Awakening His Highland Soul (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Read online

  Still, I never lied to Beatrice.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this Lady Margery?” Beatrice asked him. Her luminous smile was only a distant memory now. Her tone was frigid. Jeames realized that he had hurt her in some way.

  But why? Admittedly, she captured me, but she didnae feel the same, did she? There was that moment whilst we were eatin’ lunch, but surely that was just the moment. She does nae feel anythin’ more than friendship towards me, does she?

  “I… It just never seemed right tae broach the matter,” he said, somewhat lamely.

  Beatrice snorted derisively and gave him a scornful look.

  “You didn’t think that it might be important? Never thought that I might need to know such a thing?” she said, taking a step forward and balling her hands into fists.

  Jeames felt his own temper bubbling to the surface.

  Have I nae done enough fer the lass, bringin’ her back tae the castle so as our physician could tend tae her?

  “I didnae realize that ye expected me tae divulge all the details of me private life tae ye,” he snapped, his usual good humor evaporating, as outside the rain continued to pound on the roof. “It’s nae like I ever really get anythin’ out of ye.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I barely ken a thing about ye. I ken ye’ve lived basically yer whole life in Ballantine’s Circus, but how ye came tae be there, I’ve nay clue.”

  “What does my past have to do with your future?” Beatrice flung at him, taking another step towards him.

  “Well, when ye put it like that, probably nae much!” Jeames fired back.

  They stood, a few feet apart, glaring at one another. Both were breathing heavily. Jeames was trying to ignore the pink patches that had risen on Beatrice’s cheeks, how beautiful she looked with her chest heaving and her eyes sparkling.

  “You should have told me before…” Beatrice started.

  “Before what?” he snapped.

  “Before I… Before I started to…”

  “Tae what, lass? Spit it out and have done with it!”

  The fire leapt in Beatrice’s eyes. “Before I started to… Before I began to…enjoy…whatever this is so much,” she said, taking a final stride and poking him hard in the chest. “Before I began to forgive you for making me fall from my horse!”

  There was an earth-shattering rumble, a peal of thunder from directly overhead, but it was Beatrice’s words that seemed to drown out everything in Jeames’s head.

  “I–well–that’s just–” he stuttered, but he was at a complete loss as to what to say.

  She enjoyed it? Whatever it is? What is it? I made her fall off her horse?

  Jeames was completely at sea. He wasn’t sure what it was that Beatrice was saying–or being careful not to say. He wasn’t sure what he should say or do. Wasn’t sure if he should say or do anything.

  Every particle of me bein’ wants tae kiss her. But should I?

  The two of them stood only a foot or so apart. Jeames was sure that he could feel a tension between them, was sure that he was not imagining it.

  Does she feel it too though?

  The equestrienne opposite him was breathing hard, staring intently into his face. It looked like she was having a rather earnest conversation with her inner self, just as he was. Her eyes flicked over his face. Jeames unintentionally mirrored them, his gaze running over her angular cheeks, her eyes under the sharp brows and her lips.

  Those lips…

  Jeames was just on the verge of throwing caution to the wind and kissing Beatrice, when the door of the shack reverberated with a powerful knocking and someone called out in a deep, bass voice, “Jeames? Jeames Abernathy, are ye in there?”

  12

  Beatrice had never been more torn in two, emotionally, than she was then. She sat on her horse, soaked to the skin–to the very marrow of her bones–but all she could think of was the fact that Jeames Abernathy was betrothed.

  How could he not tell me? I mean, surely that’s something that rears its head during the course of a conversation, does it not?

  But, in all honesty, she could not recall that it ever had. She scolded herself as to how she had never asked him whether he was promised to anyone.

  Foolishness. It doesn’t affect me one way or the other, does it? What concern is it to me if he is betrothed to a lady–to a score of ladies, even!

  She narrowed her eyes at the broad back of the Highlander riding ahead of her. His linen shirt was stuck to his powerful looking back, the fabric clinging to the well-defined muscles of his shoulders, neck, and upper arms.

  He is a fine man. Courteous. Handsome. Witty. There is no harm in knowing such a man, but nothing was ever going to come of it. Your injuries will have healed after a week or so of more rest, and then you would have been back on your way with Ballantine’s.

  She was surprised to find that this thought, the thought of moving on, rankled with her somewhere deep within.

  The man who had knocked on the door of the ramshackle shepherd’s hut had turned out to be one of the Laird’s trackers–a man who earned his bread by stalking and hunting all sorts of beasts for Laird MacKenzie. He had been sent out by the Laird when the weather had set in to make sure that Jeames and his guest had not fallen afoul of anything. He had brought a spare cloak, which Jeames had insisted Beatrice take.

  “Ye’re still injured, lass,” he’d said when she had tried to protest. “Besides, I’m already wet down tae me core. I couldnae be any wetter if I jumped into the loch. Keep me coat and wear the cloak.”

