"Beth broke the bowl."
"Oh, no." Eleanor sat up, or as upright as she could. Hart didn't have to explain which bowl. "What happened? Is Ian all right? Is Beth?"
"Apparently, Ian took it in stride. Beth is more upset, from Curry's reports."
"Well, she would be. How awful." Eleanor started to push back the sheets. "We must make sure she's all right."
Hart stilled her with a strong hand. "You must stay here and rest. Beth and Curry have things in hand, and Ian is with his children."
"And he's not . . ."
"He hasn't done anything at all, Wilfred said. Don't worry, love." Hart pressed a kiss to her lips, his body curving around hers protectively. "We'll watch him, and make sure all is well."
"We must find him a new bowl. One just like it."
"So Beth says." Hart softened enough to give Eleanor a smile. "She already told Wilfred I am to assist. I hear and obey."
"Because you're worried about Ian too."
"Yes." His smile vanished. "I am. The last time this happened it was a bloody disaster, and I was no help at all." He closed his eyes, shutting out remembered pain. "I hated that Ian wouldn't respond to me. I'm one of the most powerful men in Britain, I have foreign princes afraid to cross me, and I couldn't reach my own brother."
Eleanor stroked her hand through his hair, the warm silk of it soothing. She'd seen his frustration and hurt when he looked at Ian, great worry, and love.
"Ian's much better now. He has Beth."
"I know." Hart opened his eyes again, trying to hide his pain, but Eleanor always saw it.
"You'll find another bowl," Eleanor said with confidence. "You know so many people, and I'm certain they all owe you favors."
"They do. And I will."
"After you finish my foot rub."
Hart's smile returned, and with it, a glint of wickedness. "You're a demanding thing."
"Greedy." Eleanor ran her finger down his nose and tapped its tip. "Hungry for you. And sore."
Hart pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her lips. "I'll give you your foot rub. But my way."
He ran his hand down to her thigh, fingers doing their dance on her sensitive skin. Eleanor leaned back on the pillows and gave herself over to the very talented ministrations of her husband.
*** *** ***
Isabella Mackenzie finished writing yet another letter the next evening, and stretched her aching fingers. The windows in her private sitting room were dark, and the air had turned frigid, though the coal stove kept her toasty warm.
Planning the large holiday festivities was a long and tedious process, but she, Ainsley, and Beth were determined to make Hart and Eleanor's first Christmas together memorable. The Scots, Isabella had learned from years of being married to one, didn't pay as much attention to Christmas Eve and Day as they did Hogmanay--New Year's. However, Hart had two English sisters-in-law and often had a houseful of English guests who expected Christmas crackers, plum pudding, and feasting on Christmas Day. Therefore, they had to plan two large celebrations, one at Christmas, one for Hogmanay, and yet another for Twelfth Night.
Isabella wanted this Christmas to be memorable for Eleanor in a good way. Some past Mackenzie Christmases had been out-and-out disasters, most of which had been caused by Mac's drunken debauches and his and Cameron's equally debauched friends. Half of these friends had ceased to be welcome at Kilmorgan--any Mackenzie household--after they'd decided it amusing one year to lock Ian into an attic room.
Isabella shuddered at the memory. Hart had been livid, and he and Cameron had had a punch-up, Hart blaming Mac for the friends' antics, Cameron defending Mac, who could barely stand up from a hangover. Only Isabella's persuasion had kept Hart from slinging his two brothers out into the snowy night.
This year, the house would be full of rejoicing. Babes filled the nursery, more family and friends would pour in on them soon, and the Mackenzie men were . . . well, not exactly tamed. But at peace with themselves, no longer fighting life.
Ian's broken bowl was on everyone's mind, however. He'd said not a word about it, appearing at breakfast with Beth as composed as ever. Beth's flushed face and little smile told Isabella how Beth might have been soothing him, but the brothers were still worried.
She felt Mac's presence behind her before two strong arms came around her, and Mac's lips brushed a warm kiss to the curve between her neck and shoulder. The scarf that he wore over his hair when he painted touched her cheek.
