Malcolm opened his mouth as if to say something, but then his gaze locked with Devon’s. After a charged moment, the Scotsman apparently changed his mind, for all he said was, “Aye. I’m just surprised she was so lighthearted with you this morning.”
“Lighthearted? I would hardly call her that.”
“She let you kiss her and didn’t remove your appendage. That is lighthearted where Kat Macdonald is concerned.”
The words intrigued Devon all the more. It had been a bitter pill to discover that his perfect flirt was the half sister of his host. But the fact that she was illegitimate, had apparently been shunned by society, and now lived tucked away in a cottage in the woods not far from the castle, seemed to make her the perfect object for a flirtation once again.
All Devon knew was that he needed a diversion to protect him until he removed to Edinburgh. Someone passionate enough, and challenging enough, that he would not be tempted to fall victim to an eligible woman, one with strong familial connections and a name in society…If there were any other eligible women about. So far, the castle seemed unusually free of feminine charms.
Hm. Devon wondered if he was to be blessed with peace, after all. “Malcolm, I hope I did not come at a poor time. I’d hate to bother you when you’ve other guests about.”
Malcolm looked up from his plate with apparent surprise. “Other guests?” He glanced about them, Devon’s gaze following. While the dining room didn’t suffer from the obvious neglect that tainted the rest of the castle, it was still far from perfectly tended. The rugs could do with a beating and two dusty cobwebs hung in opposite corners.
“We used to entertain weekly,” Malcolm said. “But not as often now that—” He gestured towards the cobwebs. “Now only a few of Fiona’s closer friends come to visit, though rarely overnight. I only wish Fiona’s sister, Murien, wouldn’t come so often. She’s a—”
The door opened and the aged footman returned, face flushed as he huffed and puffed. The footman come to a wheezing halt beside Malcolm and cleared his throat. As this rather noisy and elaborate process seemed to steal all the man’s available air, he didn’t speak for quite some time.
Malcolm gave an explosive sigh. “For the love of St. Brennan! Just tell us what Her Ladyship said!”
The footman looked disapprovingly at Malcolm and wheezed out a rather breathless “Yes, my lord. Her Ladyship says she will not be joining you for breakfast.”
Malcolm frowned. “That’s it?”
The aged footman’s color faded to a more pasty tone, his breathing easing somewhat. “I believe so, my lord.”
“You believe? In other words, you don’t remember?”
The old man’s wrinkled lips pursed thoughtfully. “I think…I’m fairly certain Her Ladyship didn’t say anything else.”
Malcolm threw his napkin on the table, disgust in his voice. “You are fairly certain? You believe she didn’t have anything more to say?”
The footman nodded, seeming rather pleased with himself. “I usually forget something if I’m told more than one thing, but this time, I remembered it all.” His smile faded. “I think.”
“Thank you, Ketron,” Malcolm said tiredly. “I’ll see Lady Strathmore myself as soon as I’m through here.”
“Yes, my lord.” Still looking pleased, the elderly man turned slowly, then shuffled out of the room.
The second the door closed, Malcolm flashed a look at Devon. “Do you see what I’m saddled with? Do you see?”
Devon chuckled. “You need new servants.”
“I had new servants. Well-trained servants. Excellent servants. But they all left because Fiona—” He broke off, his face red. “I suppose there is no hiding that things are not as they should be. We were doing well, Fiona and I. But then, six months ago, we had an argument about Kat, of all things.”
“Kat?” Devon raised his brows.
“I dislike Fiona’s sister, Murien, and I made a disparaging comment. I didn’t mean it, though if you ever meet Murien, you’ll know why I said what I did. She’s a beautiful woman on the outside, but she has ambition beyond what is acceptable.”
Devon would take care that he didn’t meet Murien. She sounded exactly like the sort of woman he wanted to avoid.
Malcolm shook his head. “So Fiona took offense and said that at least her sister hadn’t ruined herself like Kat had by running off with a—” He stopped and his face pinkened. “Never mind. You don’t need to hear our family problems.”
