Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (22 page)

The candle flickered and Ian wondered where the draft had come from. Then he saw it – a filmy blue light that took on the shape of a woman. Ian
stood, and took a step back. He didn’t know quite what to do. Then she opened her arms in a welcoming gesture and bowed slightly.

Ian hesitated, then returned the courtesy, continuing to watch as the ghost – Béatrice, presumably – turned to his father. Her image
seemed to ebb and flow with light and darkness, though Ian could see clearly the details of her face and form. She wore a thin coronet like the one
he’d seen in the treasure box. Around her neck appeared to be a chain with a pendant hanging from it, and there was a jeweled ring on her finger.

She moved toward his father, hovering over him as she placed a filmy hand above his forehead. She looked up at Ian with a mournful expression, and as
sadness seemed to overtake her, another hazy figure joined her, becoming more visible every second.

Ian’s breath caught. The second spirit was a mirror image of the duke. Ian studied the man’s face in all its weird transparency. It was obvious
that he was the duke’s father – or rather, his many times great-grandfather. It could not be otherwise. He wore chain mail, but his head was
uncovered, making his face quite visible. The likeness was uncanny, down to the deep crease in Sir Alex’s left cheek, exactly like the one in
Craigmuir’s. In Ian’s.

Ian approached the bed, and the spirits’ figures began to glow. Béatrice gave a nod and their light dimmed, fading as though they’d never
existed. Ian rubbed his eyes. Perhaps they hadn’t. Perhaps he’d imagined it.

But he knew he hadn’t. He’d just seen his medieval ancestors. Lucy Stillwater had seen at least one of them, and so had Ferguson. Ian now knew
without a doubt that he was not the only one descended from an illegitimate line. So was his father, and most of his grandfathers before him.

Illegitimate or not, the Craigmuir dukes had been excellent stewards of the land, and each generation – up until this one – had done well by
its tenants. Ian could now do the same. It did not matter that he was a bastard, and he could stop fretting over it. No one but his father knew it, and no
one else would learn of it. His parentage was irrelevant.

Ian did not know how long he sat pondering what he’d just seen before he heard a rasping voice. “Water.”

Ian quickly went to Crenshaw’s door and tapped. He returned to his father’s bedside and poured some water into a glass. Then he heard it again.

“Water,” his father said.

Crenshaw came into the bedroom and came to Ian’s assistance, raising the duke up to drink.

Lucy had been at Kildrum House in St. Andrew’s Square for twelve days and had received no messages from her family. Not a letter or even a short
note. She knew her uncle had sent a missive to her father before leaving Craigmuir Castle to inform him of their move to Edinburgh, and it seemed strange
that there’d been no response.

Her aunt was still in bed most of the time, although Sinclair did help her get up and walk with her about the mansion once or twice every day. And her
personal physician said her condition was improving. Which was all good news. But she really wanted news from Berkshire. If only—

“Lucy, my dear, I fear we are boring you to death here,” Uncle Archie said. “We must get you out and about – meeting other young
people such as yourself. Your aunt tells me I am being remiss in my duty.”

“Oh, no, Uncle,” Lucy replied. “I am content.” Though she was not. She had embroidered until her fingertips were raw and her vision
blurred. Her muscles ached to do more than just sit in the drawing room knitting or sewing, or even reading.

She’d had no idea she would miss Craigmuir Castle so much. And its lord.

But she would not think about him. She only felt miserable and confused when she thought of that kiss in the library before she left the castle. While
she’d been responding to him in the most primal way possible, he’d merely been thanking her for finding the hidden treasure.

Well, he ought to have thanked Béatrice. That was another thing she did not understand. Why had Béatrice appeared to her and not Broxburn, who
was the obvious choice, being her own descendant and heir to the dukedom?

“We shall attend Lady Elliott’s soiree tonight,” Archie said. “You and I.”

“Oh, but—”

“Do not worry, my dear. ’Tis no trouble at all. I look forward to it and I am sure you will enjoy meeting some young people, too. After all,
your aunt and I promised your father we would introduce you to some promising young bachelors.”