"What are you doing out of your studio?" Isabella asked. Mac had retreated there after breakfast and hadn't been seen since. He still wore his painting kilt and boots, though he'd donned a shirt. Most of the time when painting, he didn't bother with the shirt. "Has something happened?'
"Yes, Nanny Westlock. Time for the children's tea. I was taken to task for not returning them to the nursery, and I came to you for comfort."
"And as you can see, I'm swimming in plans for Hart's Christmas ball and New Year's celebration."
"Isn't that what Wilfred is for?"
Isabella reached for another sheet of paper, Mac's arms still around her. "Wilfred is a man and what I have in mind needs a woman's touch. Eleanor is fragile, and I like doing this for her."
"I know you do, love. You have a generous heart."
He kissed her again, and Isabella closed her eyes, momentarily consigning plans for Christmas, Hogmanay, and the coming year to oblivion. She'd fought long and hard to reconcile with Mac. She wanted to savor every moment she had with him, to erase the years she'd had to do without him.
"Daniel telegraphed," Mac said. "Cam's out, so the majordomo handed the telegram to me. He'll be arriving tonight."
"Excellent." Isabella opened her eyes, smiling in true enjoyment. "I miss having him underfoot. He's all grown up now."
"He's quick-witted, resourceful, inventive, and as stubbornly obsessive as any of us. Very dangerous."
"And yet, he'll still be the little boy who mistook me for your fancy lady the day after we married. Poor thing. He wasn't to know you'd brought an innocent miss into your house."
Mac's arms tightened around her. "Love, you'll never know how hard I fell for you, my haughty debutant, when I saw you in the middle of that ballroom, all lace and fineness. You looked at me, the great Mac Mackenzie, and I knew I was lower than worms."
"I was an arrogant little thing, so certain I was the catch of the Season. You brought me down a peg or two. I needed it."
"I never meant to bring you as far down as I did." Mac's arms tightened around her, and Isabella remembered the pain and heartache of the first years of their hasty marriage.
"We were both young, impatient, and selfish," she said softly. "It was bound to go wrong."
"Whereas now we are old, wise, and staid?" He nibbled her neck. "I hope we have some wickedness still in us. How about I send Bellamy for some scones and tea?"
Isabella flushed bright red, remembering one afternoon in her London house, when she'd shared scones and clotted cream with Mac for the first time since their separation. Her behavior had been decidedly un-ladylike.
"Perhaps," she said, the word demure, her gaze cast down.
Mac growled. "My little Sassenach. Do ye know how much I love you?"
Small footsteps interrupted Isabella's intended answer. They turned to see Aimee, their adopted daughter, five going on six, watching them solemnly from the carpet.
Isabella rose, her love for Aimee flooding her. They'd rescued the poor girl from a madman, and she'd brought Isabella and Mac closer again.
Isabella went to Aimee and lifted her, reflecting sadly that she was getting too big for such things. She planted a kiss on Aimee's pink face. Mac joined them, his arms going around his wife and daughter.
"Why are you out of the nursery?" Isabella asked.
"Yes," Mac said. "You'll have Nanny Westlock hunting me, ready to put buckshot into my backside."
"Papa," Aimee said reproachfully. "Don't be so silly. Nanny wants to find Gavina. I told her
I'd ask her what you've done with her."
"Gavina?" Mac blinked. "She belongs to Cam. Why should I have done anything with her?"
"Because she likes to play in the studio with us, and Aunt Ainsley didn't return her to the nursery for tea. Nanny thinks you might have forgotten where you left her."
"I didn't leave her anywhere," Mac said. "If she's not with Ainsley, she must be with Cam somewhere."
"Uncle Cameron has gone to the pub. Would Uncle Cameron have taken her to the pub?"
"No . . ." Isabella began, then she stopped. With Cameron, anything was possible. She glanced out the dark window. "I'm sure she's only followed one of the dogs or fallen asleep." Isabella set Aimee on her feet and took her hand. Mac took Aimee's other hand, his wink at Isabella telling her they'd continue their discussion about scones later. "Come along, Aimee. Let's find her."
*** *** ***
Daniel Mackenzie stepped off the last train of the night to Kilmorgan, settling his hat as the train puffed steam then chugged slowly up the track to its next destination.