  They rode through the gate of the inner bailey and were met by a couple of grooms. These men took their horses, leading them off to the stables, whilst Jeames helped Beatrice into the castle.

  Beatrice found, now that the shock of the ride and the revelation that Jeames was arranged to be married to a Scottish lady had worn off, her ankle and wrist were paining her mightily.

  They made their way slowly up the staircases that led to the rooms that Beatrice had been assigned by Jeames’s father, stopping often. They did not speak. Beatrice could not find the words. Did not seem able, even, to decipher her own thoughts or feelings on what had transpired.

  They halted at her door.

  “Ye’ll be alright if I leave ye?” Jeames asked, his voice gruff.

  “A breakneck gallop through torrential rain with a bruised ankle and useless wrist, and now you’re asking if I’ll be alright?” Beatrice replied. She may have been able to keep the smile from her face but, try as she might, she could not keep it from her voice.

  “Aye, well,” Jeames said, grinning sheepishly. “As rash as it might’ve been, I had a grand time wi’ ye, lass.”

  Beatrice looked at the attractive Highlander standing in the corridor. She leaned against the door to her rooms, half in and half out of her chamber, and regarded him.

  “I had a nice time, too,” she said, still straining to keep her voice indifferent. “Even through the shock of that shower, and that other thing…”

  “Beatrice, about that–” Jeames began.

  Beatrice shook her head. She was suddenly bone-weary. “It’s fine,” she said. “It was none of my business, I suppose. Though, I thought, just for a moment…”

  She looked at Jeames. His face was oddly intent, his eyes glinting in the light of the torch illuminating the passageway.

  “I think,” Beatrice said quietly, “that I’ll go to bed now. If it’s not too much bother, would you mind awfully having some food sent up? The thought of going down all those steps to get to dinner makes me lightheaded.”

  “O’ course,” Jeames said. “I’ll send the physician up tae see ye, as well. Make sure that I’ve nae made things worse.”

  “Thank you. You’re a gentleman.”

  “I’m nae sure that’s the word fer it, but I appreciate it all the same. I’ll leave ye be now.”

  Beatrice watched him vanish around the corner. She closed the door and leaned against
it.

  For a situation that should be so simple, my heart is doing a fine job of being tremendously confused.

  * * *

  Jeames called on Beatrice slightly later than he wanted the next morning. She found herself dawdling over the end of her breakfast, waiting for the handsome Highlander to appear.

  She had been furnished with another gown by the castle tailors. This gown fit her so well that Beatrice could not help but suspect that Jeames had had it specially made for her.

  She was toying absently with the heel of the small loaf that had been a part of her morning meal, when there was the knock on the door that she had been waiting for.

  Her heart glowed in her chest for a moment, like a smoldering coal under the breath of the bellows. She settled herself more attractively in the seat that she had been resting in. Then said, “Come in.”

  Jeames entered, looking rather well-dressed in a crisp, fresh shirt and spotless plaid and matching kilt.

  “Good mornin’, Beatrice,” he said. His voice still carried a hint of contrition in it, like a naughty boy that knows he’s lucky to have avoided a proper telling off.

  “Good morning, Jeames,” Beatrice said.

  For the briefest of moments, Beatrice had contemplated being aloof with him. However, as soon as he strode into the room and plonked himself unceremoniously in the chair opposite her, the impulse vanished.

  “So, Mr Abernathy, what harebrained adventure do you have in store for me this fine day?”

  “Harebrained? Ah, Miss Turner, ye wound me!” Jeames clutched a hand to his broad chest and smiled. “How dae ye feel, lass?” he asked, in a gentle voice.

  “If I am being honest, like a woman who should not have been riding around on horseback all day yesterday.”

  Jeames nodded his head. “Yer ankle and wrist are painin’ ye?”

  “They are.”

  “Well,” Jeames said. “In that case, we shall stay closeted in here today. I shall open a window, so ye can get some fresh air, and we shall spend the day gettin’ tae ken each other better. I would like tae learn more of yer life.”

  Beatrice glanced out of the window. Outside the sun was shining invitingly.

  “But, assuredly, you must have more important things to do?” she said. “The day is fine outside. You will not want to spend your time in here whilst I’m convalescing, surely?”

  Jeames waved his hand dismissively. “The weather will break,” he said. “Tis the time o’ year fer it. It’ll be bonnie fer a while, but then the clouds will roll up the valley and the rain will come pishin’ down–excuse me frank language, Miss Turner!”

  To Beatrice’s delight, the burly Highlander turned a delicate shade of pink.

  “Think nothing of it,” the equestrienne said. “As you might recall, I was raised in a circus. The language used there can be somewhat…ripe at times.”

  Jeames grinned and then got to his feet.

  “I ken what we need tae help us through this day o’ talk and rest: cider and a parlor game o’ some sort!”

