that as an insult and tried to remedy that. “Oh! I didn’t mean
it’s— I
do
mean it’s lovely! There are so many precious things here!”

Ian would not dispute that. He laughed. “Perhaps you can show me what other treasures you’ve found.”

Her keen interest intrigued him. He followed her as she went through the cottage pointing out objects that were of interest to her. Of greatest interest to
him was the pretty gown she wore that set off her figure to perfection. She’d twisted her hair into a simple knot at her nape, and wore a thin gold
chain around her neck, with a pendant nestled between her breasts.

“Look at this,” Lucy said, holding out an old leather boot. “Surely its mate is around here somewhere.”

Ian watched with amusement as she mounted a search for the other boot, oblivious to the thick dust and cobwebs that had overrun the place. She was intrepid
– certainly not the stiff Englishwoman he’d met at Glencory.

 She bent down to look under a broken-down cabinet when she suddenly straightened up in victory, holding the other boot. “Here it is!” she
said, smiling broadly.

Ian touched her cheek with his thumb and rubbed away a smudge of dust. When it was gone, he did not lower his hand, but cupped her cheek and dipped his
head, touching his mouth to hers. He felt her soften, so he deepened the kiss, sliding one arm around her waist to pull her close.

Her mouth parted slightly and he swept in, his tongue meeting hers. Her subtle scent of lilacs surrounded him, and she tasted a bit like sweetened tea. And
more. She tasted like desire, full and rich with the promise of paradise.

Her small gasp was the sound of pleasure as much as surprise, and he did not have to guess her mindset when she dropped the boot to the floor and slid her
hands up to his shoulders and around to his nape.

When he felt her fingers in his hair, he groaned and feasted on her, like a starving man. She seemed to melt into him even as she leaned back against the
wall behind her.

The earth shifted beneath Ian’s feet with her passionate response. He tilted his head and savored the taste and texture of her mouth, pulling her
hips tight against his own. But he could not get close enough to her.

His erection felt hard against her soft, welcoming heat, and he felt a driving urge to raise her skirts and bury himself inside her. He sensed her arousal
as deeply as his own, and knew she would fit him perfectly.

Desire was hard and hot as he slid his hands up her sides, drawing his thumbs to the lower curves of her plump breasts, breasts that had filled his hands
so beautifully the night before.

She tightened her fingers in his hair as he pressed his lips to her jaw and then her neck. Quaking with pleasure at her touch, he wanted more. He wanted
her naked, lying beneath him. He savored her essence, moving his mouth toward the edge of her bodice, shifting her until she sat down upon an old straw
mattress.

Coming down beside her, he laid her back, slipping her bodice and chemise down past her breasts. He took one erect nipple into his mouth and shuddered at
the sound of her pleasured groan. He slid one hand beneath her skirt and traced it up beyond the garters that held her stockings in place.

Her skin above the stockings was like warm silk, and further still was heaven.

Lucy’s head dropped back and her legs relaxed as he touched her most private spot and found the sensitive nub between her feminine folds. Ian’s
heart thundered in his chest as she moved to give him greater access. She was warm and moist, and when he slid his finger inside, she tightened around him.
Ian looked into her eyes before taking her mouth again, and her gaze was as intimate as his touch. Their bond was soul deep.