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

  Impress me?

  “Ye’ve nae broken yer fast this mornin’, have ye?”

  “No. I’ve not been awake for long.”

  “Right then, how about we start simply and slowly then? It’s a bonnie day out, would ye care tae break yer fast wi’ me out in the gardens?”

  Beatrice blinked. Then she grinned. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I believe I could just about manage some food out in the sunshine.”

  “Excellent!” Jeames said, with real enthusiasm.

  He sprang to his feet, all youthful eagerness again.

  “Now, I would ask ye if ye’d let me carry ye down the stairs again, but I’ve a just a slight notion that ye’re sick o’ that. So, I’ll send up some maids and they will help ye down, step by step. I think it’ll also dae ye good to strengthen up that ankle a wee bit too.”

  “That may take me a while.”

  “It’s nae bother tae me. Ye take as long as ye need. I’ll go and see if I can’t come up wi’ some solid Scottish fare from the lasses in the kitchens.”

  “How will I know where to go?” Beatrice asked.

  “Daenae worry about that. I’ll let the maids ken where tae take ye.”

  Beatrice found herself suddenly bereft of words.

  It’s because I did not expect this. Did not expect to find such kindness in such a place as this. I always thought that the rich and the powerful somehow lacked the heart and compassion of regular folk. How wrong I was.

  Jeames smiled and turned to depart. He then halted in the doorway and cast an eye back over his shoulder.

  “If ye’ll excuse me fer askin’, Beatrice,” he said, in a voice that was shaded slightly with an awkwardness that Beatrice found endearing more than anything. “Would ye care tae wear somethin’ slightly more…comfortable?”

  Beatrice raised a very slow eyebrow.

  Jeames instantly seemed to realize that he had made somewhat of a blunder for he backtracked with such desperation that it was all Beatrice could do to maintain her severe expression.

  “Lord, what I meant by that,” the big Highlander stammered. “Was would ye like me tae send ye up somethin’ more comfortable? Ah, it’s just that that attire that ye have on there looks fairly tight and I thought that a dress might allow ye more movement, perhaps…”

  Beatrice did not answer but continued to stare at Jeames.

  The heir to the Lairdship of the MacKenzie clan blew out his cheeks and ran a hand through his thick black hair.

  “I meant nay offence by me words, Beatrice,” he said. “Seems that me words get all jumbled up wi’ each other when they’re makin’ their way down from me head tae me mouth. When I’m talkin’ tae ye at least.”

  Beatrice felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

  “You’re asking me whether I might not prefer wearing something a little more feminine, so that I can more comfortably enjoy my stay here?”

  Jeames nodded gratefully. “Aye,” he said. “Aye, that’s it.”

  “A dress, you mean?”

  “If that’s what ye’d be more comfortable in.”

  “That would be lovely, but I brought nothing with me,” Beatrice said. She only owned only one dress, and she doubted very much that it would be the sort of thing that would impress this handsome high-born Scotsman.

  What do I care if he’s impressed?

  “That’s nay bother. I’ll have the maids bring somethin’ up fer ye,” Jeames said. It was evident that they had got to the bottom of this treacherous bit of conversation.

  “What if it–what if it doesn’t suit me? I shall feel embarrassed. I’d not care to look ridiculous in front of you.”

  Jeames smiled gently.

  “I doubt very much if that was possible, lass,” he said.

  * * *

  Jeames made what felt like the two-hundredth circuit of the table and chairs that he had had set out at the far end of the kitchen gardens by Ables and one of the maids.

  He had selected this spot because it was one of his favorite places to eat when the weather was fine. He usually ate sprawled out on the grass, but he had thought it prudent, what with Beatrice being debilitated as she was, to have the table and chairs set out.

  Hopefully, she likes the victuals. Dae English lasses like fish fer breakfast? Will she be happy with bannocks rather than bread?

  He looked back towards the castle, though the view was mostly screened by a long row of beans on trellises.

  Ye kenned that, ye wally. Honestly, what’s wrong wi’ ye, lad? Ye spend more time wi’ high-born ladies than ye can usually stand. There’s nae pretentiousness in this lass. There’s no need tae stand on ceremony.

  The beans were one of the chief reasons that he liked sitting out here. They afforded a privacy from the castle. Making it impossible to see Jeames when he was out here, unless it was from one of the upper windows of the keep.

  Not to mention that Lady Margery’s rooms are situated on the other side o’ the castle.

  He took a deep, steadying breath. The smell was so invigorating that he almost laughed. Chamomile, rosemary, thyme, bog myrtle, bay, betony, and sage were just some of the herbs grown for cooking and medicinal purposes at this end of the garden.

  There was the delicate, professional cough of Ables from behind Jeames. It was the sound the professional serving man makes when he knows that his master is deep in thought and does not wish to startle him.

  Jeames turned slowly on his heel, hoping that the sudden quickening of his heartbeat was not in any way evident on his face.

  “Miss Beatrice Turner, Sir,” Ables said, with a smile.

