Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (8 page)

“I am glad my father has allowed us to choose,” she said. “I would not care to be given in marriage to a husband I did not know. Or
love.”

“Is that why you are unwed?” he asked. “You have not fallen in love with anyone?”

She blushed. “No. There is someone in Berkshire, which is why I am anxious to return home.”

“Then why—”

She coughed, though perhaps it was more of a choke. Perhaps regretting such a personal disclosure. “I think I will take my walk now.” She
started for the door that led to the wall and the open stone staircase.

He studied her for a moment. He wondered about her “someone,” and why she’d have traveled so far from home if he were waiting for her.
Perhaps he was not waiting.

“Come this way, Miss Stillwater. The gatehouse stairs are much safer. They are enclosed.”

He led her through the interior of the gatehouse, intending to go all the way down to the ground. But she stopped several times to ask him questions about
the building and who had lived in the rooms above. At ground level, she was enthralled by the double portcullis and the murder holes. Ian found her as
knowledgeable about Craigmuir Castle as she’d been about the Viking room at Glencory.

Once they reached the outer gate, Lucy turned to him and made a quick bow. “Thank you for the tour, my lord. I’ll just go on now…”

He watched as she walked down the drive, deciding there wasn’t any trouble she could get into. She would soon come upon Craigmuir Way, the hamlet at
the end of the path, and the people there were nothing if not hospitable.

Ian had business in the hamlet and would have offered to accompany her, but he was sure she’d have refused. It was plainly obvious she was
uninterested in his company.

The day had turned warm, and Lucy intended to enjoy a quiet walk in the countryside – something she had not been able to do since leaving Berkshire.
At home, she could follow footpaths that led to the homes of friends and neighbors. One path took her to Long Willow Place — Joshua’s home
– but she could hardly turn up at his manor every day. Her visits were rare, and were always in the company of her youngest sister, Emily.

Here, it was all uncharted territory, in every way. She’d never had dealings with a marquess before, or slept in a duke’s castle. And ghosts!
She wondered if they ever manifested themselves, or if their presence was merely legend. She’d been so sure she’d sensed something otherworldly
in the gatehouse. Could she have been mistaken? Or had Broxburn taken advantage of her curious nature and teased her with the tale of star-crossed lovers,
tragically killed.

She would not put it past him. He was possibly the most maddening man on earth, and she told herself the turmoil rippling through her was purely a reaction
to his boorishness. How dare he goad her into mentioning Joshua? Not that she’d actually said Joshua’s name, but she had no intention of
speaking of him with Lord Broxburn or anyone else. Not until she and Joshua were safely betrothed.

It had been with obvious sarcasm that he’d mentioned her
falling in love
. As though he could not possibly believe in the notion of it
– even when his own ancestress had died for it.

Lucy decided to be generous and forgive him for being contrary. With a drunken father like the Duke of Craigmuir, anyone would be sorely tested. She
wondered if the older man had always been that way. She remembered Arden mentioning she did not like the duchess, but Lucy did not know why. And with
Arden, it could be for any reason at all, though if the woman was anything like her husband…

Lucy walked on, determined not to think about Broxburn or his family any more. Banishing him from her thoughts would surely dispel the unsettling feelings
he provoked whenever he was near.

She noticed a dirt path off the main road and headed that way. Before long, she came upon a stone cottage whose sides were overgrown with vines and weeds.
It looked to be nearly as old as the castle, with narrow windows and panes of filmy glass in their frames. Judging by the overgrowth, no one lived there.

She walked on, listening to the creaking of the impossibly tall trees that lined the path, and the buzzing of insects as they lit upon the wildflowers in
the grasses all around her. The sun was shining, and Lucy found herself forgetting she was far from Berkshire. This bit of Scotland was not so very
different from her home.

She heard water running in the distance, and saw a lightly trodden path in the grass. She followed it, eventually arriving at a narrow river. Trees grew
close to its rocky bank, with a few dead trunks tipped horizontally across the water.