  The rest of the morning passed in blur of contentment for Beatrice. She and Jeames played backgammon for hours, whilst they talked of everything that they could think off.

  “So,” said Jeames, as he moved his white checkers across the game board. “I s’pose I should ask the obvious question; how did the likes of ye come tae live and work for Ballantine’s?”

  Beatrice winced at the sound of the name. She felt a squirming of guilt run through the pit of her stomach, twisting itself into little knots.

  William. I owe much to William Ballantine.

  She had purposefully led Jeames’s questioning down a lighthearted path–what sort of animals Ballantine’s had, how ancient really was the two-hundred-year-old woman, which circus performers were married–so that she might avoid discussing her own dark past.

  “William Ballantine took me in,” she said, fixing Jeames with her hazel eyes. “He took me in after something horrible happened to me.”

  “I’m sorry tae hear that, lass,” Jeames replied, holding her eye.

  It was such a simple, everyday remark, but Beatrice could tell that Jeames really was sorry. The knowledge that he actually cared about what had happened to her, despite having only known her for a few short days, made a lump form in her throat.

  Across from her, Jeames took a sip from his mug of cider and made a sign that Beatrice interpreted to mean that she could continue if she liked. If she continued, the gesture said he would listen. If she decided that she did not want to, then they could sit in silence. Both were agreeable to him.

  Beatrice swallowed. She had never really told anyone her story before. Ballantine knew it, obviously, and Beatrice had been at the circus for so long that all the other performers had come to hear of it. It was something that was known by all, but never discussed.

  “My parents were murdered, you see. Robbed and killed, when I was very little.” Saying the words, after so many years of not having to say them, was harder than she had imagined it ever could be.

  Jeames just sat opposite her. His face was intent. He said nothing that might break the spell that had fallen over the two of them. In front of them, the backgammon board lay forgotten, the pieces waiting to be moved.

  “Yes, I was only very little. I didn’t really know what to do. So, I started stealing to feed myself. That’s when William Ballantine found me.”

  “Found ye wi’ yer hand in his pantry, eh?” Jeames said with a small smile.

  Beatrice mirrored the grin. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. He took me in, then and there, after I told him what had happened to my parents. He’s kept a roof over my head ever since.”

  “A canvas roof?”

  “It’s better than many get or have,” Beatrice said. “Having travelled as far and as wide as I have with Ballantine’s Circus, I have seen the truth of this.”

  Jeames nodded. Unconsciously, or so it seemed to Beatrice, he looked around the richly furnished and decorated room that they now sat in.

  Beatrice gave him a little knowing smirk when she caught his eye. “Yes, Mr. Abernathy, we come from very different backgrounds, do we not?”

  “He sounds like a good man, this Mr. Ballantine,” the Scotsman said.

  Beatrice blinked.

  He has done a lot for me. A lot for everyone in his circus.

  “He is a…driven man,” she said, somewhat stiffly. Unable to meet Jeames’s eye.

  Jeames opened his mouth as if to say something, but, at that moment, there came a brisk knock at the door.

  “Aye, come in, Ables,” Jeames said.

  Beatrice assumed that, knowing the man throughout his whole life, enabled Jeames to distinguish Ables’s knock from anyone else’s.

  The door opened and the elderly footman, indeed, stood in the opening.

  “Sir,” he said. “There is a man here tae see ye. An Englishman. A Mr. Ballantine.”

  * * *

  Jeames shot a quick glance at Beatrice. To his surprise– especially after listening to the tale of how she had come to live under the roof of the circus–there was shock, surprise and consternation in her beautiful hazel eyes. This was quickly covered over though, when she averted her gaze to the floor.

  “He’s here tae see me?” Jeames asked the footman.

  “Well, he asked tae see the lass here, Jeames, but I thought it best tae ask ye afore I showed him in, ye ken.”

  Jeames nodded thoughtfully, sparing another look at Beatrice. The equestrienne was busy filling her cider cup.

  “Shall I show him up, Jeames?” the old footman asked.

  Jeames continued to look at Beatrice for a few seconds more.

  “D’ye feel up to a visitor, lass?” he asked.

  A palpable tension seemed to lift from Beatrice’s shoulders. She looked up from her cup, and Jeames saw that her tanned countenance seemed to have paled a shade.

  “Um, no,” she said, quickly. “No, I don’t–I still feel a little worse for w
ear. Perhaps in a day or two…”

  Jeames regarded her for a moment more and then turned back to Ables.

  “I’ll tell the gentleman that Miss Turner, no thanks to yesterday’s escapades, is still feelin’ a wee bit fragile, Ables. If ye could show me tae him?”

  Ables guided Jeames down into the main entrance hall of the MacKenzie castle and then through a passage that led to a small office and library. Inside, perusing the volumes of the shelves, he found William Ballantine.