Lucy sighed. Of course she would like to get out, but she would have preferred to take a long, brisk walk on the paths outside Craigmuir Castle. Or, no
– she meant she would like to walk the paths near her home in Berkshire. She knew every field, every track and every turnstile near her home, as well
as all the neighbors. Of course that was where she would prefer to walk.

Though she had to admit she’d felt very much at home walking the paths and visiting the ancient places at Craigmuir. She’d never seen a grotto
or a cottage like the one near the castle. Lucy just knew it was filled with treasures she hadn’t even seen. And the gatehouse. If she hadn’t
been so distracted…

A small shiver slid up her spine when she thought of the distractions Lord Broxburn had caused. Every kiss, every caress had been more powerful than the
last, and Lucy had spent the last twelve days thinking about each one.

She had to stop. When her time here was up, she would return to Berkshire and her family, and forget about Lord Broxburn and his haunted castle. There were
no young men in Edinburgh that would interest her, no matter how “promising” they were.

She dressed for the evening, and had to admit it felt wonderful to be bathed and pampered by Sinclair, who helped her dress in her sister Caroline’s
beautiful sapphire gown with cream lace trim on the bodice and collar. Sinclair said the color set off her eyes perfectly. Lucy hoped so. She might not
enjoy having to spend these months away from home, but she wanted her uncle to be proud of her.

She liked the idea of telling Joshua all about her travels when she returned to Berkshire. She was going to make herself the most interesting young lady
he’d ever met. So interesting he would not be able to think of anyone but her. Not Miss Jane Parker, and not Eleanor. No one else.

They went to Lady Elliott’s house, a beautiful mansion in the Royal Crescent. Lucy had been worried that Edinburgh would be as overwhelming as London
had been, but she found it was not so. The city was smaller, of course, and the people seemed much friendlier than those she’d met during the two
London Seasons she’d managed to suffer through.

Lord and Lady Elliott’s daughter, Lady Claire, welcomed her warmly to their home and introduced her to several other young ladies who’d come to
the soiree with their parents. She also met quite a few young men – bachelors, she assumed. Some were handsome, some were funny. A few were both
handsome and amusing.

None of them reminded her of Broxburn. None had the rough edge of danger about him nor did they make her want to run her fingers through…Dear
heavens, what was she thinking? She had known for most of her life that Joshua was the only one for her. Not some well-polished Scotsman. And certainly not
a rugged laird from East Lothian.

“I think we should plan an outing for this week,” Claire said to the small group Lucy had joined. “We could go up to the castle and
picnic there.”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Alice Weatherby said merrily. “The weather has been so fine. You have not been up there yet, have you, Miss
Stillwater?”

“Not yet.” Lucy shook her head. “Although my uncle promised to take me.”

“Lord Kildrum shall escort us, then,” Lady Flora said with a laugh. “He is always such a good sport.”

Of course he was. He’d been married and devoted to Arden for more than forty years. Lucy was sure it could not have been easy, but Archie had kept
his good humor in spite of his wife.

“I hope you will include us in your outing,” one of the young men said, including his companion in his request.

“I will ask my uncle and we will set a day for it,” Lucy said, her spirits feeling lighter than any time since leaving home. Though the young
ladies were no substitutes for her sisters, Lucy felt they could become friends, and the months between now and Christmas did not seem quite so daunting.

Claire moved Lucy away from the others. “You were at Craigmuir Castle for a few days, were you not?”

“Yes, right after our accident.”

“Well, Lady Kathryn Hay called yesterday…She said Broxburn was there. At the castle.”

Lucy nodded.

“I don’t believe Kathryn is…She did not seem to favor Broxburn,” Claire said. “Did she?”

“No, I suppose not,” Lucy said. She recalled Kathryn’s disinterest in the marquess and the way she’d used Lucy to distance herself
from him. Either she didn’t like him, or she was not yet ready to marry. Perhaps she was enamored of another.

“Oh, how I wish I could have been the one stranded at Craigmuir with Lord Broxburn. Oh, I nearly swooned when I met him last spring.”

Lucy’s face heated uncomfortably. No doubt Broxburn had been attracted to her, too. For Lady Claire was quite pretty if one liked spritely blondes
with small turned-up noses and thick, burnished lashes over sparkling green eyes.