  Beatrice limped slowly out from behind the screen of peas and beans, leaning heavily on the arm of a sturdy woman that Jeames knew worked in the kitchens.

  Jeames’s heart, already beating faster in anticipation of the woman’s arrival, now decided that it was going to have a go at jumping out of his chest. It beat so hard that he was amazed his teeth were not rattling.

  Say somethin’, ye nitwit!

  Beatrice was dressed in a simple gown of pale green. Her brown hair, which had been tied up out of necessity whilst she rode, now hung free–brushed and combed.

  She looked shyly at Jeames, waiting, he realized, for him to say something.

  “I, uh, ye look, um…” he said.

  Beatrice’s almond-shaped hazel eyes narrowed with worry.

  “You don’t like it?” she asked.

  The equestrienne personified quite the dichotomy.

  She is walkin’ with a limp, and yet somehow moves with more grace and poise than ever I’ve seen in a woman. She wears a modest green dress, and somehow manages to look more ladylike than any laird’s daughter or highborn girl I’ve ever encountered in their finest silks and pearls.

  “Like it? Miss Turner, I feel suddenly grossly underdressed,” Jeames managed at last.

  Beatrice blushed and looked at the ground. Then she said, “Please, call me Beatrice.”

  “O’ course. Will ye please sit down, Beatrice?”

  The two of them sat and the servants departed. They were not gone long though, three maids returned in short order, carrying with them plates and platters and dishes of food.

  “How many others are you expecting?” Beatrice teased Jeames.

  Jeames grinned. “Aye, I ken it’s a bit o’ food, but I wanted ye tae try a bit o’ everythin’. We’ve some fine huntin’ and foragin’ to be had in these surroundin’ hills.”

  They set to their meal. To Jeames’s delight, Beatrice had no qualms about reaching for the foodstuffs she wished to try with her hands and tearing bits off. She was an instant convert to the baked bannock biscuits, and was simply rapturous when she had her first mouthful of smoked kipper.

  “My goodness!” she said, holding her fingers to her mouth as she endeavored to speak around the mouthful of fish. “I cannot believe that I’ve gone my whole life without ever having tried a kipper!”

  Jeames laughed. “They’ve been around long enough. I da
enae ken where kippers originated from, but I ken that we’ve some mighty good herring in the rivers here and the lasses in the kitchen are artists when it comes tae smokin’ the little buggers.”

  Whilst they ate, they made inconsequential small talk. They were both equally interested in each other’s different backgrounds. Both of them far more interested in what the other had to say than talking about themselves.

  “Seems tae me,” Jeames said. “That men and women are really fairly adaptable creatures. What strikes one person as bizarre, another sees as quite run-o’-the-mill.”

  “Like living in a house so large that you could ride a horse to the dining hall?” Beatrice asked him.

  Jeames laughed.

  Seems she’s nae just a bonnie face. There’s a sharp mind in that head o’ hers, and a disregard fer social decorum that’s very refreshin’.

  “Right,” he said. “Or, on the other hand, livin’ on the road with a tame bear as a pet and a wagon as a house.”

  Beatrice smiled at him, moving a few crumbs of bannock about her plate with a slender finger.

  That was another thing that Jeames had noticed about the equestrienne. Unlike the porcelain female creatures who he usually mingled with, Beatrice’s skin was tanned from the sun, from a life of toil, setting up tents and riding in the open air. It gave her an exotic cast in his eyes.

  “Why did you want me to eat with you here?” she asked him.

  Jeames told her that it was one of his favorite places. “I find it peaceful here, ye ken? A place where I can escape me duties as the Laird’s son–even if it’s just fer a little while.”

  “And the smell is heavenly,” remarked Beatrice. She took a deep long breath and sighed it out with her eyes closed.

  “Aye, it is indeed,” Jeames said.

  “Tell me something about the plants,” Beatrice said, suddenly. She pointed out a thick patch of creeping stems hugging the shady bottom of a low stonewall that divided two vegetable patches. The mat of vines was dotted with pretty blue flowers. “What does that do?”

  Jeames turned to see where the woman was pointing.

  “That there is ground ivy,” he said. “Funny ye should pick out that plant. We use it for making poultices fer bruises. It wouldnae have surprised me if our physician had applied somethin’ that contained it on yer ankle and wrist. It’s good fer snake bites, too.”

  “Snakes?”

  “Aye, adders, ye ken. It does nae pay tae disrespect an adder. The best advice I can give ye if ye stumble upon one of those is tae give it a wide berth. They’re pretty things, but best tae nae get bitten by one.”

  A shadow fell across them at that point.

  Jeames looked up and saw that the capricious Highland weather seemed to have decided to sneak a blanket of rain clouds over the northern horizon whilst they were talking and eating.

  Beatrice shivered slightly.

  “Are ye finished, lass?” Jeames asked.

  “Yes. Thank you, it was the best breakfast that I can remember having.”

