Karen Ranney Read online

  He kept silent, watching her, noting the delicate blush appearing on her cheeks and wondering at its cause.

  This woman was the source of his greatest pain.

  He should send her away, tell her about the inn only a few miles distant. He should send Jack or Sam as an outrider, to ensure she got to her destination and didn’t think about circling back to Drumvagen. He should keep men at intervals along the road to guard the approach, to keep her from it.

  Instead, he pushed open the door and stood aside for her to enter his home.

  Chapter 6

  Macrath hadn’t changed. He was the same as he had been, a magnificent specimen of man. The only thing different was the strange smell surrounding him like a cloud.

  She wished Hannah wasn’t right behind her. She would’ve studied Macrath, from the top of his head all the way down his body. She felt his arm beneath her hand and wondered if he knew she was trembling.

  He led her to a small parlor with windows overlooking the ocean with its wind tossed waves. The storm that had been threatening for the last hour was advancing. The face the clouds showed was gray and flat, the edges detailed and brightly limned by a sun she couldn’t see. She heard thunder, but lightning hid like a cowardly mastiff.

  The parlor was shadowed by the approaching storm, a cozy place to watch nature’s display.

  She glanced toward the white marble fireplace, the burgundy upholstered settee faced by two matching chairs and a mahogany table. Before she had time to remark it was a lovely room, or question the identity of the portraits along the fireplace wall, a woman joined them.

  Virginia had been trained by her governesses never to show her emotions, especially in social situations. If she were surprised or taken aback, she must never allow anyone else to know.

  The woman Macrath introduced as his housekeeper, however, almost jolted her out of her restraint.

  Her face was broad and square, her nose narrow and long. Her hair, brown threaded with gray, was arranged at the back of her head in a severe bun. Perhaps she normally wore a genial expression, but at the moment, twin vertical lines appeared between her deep set brown eyes, and her square lips were thin.

  She was nearly Macrath’s height and sturdily built, dressed in a plaid skirt, a white bodice, and a length of the same plaid tossed over her shoulder and fastened with an oversized pin festooned with feathers. Virginia wondered if the woman was one of those affected to Highland dress. She’d been told that ever since the Queen first expressed her love of Scotland, all things Scottish were in vogue.

  “This is Brianag,” he said. “She’ll show you to your rooms.” Turning to the housekeeper, he said, “The Rose Room, Brianag,”

  Once more he glanced at Virginia. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll ensure I’m acceptable to present company. Otherwise, I’m going to smell of ammonia.”

  “Is that what it is?” she asked, smiling.

  “We were experimenting with combining chemicals,” he said.

  “It wasn’t dangerous, was it?”

  After a quick glance at his housekeeper and Hannah, he only shook his head. A moment later he was gone, leaving the three of them standing there.

  Without a word, Brianag turned and left the room. Virginia glanced at Hannah.

  “Are we to follow her?”

  “I don’t know, your ladyship.”

  What a strange woman. Rather than wonder, she trailed after Brianag. A wise impulse, because the housekeeper was waiting at the base of the sweeping steps. She nodded at Virginia’s appearance, grabbed her plaid skirt with one fist and stomped up the steps.

  With one more quick glance at Hannah, Virginia followed, the two of them climbing to the second floor. In the middle of the hallway, the housekeeper opened a door and entered. Evidently, she expected them to follow her inside, if the impatient look she gave them was any indication.

  Virginia stood at the doorway of a sitting room papered in pale pink silk. A settee, upholstered in a rose pattern, was arranged in front of the carved black fireplace, and next to it a table and chair with a needlepoint footstool. On the far wall was a secretary, and several thriving plants in black urns. The room was so spacious there was ample room to walk, to swing one’s skirt, even perform a solitary waltz. She didn’t doubt the bedroom was as comfortable.

  “The room is lovely,” she said. “But I haven’t put anyone out, have I? It looks like it’s been readied for an occupant.”

  “At Drumvagen there’s a suite for the master and one for the mistress. This is the one set aside for the mistress. Himself had it decorated for his bride.”

  Virginia stood silent for a moment, deciphering that news, Hannah at her side.

  “He didn’t marry after all,” the woman added, frowning darkly at her.

  Turning to survey the room again, she wondered if Macrath had created this suite for her. Was she the bride he hadn’t married?

  How strange to feel so sad about it now.

  Had he thought about her when he had the room furnished with rose patterned upholstery? Had he remembered her love of roses, her fondness for the shade of dark pink? Had he remembered she liked music boxes? Was that why the display case to her left was filled with seven of them? Had he, too, remembered her frustration about not being able to grow anything? Was that why the plants had been so lovingly tended they seemed to welcome her?

  “You’ll be comfortable enough here,” the housekeeper said in a tone daring her to argue.

  “Thank you, Mrs. . . .” Her words trailed away.

  “My name is Brianag,” the woman said.

  “Yes, well . . .” Virginia felt flustered and not a little confused. Was she supposed to address her as Brianag? “Is it a Scottish name?” she asked.