"Master Daniel," the stationmaster said. "Welcome back. If you wait a few moments, my son will drive you up to Kilmorgan Castle."
"I'll walk," Daniel said. "I've been sittin' on trains since Edinburgh, and my legs, they need some stretching. Have the lad take my case, but I'll take a stroll through the village."
"Powerful cold night for a stroll, lad."
"Aye, but the warm pub is between here and there." Daniel grinned at the stationmaster, who'd been stationmaster for more than the entire eighteen years of Daniel's life.
The stationmaster chuckled, snatched up Daniel's one bag, said good night, and disappeared into the station. Daniel pulled his greatcoat closer and walked swiftly to the road that led to the village.
Coming home was always a mixed blessing. Christmases at Kilmorgan had become much better since Ian had married Beth, even better with Mac and Isabella now back to loving each other, and the best since his father had done the sensible thing and married Ainsley.
Now that Eleanor was Duchess of Kilmorgan, maybe Uncle Hart would stop behaving like a snarling bear. From what Cameron had said, since the marriage Hart had regained the more playful, lighthearted side of his youth--God help us all, Daniel's father had concluded.
This homecoming would be more interesting than others, that was certain.
On the other hand, Daniel was restless, tired of waiting for life to begin. He liked his studies at Edinburgh, but they didn't move quickly enough for him. He'd taken to slipping away to spend time with a middle-aged man who built crazy gadgets in his house, which had led to a few scrapes that Daniel hoped had not come to the attention of his father.
The one street through Kilmorgan was deserted, not surprisingly, because a cold wind cut through the huddle of houses and back out again. No snow yet lay on the ground, but it clung to the mountains and waited to pounce on the valleys.
With relief, Daniel opened the door of the pub and stepped into its welcoming warmth.
A large man holding a glass of ale in one hand and a lit cigar in the other lounged at a table between fireplace and door. He sat alone, though he'd cut off a conversation he'd been having with two men playing cards at a nearby table.
The man took several long drags of the cigar, blew out the smoke, and said, "Hello, son."
* * * * *
Chapter Four
"Dad." Daniel lifted his hand to the regulars in the public house, men he'd known all his life.
Lord Cameron Mackenzie, next in line for the dukedom until Eleanor bore a son, sat comfortably in their midst. The locals had never minded Cameron or Mac coming in to drink, play cards or darts, and join in the conversation. They didn't mind Ian either, who'd drink and sit in silence the rare times he'd visited with his brothers, though Hart still made them a bit nervous.
An open box of cigars sat on Cameron's table, and from the acrid scents around him, many of the men here had dipped into it. Daniel's father was generous--these were expensive.
Daniel took one of the cigars, bit off the end, lit the cigar with a match from a box on the table, and sank down across from Cameron. He smiled over at the barmaid, who smiled back and started working the taps.
"Wasn't expecting you 'til next week," his father said in his rumbling baritone.
"Wasn't expecting to come so soon." Daniel blew out smoke. "But I thought it was time to leave Edinburgh."
Cameron's eyes glinted. "You owe someone money?"
"Naw, they owed it to me. And are being bad-tempered about it. But when I claim my clockwork numbers machine can add a string of figures faster than a human being, they need to believe me."
"Clockwork numbers machine, eh?" Cameron took a long draw on his cigar, following it with a swallow of bitter. "What professor is teaching you that?"
Daniel shrugged. "No professor. Something I'm looking into on me own."
Cameron emphasized his words with fingers holding his cigar. "You begged me to go to that university, Danny. You're taking the degree."
"Oh, I'll have it, don't you worry." Daniel smiled up at the barmaid as she set the ale in front of him. "How are you, Kirsten? No girls as fine as you in Edinburgh, that's the truth."
The barmaid Kirsten had very blond hair, large blue eyes, a ready smile, and a body that stopped a man in his tracks. She was a few years older than Daniel, but had been perfectly happy to teach him to kiss once upon a time. "Och, don't lie to me, lad," she said good-naturedly then moved back to the taps under the watchful eye of her father.