  Jeames beamed. Her words were so obviously genuine, and her meaning so sincere, that he felt as if he had just stepped in front of a roaring log fire after coming in from the rain, such was the inner glow he felt.

  “Right then,” he said. “Perhaps we should get ye inside afore I add a head-cold tae yer list of ailments.”

  Beatrice gave him a small smile. “That would be just my luck as of late.”

  “Perhaps ye’d like tae join me in the library? I could have mulled cider sent through and the fire laid. Perhaps, we might talk a wee bit more. I’d be interested tae ken how ye ended up workin’ fer Mr Ballantine.”

  Jeames noticed that a shadow seemed to flit across the back of those pretty hazel eyes at the mention of either Beatrice’s past or Mr. Ballantine. The consternation showed only for the briefest of moments–so fast that he could not say for certain whether it had been there at all, afterwards–and then was gone.

  “Um, no,” Beatrice said, jerkily. “I mean to say, I appreciate the offer–very much indeed–it’s just that I think I should be returning to my room to rest.”

  Jeames was slightly taken aback, though he endeavored not to show it.

  “Aye,” he said. “Aye, of course. I’ll send fer the servants to help ye back tae yer room.

  Did I say somethin’ wrong?

  “Perhaps, I will see ye later on? Fer luncheon, or dinner?”

  “Yes,” Beatrice said, and Jeames was positive that she was struggling to meet his eye. “Yes, perhaps.”

  7

  Beatrice did not see Jeames for the rest of the day. He had left her to her thoughts, no doubt after feeling like he had said something wrong to her after that rather memorable breakfast.

  Good. It’s good that he left me. It is, after all, his fault that I’m here at all, really. Better he lets me be to rest. After what befell me in the circus ring, he owes me this.

  The thing about lying to oneself, Beatrice realized, after spending all day with just her own mind for company, was that it was very hard to do.

  She really did want to stay annoyed at Jeames. She spent much time reliving the moment that she saw him in the crowd, analyzing it, trying to figure out just what it was about that moment that had made her fall for the very first time.

  That moment of recognition. That had been it. Perhaps, it was the novelty of recognizing someone in the crowd more than the actual person. We move around so much that I don’t think that I have ever recognized a patron before.

  But that was not strictly true. Many patrons returned night after night to watch the performances. After all, Ballantine’s Circus might stay in one place for a few weeks, depending on its size, so that they could squeeze every last penny out of the public.

  No. It was something about the man himself. Maybe seeing him in two different setting in the same day?

  She had shaken her head at this and frowned down at her injured wrist and ankle.

  The physician came again, once she had hobbled up to her room with the help of the elderly footman, Ables. Castle MacKenzie’s physician had dexterous fingers, and he poked and prodded gently at Beatrice’s limbs with patient interest. Beatrice watched as the man, muttering and mumbling to himself in indecipherable Gaelic, mixed up a paste in a pestle and mortar.

  “What is it the poultice, if you don’t mind me asking?” Beatrice ventured.

  The physician stopped whispering to himself and peered at her out of two beetle-black eyes set over a curved nose. He was quite ugly, but when he spoke it was in a soft, charming voice.

  “Well, miss, if ye’re interested in such things, I’d be happy tae tell ye! It’s nae often that folk take tae much interest in how I make ‘em well, so long as I dae.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “It would not be a clever person that passed up the opportunity to learn a new skill, especially skills concerning the healing arts.”

  The physician nodded, seemingly pleased with her logic.

  “The life I live,” Beatrice continued. “People are always getting hurt one way or another. Sometimes it is minor, sometimes major, but I think it surely would be advantageous to learn what I can from a man employed by a Laird.”

  The physician’s face cracked in a grin at this, revealing a gap-toothed smile.

  “True. True enough,” he said. He scraped the unctuous paste up with his hand and started to spread it liberally around Beatrice’s ankle.

  “The poultice I am applyin’ fer yer sprains, miss,” the physician said. “Contains dandelion, ginger and onion, which I mix into a bit o’ bread and milk tae form a paste. However, the key ingredient that I’ve found tae work wonders for injuries of yer kind is comfrey.”

  The doctor patted the poultice smooth, then started to wrap it tightly in a bandage.

  “We’ll change this dressing every day or so, miss,” he told her. “If ye fancy it, I can come back tomorrow and teach ye how tae make it yerself. I’ll leave ye wi’ some o’ the ingredients, or have them
sent up wi’ yer breakfast, and ye can make it yerself.”

  “I think I would quite like that,” Beatrice said. “It’ll keep me busy.”

  Once the kindly physician had gone, Beatrice was left to rest and to stew on the thoughts that rebounded around her head, stirring up the same unanswerable questions.

  She was roused from a doze much later by a sharp rapping of knuckles on the door of her bed chamber. Blinking rapidly to clear her head, Beatrice smoothed her hair back from her forehead, pulled some errant strands from the corner of her mouth and said, “I–um, yes? What…who is it?”