  “Would you be thinking it anything else? Welsh?”

  Brianag did not approve of her.

  “Will you be staying long?”

  She hadn’t expected the question, especially from Brianag.

  “It’s no matter of mine,” the housekeeper said before she could answer. “Ti keep a calm souch.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ti keep a calm souch,” Brianag repeated.

  Repeating something did not make it understandable.

  She was then given an explanation about the bells for meals and told that a maid would escort her to the dining room. She smiled in response, which had no effect on the woman’s scowl. When she closed the door behind Brianag, she sagged against it in relief.

  At least she was here. She’d done that much. Macrath hadn’t turned her away. The next step was going to be so much more difficult, however.

  Perhaps she’d do as her mother-in-law implied—let Macrath know she was willing, and let him do the rest.

  London

  A year earlier

  Whenever she saw Macrath, Virginia felt lighter, somehow. Any worries or cares simply drifted away. With him, she could do anything. Nothing was too great an obstacle to overcome.

  When he left her, it was as if the sun suddenly dimmed and the cloud stayed in place until the next time she saw him again.

  The day following the meeting in the British Museum, Macrath had simply disappeared. An entire week went by in which the days seemed as dark as night. Neither he nor Ceana had been to any of the endless entertainments she’d been forced to attend.

  Had they returned to Scotland?

  When she and Mrs. Haverstock visited the Victoria and Albert Museum and then the Science Museum, she kept hoping Macrath would appear. He hadn’t, but she’d grown heartily tired of education.

  If she never saw another sight in London, she’d be pleased.

  “Miss.”

  Virginia put her finger in her book to mark her place, listening.

  “Miss.”

  No, she hadn’t imagined it. Someone was whispering to her. She peered around the chair and saw Bessie, the undercook, standing in the doorway.

  Why on earth didn’t the girl come toward her?

  E
vidently, something was capturing her attention, because she looked to her left, then at Virginia, and to her left again.

  “Quick, miss,” she said. “Before anyone sees I’m gone.”

  “What is the matter?” she asked, standing and approaching the door.

  The girl rarely left the kitchen. To find her in the corridor outside the parlor was odd, but not as odd as what Bessie did next.

  She raced up to Virginia and whispered, “He said I was to give a message to Maud. I told him there was no Maud in our household, but he said there was, and it was you. A pet name, miss?”

  “What did he say, Bessie?” she asked, desperate to know.

  “You’re to come to the garden, Maud,” the girl said, then flew down the corridor to the kitchen.

  Her smile reached her heart before traveling to her lips.

  Macrath.

  He was here. He was here in the garden.

  She straightened her skirt, wishing she’d worn one of her new dresses today, but she didn’t want to take the time to change.

  Skirts swinging, she took the same path Bessie had, avoiding the kitchen for the garden door, stepping down into the long rectangular lawn with heart beating and her breath coming too tight.

  He wasn’t there.

  Had she misunderstood? Had he given Bessie a message that the girl hadn’t understood? Was he waiting for her somewhere else?

  The door to the shed at the end of the garden suddenly creaked open. She grabbed her skirts in both hands and flew down the flagstone path.

  Suddenly, he was there, tall and handsome, his eyes twinkling. By his presence, he forever changed the garden into an enchanted place.

  “You’re here,” she said, feeling foolish and too young.

  “At last,” he said.

  “Were you away?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I had to travel to Edinburgh on business.”

  “I hope it went well,” she said. How inane she sounded. Perhaps it was better than saying what was truly on her mind.

  Don’t go away again without warning me. Let me know when you’ll be gone, so I’ll know how many days to prepare myself for sorrow.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, and her heart tripped over itself. In violation of every societal rule she’d been taught, she placed her hands on his arms. She stood too close. She leaned toward him.

  “I’ve missed you as well. Every day has been a month long.”

  He didn’t speak, and neither did she. They were comfortable in each other’s silences, and it was so restful to be with him in one way and so tumultuous in another.

  He made her feel things she’d never felt.

  She wanted to be kissed. She wanted to be held. She wanted to know if an embrace was as wondrous as all the poets said it was. She wanted to know, most especially, what happened afterward.

  Would kissing him ease this uncomfortable ache? Would it rid her of this craving to touch him, to stroke her hands over his broad shoulders and down his arms to measure the incredible breadth of him? She wanted to lay her cheek against his chest, marvel at the beating of his heart, thanking God all the while He had sent Macrath into her life.

  “I turned to look every time someone entered a room,” she said.

  “I stored away a dozen stories I heard, thinking you would want to know what was happening in that part of the world.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Gladstone’s speech.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “Will you be going back to Scotland soon?” she asked, her earlier fear returning.

  “I think so, yes.”

  She tried to remain calm but the pain bit through her composure.

  He’d never come out and said the words, but he’d given her to think he loved her. How could he now speak of leaving her?

  “You would like Scotland, I think.”

  She only nodded, feeling numb.

  “Will you come with me to Drumvagen, Virginia?” he asked, catching hold of her hand and drawing her back to him. “Will you be my wife and love me as I love you?”