"Why aren't you at the house?" Daniel asked. "Billing and cooing with me sweet stepmama?"
"Ainsley, Beth, and Isabella are planning a grand Christmas and Hogmanay feasting. Including a ball or two, bonfires, banquets, and numerous other festivities. There are decorators, extra servants, supplies coming at all hours, the ladies making lists, running about, and chattering, always chattering."
Daniel took a sip of the ale. Not the best in the world, but it had a bite that told him he was home. "Ye fled for your sanity, did ye? Will stepmama be happy when she finds you gone?"
"She won't notice. Not for a while."
"What will you do to escape the madness tomorrow?"
"See to the horses. They don't need to become too soft."
Daniel smiled to himself. Cameron loved his racehorses and would use any excuse to head for the stables or paddocks.
But looking at him across the table, Daniel saw the change in his father. He still possessed his hard edge and a grating note to his voice, but a new light had softened his eyes.
Cameron Mackenzie had held himself away from the world for a long time. Oh, he caroused and wenched with the best of them, but no one got past his granite shell. Time was, Daniel's father wouldn't have cared what a woman was doing with her time when he wasn't with her--he'd go about his business and give no thought to her at all.
Now, though Cameron smoked and drank in this masculine haven, he was fully aware that he'd go home to Ainsley, that she'd give him her bright smile, and pull Cameron, a great bear of a man, down to kiss his cheek.
Good to see his father so happy.
Cameron sat in companionable silence, while Daniel caught up on the local gossip. He let himself be enticed into a game of cards, winning hands and losing them. He was soundly beaten at darts, because he wasn't good at it, which he knew. He passed out the winnings with graciousness, and by that time, the publican was ready to close for the night.
Daniel walked side by side with his father, their breaths fogging out in the frosty night, the first flakes of snow falling when they reached the gates of Kilmorgan Castle. They said good night to the gatekeeper and his family and bent their heads to the wind for the last half mile to the house.
Kilmorgan was lit from top to bottom. Daniel and Cameron entered to find chandeliers blazing, the hall table filled with burning lamps instead of greenery, and the majordomo distributing the lamps to members of the household. All the servants were up, as
were Daniel's uncles and aunts, including Eleanor, who clung to a newel post at the top of the stairs.
"What the devil?" Cameron shouted into the noise.
Hart turned to him, eyes blazing anger. "I was about to send someone to run for you."
Before Daniel could ask why, Ainsley cut through the crowd straight for Cameron, the myriad lights dancing on her fair hair. "Gavina is gone," she said, a frantic note in her voice. "We can't find her anywhere."
*** *** ***
Cameron's world stopped and narrowed to his wife, her face smudged with dust, her gray eyes wide with fear, and her words: We can't find her anywhere.
Gavina, Cameron's pretty one-year-old daughter with hair of gold like her mother's--no, she couldn't be truly gone. Ever since she learned to walk, she'd been leading them a merry dance, often disappearing, but she'd always been easily found.
The knot in Cameron's stomach was nothing to the stark terror in Ainsley's eyes. Cameron ignored the throng around him and pulled Ainsley into his arms. The scent of roses touched him as he closed his arms around her shaking body.
"We'll find her, love." He kissed her hair. "She can't have gone far."
"But it's snowing. And so cold."
Cameron felt her panic. Ainsley had lost her first baby, the poor mite dying after only one day. That child had been called Gavina, and so Cam and Ainsley had named their first wee one in honor of her.
Gavina Mackenzie was robust and healthy, too robust sometimes. But Cameron understood Ainsley's fear and shared it.
"We've looked in all the likely places," Hart was saying. "Now we're combing the house top to bottom. Every nook and cranny--every single one, understand?" He pointed at groundskeepers. "You five and me, we'll cover the outbuildings. We all meet back here in an hour and report, sooner if she's found, of course."
The servants and household dispersed. Mac, still in his painting kilt with the red scarf over his hair, took Isabella's hand and led her up and up the stairs to the very top of the house.
Ainsley slid out of Cameron's arms, tears on her face. "Go with Hart," she said, touching Cam's chest. "Find her. Please."