It reminded her of the pond where she and her siblings had learned to swim. There were willows all around it, and some had fallen in. She and her sisters
used to walk out on one of the trees whose broad trunk hovered above the water. They would remove their shoes and stockings, sit down and dip their feet in
the pond. Or even stand and jump in.

Lucy looked around. The place was deserted and certainly out-of-the-way. No one was likely to come here. She could soak her feet in the stream and no one
would ever know. She took off her gloves, removed her hat and hung it on a short branch, then sat down on the fallen tree trunk and removed her shoes and
stockings, stowing them neatly beside a rounded boulder on the river bank. The tree trunk was broad and easy to walk on, so she went far enough along to
sit down and put her feet in the water.

She pulled her skirts up around her knees and sat, letting her feet dangle in the cool water below.

It was heaven.

She saw a few fat brown trout swimming in the stream and knew her father would have loved this spot. He was an avid fisherman, frequently reminding his
wife and children that his catch was not merely an exercise in providing food for their table. Baron Stillwater enjoyed it, and said it relaxed him.

Lucy had always understood that. She experienced peace in the setting, too, and wished her sisters could be there to enjoy it with her.

All at once, a wave of homesickness overtook her. She worried about Meg, her eldest sister, who’d been staying in the Lake District with a dear
family friend, the elderly Lady Wakefield. But Meg had come home suddenly, without explanation a few months ago. She denied that anything untoward had
happened, but Lucy could see that something important troubled her sister. She might have been able to find out what it was if she’d been allowed to
stay at home.

Her brothers, Samuel and Calvin, had been abroad for several years, but each had begun his journey home upon news of their mother’s illness. Lucy
sighed when she realized Calvin was probably home from America by now, and Samuel would arrive from India soon. She felt more than a twinge of
disappointment, realizing how likely it was that she would miss their visit.

And Caroline would have her baby without Lucy being present to help. Lucy hoped Meg would go to Richmond to assist their sister, since their mother was
still not strong enough to travel, much less help to care for a newborn. Jessamine was in the midst of courting season, and Emily was only thirteen –
too young, and a bit too wild, to be of much help to anyone.

Lucy did not know how she would bear being away another four months.

She tucked her skirts around her knees and let the cool current rush over her feet. Her spot on the fallen log was dappled with warm sunlight, so the cool
water felt refreshing. She closed her eyes and swung her feet back and forth, and did not hear the quiet footsteps moving through the grass toward her.

Ian stopped just before he got to the clearing, to the best fishing spot near the castle. He willed his horse to be silent as he gawked at Lucy Stillwater
– or rather, at her bare legs. At her slender feet gliding through the water. At her posture of pleasurable abandon. She was unaware of his presence,
obviously. And as soon as she became aware that he was there, she would likely squeal and throw down her skirts that would become soaked in the process.

She might even fall.

He backed his horse away from the river until they were out of sight. Then he started whistling loudly, crashing through the grass, returning to the spot
he’d claimed as his own when he was a child, years ago. When he returned, Lucy was standing, her skirts in place, and she was walking across the log
to the riverbank.

She glanced at him with annoyance.

“I see you found my favorite fishing pool,” he said. He took his fishing gear from his pack, put up his horse’s reins and let him wander.
He wouldn’t go far.

“This is your—? Yes, it is rather perfect,” she said, looking back at the water, “isn’t it?”

“Aye.”

She jumped down from the log into the sand before he had a chance to offer his hand. Ian appreciated that she did not become distraught at his arrival, but
calmly retrieved her shoes, sat down, and brushed off her feet. “If you would not mind turning around, my lord?”

Ian did so, suppressing a small smile. She was nothing like the other young Englishwomen he’d met, and certainly not the stiff, unyielding woman
he’d seen getting out of her uncle’s carriage at Glencory Castle. She was anything but unyielding.

She’d actually sighed and curled into him when he’d carried her to her bed the night before. She’d fit him perfectly.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “I thought you would walk down to the village.”

“There is a village?”