  Her heart was beating out of her chest. In a moment it would fly away like a suddenly released bird.

  “I would be very amenable,” she said.

  Why was she being so coy? There must be no mistake. He must know exactly how she felt.

  “Yes, Macrath, yes. With my whole heart. I love you so.”

  He leaned close, pressing his lips against her forehead.

  “You’ll talk to my father?” she asked, the words feeling too heavy to be spoken.

  “Today if he’ll see me.”

  She had never done anything as shocking as what she did next. She placed her hand on his chest and slowly stood on her tiptoes.

  “Kiss me,” she said. “Please.”

  “Virginia,” he said, pulling back, “this isn’t wise.”

  But, oh, she had been wise for so long, and he was such a temptation.

  Suddenly, his arms were around her and his mouth on hers. He angled his head to deepen the kiss. Every thought disappeared and every sensation vanished but for wonder and excitement.

  She’d known he’d be direct, perhaps a little impatient, and he was. She’d suspected she would be eager and she was.

  His lips were soft, his body hard beneath her hands. His tongue touched hers, darted back, and teased her again,

  She linked her hands behind his neck and held on, allowing herself to sink into the deliciousness of his mouth.

  Her heart fluttered. Her breath and pulse raced. Something dark, heavy, and a little frightening arced between them.

  He was right in cautioning her. She never wanted to move from his arms.

  When they finally parted, she moved back, touching her lips with her fingertips.

  If someone saw her, she would be lectured for hours about deportment and how she’d failed to give the impression she’d been reared correctly.

  But any punishment was worth it for one of Macrath’s kisses.

  Chapter 7

  Drumvagen, Scotland

  July, 1869

  Freshly bathed and changed, Macrath sat in what had been designed as the Clan Hall by the architect. Stretching the width of the main section of Drumvagen, the room was supposed to be used as a gathering place. Exposed beams hinted at a history much older than the twenty years since Drumvagen had been started. He wondered, not for the first time, if some of the older features of his house had been taken from the crumbling structures dotting this area of Scotland.

  The brick of Drumvagen was new, the gray tint purposely selected to blend in with the landscape. The house was a black pearl nestled in a bed of trees.

  Virginia was here.

  Virginia was at Drumvagen.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  His housekeeper stood at the doorway, frowning at him.

  Brianag had a reputation as a healer. She was intuitive to a frightening degree, and known for being able to foretell the future, a talent she steadfastly refused to acknowledge.

  She was also a termagant, frightened the servants and the inhabitants of Kinloch Village, and had no hesitation in telling him when he’d used ill judgment—according to her opinion.

  She was only a few inches shorter than he was, with broad shoulders and a build hinting at masculinity. Her normal stance was to plant her large feet wide, fold her arms in front of her, and scowl down in judgment over the penitent.

  God help the man who got on her bad side.

  A great many people petitioned Brianag, and it might either be fear or their belief in her abilities. Many mornings he’d come downstairs only to be told his housekeeper had been summoned to the village to treat a broken bone or another injury.

  According to Brianag, the villagers had nicknamed him the Devil of Drumvagen. He’d learned that interesting bit of nonsense a few years ago when she pinned him down in this same room.

  “Why?” he asked. “I’ve never done anything to earn such an idiotic name.”
>
  “You’ll find you don’t have to, here at Drumvagen,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s enough you look like Old Nick.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She folded her arms and tilted her head a little, studying him.

  “You’ve got the black hair and blue eyes, and a wicked grin when you’re not all somber. I’ve heard tell in the village the girls were warned away from you. Maybe they’re thinking you’d lure them here to have your wicked way with them.”

  He frowned. “Where would they get such an idea?”

  She shrugged. “Still, it makes for a good tale. And it gives the village mothers something to use with their children.”

  Startled, he could only stare at his housekeeper. “You mean as a warning? Be good or the Devil of Drumvagen will get you?”

  She smiled. “I think the devil part is because you expect people to jump to your bidding quickly, with no questions asked.”

  He regarded her in astonishment. He was unfailingly polite to his staff, including her, even though there were times when he was annoyed or irritated.

  “I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous.”

  She thrust one imperial finger at him. “That’s the reason,” she said, “right there. You’ve a temper about you.”

  “And you, Brianag. I’ve heard you shouting at the maids.”

  Her frown was an imposing sight, with her bushy eyebrows coming together in a single line.

  He suspected she agreed to work for him because of curiosity. Working here was a way to discover what he was doing at Drumvagen. Over the last five years she’d created a fiefdom, one she ruled with an iron hand.

  “Is she settled?” he asked now.

  “In the room you made for her,” Brianag said.

  How the hell had she known that? He’d given instructions for the rooms to be redecorated shortly after he met Virginia. The furniture was to be French, upholstered in a rose pattern. The curtains and wallpaper were to be the softest pink, her favorite shade. Pots were to be filled with the most priceless rose potpourri. He’d worried about the timetable of getting everything perfect for Virginia before their wedding.