Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (21 page)

“There are the two Kildrum footmen, and I had planned to send Lockerbie and Chisholm with them.”

“Very good.” Perhaps once they were gone, Ian could focus his attention on the subjects that mattered.

“My lord—”

“Is Lady Kildrum really up to the journey?” Ian asked, putting aside his disappointment. Lucy was leaving.

“I suppose so, but just barely. Her fever is gone, but Mrs. MacRae says she is still weak.”

“Is it wise, then, for them to go?” Ian asked, in spite of himself.

Lockhart shrugged. “Lord Kildrum has decided. He believes the countess will recover better in her own home.”

Ian rubbed the ache behind his brow.

“By the way,” Lockhart added, “Miss Stillwater asked for you this morning.”

A wave of lusty need flashed through Ian, but he took a deep breath and tamped it down. “Where is she?”

“I shall find her for you, sir.”

Ian entered the great hall, aware of every one of Lockhart’s steps up the staircase. He tried to turn his thoughts to the meeting he’d had with
Guthrie, purposely concentrating on something other than his next encounter with Lucy.

He heard her approach and turned to watch her. She was absolutely lovely in a dark blue traveling gown. Even from a distance, he knew it matched her eyes
perfectly. She walked directly to him, her step never wavering. “My lord, something happened while you were away.”

He frowned in puzzlement. “No. I am sure Lockhart would have told—”

“He does not know,” she said. “No one does.”

“What, then?” He was distracted by the soft curls of raven hair that dipped in front of her ears and the plump shape of her lips that—

“The ghost.”

“Miss Stillw—”

“I know it sounds mad, but the ghost – Béatrice – led me to the library last night and showed me something.”

“You have an overactive imagination, little Sassenach. In all my life, I’ve never actually seen Béatrice or Gordon.” Which was not
entirely true. He’d seen
something
a time or two – a wisp of smoke, a hint of a presence. But naught had come of it, either time.

“I will show you.” She took his hand, seemingly unaware of the intimacy of holding his bare hand with hers. She drew him down the passageway to
the library.

“She floated just in front of me, leading me right where she wanted me to see.”

“See what? And why would she lead you and not me?”

Lucy stopped. “I do not know. Perhaps I was more…receptive than you?”

Ian had no doubt that was true. He had always had more to worry about than whether or not there were ghosts in the castle.

He opened the library door. “Go on.”

She went in first. The ladder was in front of the shelves on the far end of the room, changed from where he’d last seen it.

“She had me climb up.”

“You moved the ladder here?”

Lucy blushed. “Well, yes. At Béatrice’s urging.”

“And so you climbed it?”

“Yes. And you should do so now,” she replied.

Her expression was so earnest, so intense, that he did so, looking back at her only once as he climbed the rungs. “What did she want you to
see?”

“You are almost there, my lord.”

When he could climb no more before touching his head to the ceiling, Lucy told him to stop. “Now, hand me those three books.”

“Which ones?”

She climbed up behind him and reached up to point to the books she meant. His mouth went dry when he felt her warm breath on the backs of his legs.
“Give them to me.”

He handed her the first two and she stepped down to the floor to place them on the desk. Again, she climbed back up and he gave her the last one, an
oversized tome that he feared would overbalance her before she reached the floor.

“Now, do you see the handle in the wall at the back of the shelf?” she asked.

He had to bend down somewhat to reach his hand into the space where the books had been. He found a metal latch and pulled it. A door opened.

“Do you see it? Pull the handle.”

“There’s something inside,” he said, way ahead of her. “A box.”

“That’s what Béatrice wanted to show me,” she stated. “You should bring it down to the desk.”

Ian pulled out the box, and in the light he could see that it was a rough-hewn metal box with a cracked hinge. It was heavy. He carried it down to the
desk. “Did you open it?”

She nodded. “But I didn’t take anything. It’s all part of Craigmuir Castle. Your heritage.”

He believed her. She had a reverence for his home and all its contents. The last thing she would do was to remove any part of it, whatever it was.

He opened the lid and found himself sitting down hard on the chair behind the desk.

“There is more, my lord. Look.”