“He was here in Edinburgh, then?” Lucy finally said when she realized a response was expected.

“Oh, yes,” Claire responded. “He has a house in Queen Street, though I believe he has not spent much time there of late.”

She seemed rather disappointed in Broxburn’s absence, which caused Lucy to bristle, even though she knew it was ridiculous. There was no good reason
to feel rankled by Claire’s interest in her countryman.

Just as she resolved to think no more of the marquess, she caught sight of a tall, dark-haired man talking with her uncle. His back was toward her, but her
breath caught in her throat and her pulse began to race as she recognized him.

In a flash of thought, she imagined his hands pulling her close and his mouth coming down on hers. Her body flared with arousal as the memory of his scent
surrounded her, his hands on her shoulders, her breasts…He turned around so she could see his face, and—

It was Duncan Munro, Broxburn’s cousin.

“Kathryn said the duke is quite ill,” Claire said. “Did you see him? The duke?”

“I beg your pardon? I’m sorry, I was distracted…” To say the least.

“Broxburn’s father. Kathryn said he was quite ill.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucy managed to reply, turning away from Munro and her uncle. “I only saw him once.” She should not have said that. Now
there would be questions.

Luckily, Lady Alice Weatherby joined them at that moment, interrupting Lucy’s conversation with Claire. “I’m trying to escape Lord
Erskine. Talk to me while we walk toward Lady Carsie. She will rescue me.”

Lucy had a vague recollection of Erskine from Glencory. He had not impressed her, and if she remembered correctly, her aunt had told her to steer clear of
him as he was a brazen fortune-hunter. She wanted to stay away from Duncan Munro, too. With his abrupt departure from Craigmuir Castle, she had a feeling
something was not right.

A few moments later, Lucy’s uncle came to take her home. “I do believe it is time to go,” Archie said. “Are you ready, Lucy?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Lucy replied. “But I promised the other ladies we would have a picnic up at the castle one day this week. Will you take
us?”

“Of course,” he said in his good-natured way. They settled on the day after tomorrow, and then Archie took her outside and handed her up the
steps to his carriage.

Once inside, his demeanor changed. He became quite serious. “Lucy, my dear, I think you should avoid Duncan Munro. I do not like that fellow, though
I cannot quite put my finger on what bothers me about him.”

Lucy nodded. “I will, Uncle.”

The next day, Arden felt well enough to take a short stroll around the garden with Lucy. Later, two of Lucy’s new friends paid a visit, and made
plans for their trip to the city’s most famous landmark the following day.

That afternoon, Lucy spent an hour penning letters to her family. It still bothered her that she had not received any news from them. She could not imagine
why they had not yet written to her, especially in light of the accident.

There was a tap at her door.

“Come in.”

It was Sinclair, Arden’s maid, and she was smiling. “Miss Stillwater, your uncle wants you.”

“What is it?”

“There is company, Miss.”

She went downstairs to the sound of voices and discovered her sister, Meg, and her brother, Calvin! It seemed they had both just entered the house.

Turning from their uncle, the two of them embraced Lucy at once, and she found herself shedding tears of joy. She had not seen Calvin in four years!

“Let me look at you!” she cried, pulling away. He’d grown to be a man during his four years in America. Lucy had been only eighteen when
he left, to his twenty-three. Now he was tall and broad in the shoulders, narrow-hipped, and as handsome as he could be.

She hugged him again, then sucked in a breath when she realized her brother and sister had not arrived alone. Joshua Parris stood near the door with his
hat in his hands. “I hope you do not mind my intrusion, Lu— Miss Stillwater.”

“Oh, no! Of course not!” She extended her hand and he took it, bowing gracefully over it.

She could not imagine anything better. Her long absent brother and beloved sister had arrived with the man Lucy had spent most of her life admiring, the
man she fully intended to marry.

“Well, come in, come in!” Archie said, laughing. “We always have rooms ready for guests, and you must know your aunt will be happy to see
you.”

Ian did not know if Béatrice and Gordon had anything to do with his father’s recovery. But what had seemed impossible only a week ago was
happening now. Crenshaw and a footman were helping the duke into a chair next to his bed.