“Well, more of a wee hamlet than a village. We call it Craigmuir Way,” he replied. “’Tis where the Craigmuir tiles and bricks are
made.”

“Do you mean we could have—”

“If you’re thinking you might have taken shelter there during the storm, you’d be wrong.”

“Why would I be wrong?”

“It’s quite small, and too far off the road for your driver to have found it.” He turned to face her and saw her fastening up her half
boots. “Besides, the castle was closer.”

It was incredibly intimate, even with his back to her, while she innocently pulled on her stockings and tied them above her knees. It was painfully
arousing, too, especially after seeing the pale, delicate limbs she was now covering.

“I did not take you for a fisherman, my lord,” she said.

“What
did
you take me for?”

She paused long enough for him to wonder whether she would be honest. “A horseman.”

He suppressed a smile at her disdainful tone. “Ah. A horseman. I take it you are not fond of—”

“Ugh. They are a necessary evil.”

If he was not mistaken, she actually shuddered. For some reason, he could not help but enjoy her discomfiture. Her little scowl was adorable.
“Horsemen?” he asked. “Or horses?”

“I have no interest in the animals, and have little patience for the men who race them.”

“What is so bad about horses, Sassenach?”

“Naught, my lord, since they must be used to deliver one from here to there. Otherwise, I have no use for them.”

“Well, that is a pity. I would have enjoyed showing you my stable.” He stifled a grin, enjoying her scorn immensely. He had a minimal stable,
but she did not have to know that. Not when she pulled such a delightful face.

“No doubt you would,” she said, taking her hat from a branch of the tree and placing it on her head. She tied the bow beneath her chin, then
pulled on her gloves. She stared at him a moment. “Will your fath—”

“Besides horses, I have a way with the fish. Don’t you want to stay and witness a master fisherman at work?”

She gave him a sour look and started walking toward the path, waving her hand behind her dismissively.

“Your loss, then,” he said. “But you will enjoy the results of my efforts come suppertime.”

Had he teased her in order to avoid questions about his father? God knew he did not have any answers. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to keep
all liquor away from the duke. There were so many servants in the castle, and a few who were bound to be loyal to him and might well provide him a bottle,
not understanding the consequences.

Ian hoped he could put off that day, but even if he managed it, Dr. Henderson’s prediction was dire.

He could not help but wonder if his father had divulged Ian’s true parentage to anyone else. The highly unlikely tale would be difficult to believe,
unless his father or the duchess swore to the circumstances of his birth. He had never heard of such a situation, and did not know what the legalities
would be. Could he be declared illegitimate at this late date? He did not dare consult with a lawyer, for fear that the truth would somehow get out.

Even if there were no legal ramifications, Ian assumed his credibility would suffer greatly. As would that of his children, if he ever had any.

One thing was certain. Ian needed to have a talk with his father when he was fully sober in order to sort out truth from falsehood. He needed to know
exactly how many people knew about his true mother, and whether or not Duncan was his half brother.

It was bound to be a difficult conversation.

He tied one of his neatly crafted flies onto his line and cast it into the stream, counting on the next hour to soothe his battered soul.

Lucy put aside the image of Lord Broxburn without a coat, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. How was it possible that she had never noticed a
man’s forearms before? Broxburn’s were thicker and a great deal more muscular than hers, and obviously quite strong.

She might have stayed and watched him fish, but his presence perturbed her. And not in the annoying way he had done at Glencory, but something altogether
different. Something wholly inappropriate.

Slipping away from the river and her unseemly thoughts, she followed the narrow path through the deep wood, assuming it led to the hamlet Broxburn spoke
of. It did not seem to be well used, but she was able to pick her way through the trees without difficulty. It was farther than she thought it would be,
and she saw no sign of human habitation until she noticed a stone grotto, just off the path in a thicket of shrubs and trees. It looked like an ancient
cave that might have been used for shelter or storage. Perhaps it was a small chapel. She started for it, but suddenly stopped short at the high-pitched
sound of a woman’s squeal.