Ah ha! Devon was intrigued and wished to hear more, though all he said was, “All families have problems.” And they did. For example, his family had a horrid curse of a ring to contend with. Which was why, in a way, it was fortuitous to confirm his suspicions that lovely, impulsive, passionate Kat Macdonald was a ruined woman. Ruined women could not demand marriage if a dalliance became something more. Of course, Devon had no intention of going anywhere he wasn’t invited; he wasn’t a man to take anything that wasn’t freely offered. But the passion behind Kat’s kiss made him believe that there was the potential for that something more.
He stole a glance at Malcolm. His friend’s usually joyful expression was somber now. He sat silently staring at his half-finished plate, his shoulders slumped. He caught Devon’s gaze and managed a painful smile. “I apologize for my wife’s absence.”
That, Devon decided, is why I will never marry. It suddenly seemed silly to be uneasy about the talisman ring. Magic it might be, but Devon had his own protection against such tomfoolery. Just seeing the expression on Malcolm’s face as he contemplated his troubled marriage added yet another line of impenetrable bricks to an already thick wall around Devon’s reluctant heart.
“Blasted female,” Malcolm said with a sigh. He raked a hand through his hair, a quiver of emotion flashing over his mobile face.
Devon thought of all the times from years past that he and Malcolm had laughed at those men who seemed in the clutches of the deadly disease of matrimony. Now it seemed that Malcolm had himself become a victim. It was a damned shame.
Malcolm’s smile stretched awkwardly over his cheeks. “I know what you’re thinking and—”
“You have no idea what I’m thinking. None at all.” Devon pulled his plate of now-cold food forward. The food might be cold, but Devon’s thoughts were just heating up. “Let us eat and talk of more cheerful things.”
But in the back of his mind, a plan was forming. A plan that had to do with the reclusive, ruined-to-society Kat Macdonald. Aplan that would guarantee that whatever muslin-dressed pitfalls fate might throw in front of him, Devon would be ready to meet them all.
He smiled at his friend. “Tell me about your stables. I brought that gelding with me, the one I wrote to you about.”
“Did you? I cannot wait to see it. Kat’s mad about horses, too. She has almost two dozen of them, eating their heads off in her stables.”
Devon filed that bit of information away and made another comment about horses. Soon the conversation turned toward matters of sport and the hunt and didn’t falter once. But even while discussing the seeming dearth of fox this season, Devon was planning how he would find the location of a certain cottage nestled deep in the woods beside Kilkairn Castle.
Chapter 4
I-I have something to say to you, sir, a-and I hope that you will…what I mean is that, I-I am not here to argue with you precisely—nor at all because arguing is not what I had in mind but—I mean, I want to discuss something—but—oh blast it all! Never mind! Just pass the stupid mint sauce and let’s talk some more about the weather.
Viscountess Mooreland to Viscount Mooreland, while having a rare, private moment at dinner before attending the theater
To one side of Kilkairn lay a winding river, a slash of silver ribbon across the deep jewel-green fields that surrounded the castle. The river provided a source of fresh, sparkling water as well as negated the need to fence the entire north side of the property.
To the other side of the castle lay a deep, dark woods
filled with huge craggy oaks and thick green moss that carpeted large awkward boulders and the rich black loam of the forest floor.
Some of the villagers said Kilkairn Wood was enchanted, a rumor given credence when Kat Macdonald moved into the abandoned cottage. Long ago it had housed her mother, a woman said to have bewitched the last lord of the castle.
To the villagers, the wood was reported to be enchanted and enchanted it remained.
“Blasted, ill-mannered, arrogant Englishman!” Kat told her horse, her tones ringing over the clopping of Merriweather’s hooves on the packed earthen pathway. “I vow, but I am done with Malcolm and his houseguests.”
She’d have to eschew all visits. At least this last visitor hadn’t been as bad as Fitzhugh who tried to squeeze her knee beneath the breakfast table even after she’d darkened his lights once already. “Men. Always taking more than you want to give them.”