She pushed back the piles of gold coins so that he could see the thin velvet pouch beneath. “Look inside.”

The material was fragile, so he carefully opened the flap and slid the contents out onto the desk.

“I think perhaps if you search the other shelves, you might find more,” she said.

Lucy was taken completely by surprise when Broxburn stood abruptly and took her face in his hands. He kissed her, his mouth opening over hers, and Lucy
found herself responding, body and soul. She arched into him, slipping her hands up to his shoulders and trembling with pleasure when he pulled her body up
against his.

His tongue swept into her mouth, and his hands pressed her hips against his. The hard ridge of his desire was evident, and exciting. Pleasure shot straight
to her womb and she kissed him back, deeply. He was everything she—

He suddenly broke the kiss and stepped back, though he held onto her shoulders. “You have no idea what this means!”

“No, I…”

“I cannot thank you enough, Lucy. We have been facing disaster. The finances at Craigmuir have been quite…” He shook his head as though to
clear it. Or perhaps because he could not believe what she’d discovered.

Lucy swallowed her confusion. Had their kiss merely been one of gratitude? Her experience was too limited to understand him.

As he returned to the cache of gold and the pouch of jewels, Lucy felt a thickening in her throat. Her eyes started to burn, and tears welled.

“I will b-bid you farewell, my lord,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

She left the room – fled it, really – unwilling to shed any ridiculous tears over that kiss and what it meant. Or did not mean. She’d
never wanted a Scotsman, and knew she would despise living in Scotland, so far from her family.

Quickly returning to the great hall, she met her uncle near the door. “Come, come, Lucy. Your aunt is in the carriage, waiting.”

Lucy went out to the carriage with him and climbed in.

Lucy walked through the door just as Mrs. MacRae came to it. “My lord, Crenshaw says to come quickly!”

The Stillwater carriage was not yet though the gatehouse. Ian had taken a minute to put the treasure back in its hiding place, and when he went out to the
great hall, Lucy was already gone.

He was still in shock over what she’d shown him. It was a veritable fortune in gold and jewels, and he’d never even known it existed.

He looked back at the frantic housekeeper who’d brought the message from his father’s valet.

“My lord! ’Tis the duke!” she said urgently.

Ian took a last look at the back of Lucy’s departing carriage, then hastened up the staircase to his father’s room.

“He’s had a seizure, my lord,” Crenshaw said. “Now he’s unconscious.”

“Send for Henderson,” Ian told Mrs. MacRae.

“I already took the liberty, sir,” Crenshaw said.

Ian nodded and sat down next to the bed. The duke was breathing, but shallowly. Was this the end? Would Craigmuir breathe his last on this fair summer
afternoon, just as the estate became prosperous again?

It was hard to fathom. Ian took his father’s hand and thought about what it had been like all these years to live a lie. The duchess must have
despised him for making her live the lie, too, and possibly for the situation – whatever it was – between her husband and Ian’s mother.
Did any of it matter to Ian?

He thought about it and decided it did not. He was his own man, regardless of his father’s actions. He was no monk, but he was judicious in taking a
bedmate and made a point of siring no bastards. When he wed, he would never force his wife to perpetuate a falsehood of this magnitude. He would never need
to.

Gazing at his father’s inert form, Ian relaxed to some degree, knowing he had at least one less worry now. The estate was solvent. With the treasure
Lucy had found, the Craigmuir dukedom was in good stead. Perhaps he should send MacAdams to Edinburgh with Lucy’s discovery to determine the best way
to dispose of the treasure. Surely there were honest bankers or auctioneers who would be able to find buyers for the gold pieces and the jewels.

He could hardly believe his financial worries were over.

“My lord.”

Ian looked up at Crenshaw, who was staring intently at the duke. Craigmuir wasn’t breathing.

Ian held his own breath.
This was it, then
. The moment Ian had dreaded, but had suspected would come soon. He went numb for a moment, anticipating
the worst, but suddenly Craigmuir took a deep breath and groaned. His breathing resumed a normal, though shallow, rhythm again.