Merriweather tossed her mane as if to agree that such behavior was beyond the acceptable.
Kat patted the mare’s neck. “That’s exactly what I think, too.” She relaxed a little in the saddle, her nerves still a-jangle from this morning’s contretemps with the handsome stranger. She wouldn’t think about it any more. It was too fine a morning to let go to waste.
The lazy sun flickered through the leaves overhead as they meandered ever deeper into the forest, dappling the mare’s reddish sides with touches of amber and streaks of gold. Kat lifted her face up to where towering trees laced branches over the path, wide boughs of green leaves soon encompassing them completely.
The air was even cooler here, in the deep woods. Kat loved being among the trees and away from the hard words and groping hands of Kilkairn. Calmness began to sift into her soul, though one part of her mind continued to dwell on this morning’s confrontation.
Normally, though she resented such treatment, she didn’t let such things bother her. But this time things had been different. For one, she’d actually allowed the stranger to kiss her, and for two, the truth be told, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a handsomer man. Well, perhaps once. But that one time should have taught her to beware such men.
She thought wistfully of the prettily turned compliments that St. John had spoken, all with a disturbing glint of sincerity in his gaze.
It had been that glint that had given her pause. Most of Malcolm’s guests knew her past history and came with the intention of luring her farther down the path of lost virtue. They used empty, quickly blurted suggestions and grasping hands, neither of which had any effect on her except to raise her ire.
St. John, in contrast, had seemed to genuinely admire her.
She glanced down at herself now. Not only was she taller than most women, but she had an abundance of flesh that she greatly disliked. When she’d first been introduced to Edinburgh society, she’d quickly learned that the women who garnered all the attention were smallish, slender, and delicately made.
“I felt like an ungainly, ill-dressed bull in a china shop,” she told Merriweather. Her brother, Malcolm, had done what he could. He had not stinted on her clothing or anything else. He’d purchased the best the modistes had to offer. The problem was that fashion itself pandered to the slender and delicate and left healthy, normal women like Kat looking and feeling uncomfortable and less than attractive.
She smoothed a hand over her gown. Of plain worsted, it was not at all fashionable. Instead, she’d had it cut to fit her form, with a waistline at her waist and not tied directly beneath her breasts, a style that made her chest and hips appear twice their normal size. Really, did the fashion mongers think that all women were like Fiona, as tiny and delicate as a doll?
Kat snorted. “They need to look around. Most women are like me, a little too wide here and a little too wide there to be able to wear such nonsense.”
Merriweather pranced a bit.
Kat chuckled. “My thoughts exactly.” She was fortunate that she’d left society’s frivolous expectations behind and now had complete freedom to be and wear what she wanted. She took a deep breath, the cool, fresh air sending a grin all the way to her feet.
They rounded a sharp turn in the pathway and came out into a clearing. The trees and foliage had been cut back, then kept at bay with a meticulous hand so that the sun shone freely here, bright and warm, bathing all in a golden light.
The cottage, if one could call a twelve room structure thusly, sat in the heart of the forest. It was a tall, two-story house with a steep roof and large, square windows. The building was of hand-thrown brick, covered with mud wattle, the walls a foot thick to protect the inhabitants from the extreme weather that graced this portion of the country.
But despite a severity of design, the house was ringed with welcome. The thickly thatched roof was braided into an intricate, cheery design. Every window sported a window box filled with lavender and St. John’s wort, while a bright red door beckoned one to enter. Most days, the shutters were thrown wide and singing could be heard, often a set of deep baritones, though more likely than not, Kat’s own fine feminine alto.
Kat loved the place with a fierce passion. Not because of its beauty, though that was part of it. But because it was hers. Every last blooming inch. A fact she made known to any who dared say nay about her or her chosen way of life. For some reason, for as long as she could remember, there had always been people telling her what to do, how to look, which way to act, and who to be. But not here. Here she was just Kat.
She smiled in satisfaction. “It’s a lovely place, isn’t it, Merriweather?”
The horse jangled her bridle bells in agreement.
It was a sad truth of life that those who were born on the wrong side of the sheets spent the rest of their lives in a state of “almost.” Almost an accepted part of the community. Almost a member of a real family. Almost, but never quite anything.
So it had been for Kat until she discovered her “gift,” as Malcolm called it. Then things had changed forever.
She’d found her gift by chance. She’d been searching for something useful to do with her time. One day, while sitting in church and admiring the beautiful colors that filled the windows, she began to wonder if perhaps…just perhaps, she could find a pastime more significant than embroidery or watercolors, neither of which was bold enough to hold Kat’s interest. What she needed was a pastime that would produce something glorious and beautiful. Something like the stained glass windows that cast such gorgeous shadows of red and blue and gold across the floor of the church.
The thought took hold and grew. She began to make inquiries, and to her delight, she found that one of the groomsmen in Malcolm’s stable—a large, ruddy giant of a man by the name of Simon—had once apprenticed doing glasswork. Soon Kat was visiting that very glass shop and learning the craft herself. Though it took time, Kat had a natural instinct for color and design, and she found that she loved every painstaking minute.
The glasswork quickly became more than a pastime. It became a goal. With it, she would carve her own niche in the world.
The cottage had been a natural choice. Kat had grown up there, and though it needed some work after sitting empty after her mother’s death, it was basically sturdy. Though Malcolm had protested loud and long, Kat had moved into the cottage a scant month later, taking Simon with her. His sister, Annie, came along soon after that.
Kat guided Merriweather across the clearing to the barn. Sensing a carrot was waiting, the mare kicked up her feet and attempted to trot.
Kat laughed. “Easy now! You’ll get your carrot in good time.”
A large, red-haired man came out of the barn door, a plank of wood resting easily on his shoulder. He paused when he saw Kat, his craggy face softening slightly. “There ye be! Annie has been lookin’ all over fer ye.”
Kat grinned at Simon as she kicked her foot out of the stirrup and stepped down. “What does she want?”
Simon lowered his brow. “I don’t know, but she has some of her bosom friends with her. Last I heard, they were ta
lkin’ aboot the new guest at the castle.”
Kat undid Merriweather’s saddle, hefting it off the mare’s back and onto the fence rail. “I met him this morning.”
“Did ye now? What do ye have to say aboot him?”
Kat had an instant image of mischievous blue eyes fringed in thick black lashes, her body tingling at the memory of strong hands moving sinuously over her body. She forced a casual shrug. “I don’t have much to say at all.” Not to Simon, anyway.
Why had she been so slow to react when the stranger had kissed her? None of Malcolm’s other houseguests had managed to weasel a kiss out of her. But this guest…Kat had to smile a little. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t really sorry it had happened. It was a lovely, warm memory, and as long as it went no further, there was no harm. No harm at all.
Besides, the man had been damned good at what he was about. The thought made her grin even more.
Simon’s gaze narrowed. He set the wood against the fence. “Out with it, lass. What has ye smilin’ so big?”
Kat’s cheeks heated. “Nothing. I was just thinking about—” Good Lord what did she say now? “Things,” she finished weakly. Things like strong, well-defined hands that could cup one ever so intimately and make one’s stomach tighten with need. Things like a pair of firm, warm lips that knew all too well how to send one’s thoughts to places they were better not going.
“Hmph,” Simon said, eyeing her up and down as she rubbed down Merriweather and then led the mare into the coolness of the barn. Simon followed along, his gaze never leaving her. “Whatever ye’re thinkin’ aboot, ’tis makin’ yer cheeks turn red.”
Kat wisely ignored him. Though he was a scant two years older than she, she thought of Simon as a father. Certainly he’d been more involved in her life than her own father had been.
“I’m fine, Simon. Just a bit heated from the ride back.” Kat closed the stall door on Merriweather, and then left the barn. “Where is Annie?”
Simon followed her outside. “She’s in the kitchen with Fat Mary.”