As the hours passed, it became difficult to watch his sire’s decline. When he could stand it no longer, Ian left his father under Crenshaw’s
watchful eyes, only to end up pacing the floor outside the duke’s bedchamber. He took only a few short breaks to sleep and eat the food Mrs. MacRae
forced upon him.

He thought about Lucy, of course, and wondered how quickly the fortune hunters Malcolm had predicted would find her. His stomach turned at the possibility
that Duncan would use his connection with Ian to get close to her. His cousin was a snake, and no woman should be subject to his chicanery.

At least the damned buzzard was not his brother. Bad enough they were related at all.

Bad enough that Duncan was likely in Edinburgh. Ian should have warned Lucy about him, and he would, as soon as he could leave Craigmuir Castle. He
realized now what a mistake it had been to let Lucy leave without speaking to her, without…Without declaring his intentions.

God knew he wanted her. Perhaps if he courted her properly, he could win her from Joshua Parris.

He’d always believed he would marry for practical reasons, but Lucy Stillwater was anything but practical. She own his soul.

Ferguson returned from Selkirk with his father’s corrected will, and Ian told him of the treasure he’d discovered in the library.

Ferguson scratched his head. “You say Miss Stillwater found it?”

Ian thought about what to tell Ferguson and decided the truth would be best, as strange as it seemed. He explained the sequence of events.

“I’ve seen it,” Ferguson said.

“What? The ghost?”

The man nodded. “Aye. I think so.”

“I suppose I have, too,” Ian said with a sigh, “though never as clearly as Miss Stillwater.”

“It’s never more than a hint of light – sort of a bluish haze – hovering about the corners.”

Ian nodded. That’s exactly what he’d seen, too.

“Well, this is good news, in any event,” Ferguson said as they headed down to the library. “We have some breathing space now.”

“That we do.”

Ferguson whistled under his breath when Ian showed him the treasure. “MacAdams will know what to do with this,” he said. “We’ll
need to turn it into ready cash.”

“Aye.”

“My lord, you should consider saving some of the jewelry,” Ferguson said. “They are family heirlooms.”

“Quite right, Ferguson.” The thought had occurred to Ian as soon as he’d seen it. And there were a few things Lucy certainly would like
to have if he could change her mind about Parris.

He left Ferguson in the library. Returning to his father’s chamber, he found Dr. Henderson already there, examining the duke. When he was finished,
he turned to Ian. “Let us go out and talk, my lord.”

They stood together outside the duke’s chamber, and Ian spoke first. “What do you think, Henderson?”

“Of course you know your father’s condition is grim,” Henderson said. “The longer he remains unconscious, the worse his chances of
survival.”

Ian knew that was true. His father had swallowed only a few drops of water in two days. One did not need to be a medical man to know that was a dire
situation. “He hasn’t much time, then.”

“No.”

“Do you think he is in any pain?”

Henderson shook his head. “It is doubtful.”

There was little else to say, so Henderson left the castle, and Ian returned to his father’s bedroom. He and Crenshaw took turns with Nial, keeping a
vigil at the duke’s bedside, giving him sips of water when he was even slightly conscious.

Lucy had been gone for days while Ian’s father managed to cling to life, giving him hope that the duke might survive this. As much as he would have
liked to follow her to Edinburgh, Ian knew his duty. His father had done more for him than any other man might do. He owed it to the duke to see him
through this.

Ian liked to spend the nights in his father’s room, in the quiet hours when everyone else was abed. It was late one night when he went in to relieve
the duke’s valet. “Go and get some rest, Crenshaw,” he said. “I will tap on your door if I need you.”

Crenshaw left and Ian took his seat next to the bed. Only one candle was burning, but it was enough. He wasn’t watching as much as listening –
to every one of his father’s breaths.

Ian’s thoughts drifted to Lucy, as they always did when he wasn’t actively pondering something else. She’d been gone long enough for any
number of suitors to have made themselves known to her.

Frustration gnawed at the edges of his being, but he knew he had to remain patient.

He tried to imagine any reason why Lucy’s beau in Berkshire would allow her to leave for months. Unless he had not declared his intentions. Ian had
let her go, too. Perhaps the Berkshire man also had matters to deal with that were beyond his control.