She let out the breath she’d been holding and forced a tentative smile.
“I do regret that you didn’t have the courtship or the wedding you deserved.”
She fastened her gaze on him and shrugged her shoulders in a studied gesture of nonchalance. “My father was ill. A long courtship would have been impractical and I couldna afford a big wedding. My clansmen did the best they could wi’ what they had and still they were ashamed by their inability to present us with wedding gifts.”
“Impractical or not, affordable or not, you deserved better,” he told her. “Much better than what you got and I hope—” He caught himself before he gave her reason to build dreams for the future. “I intend to make it up to you.”
This time her smile was genuine and the light that shone in her face lit her eyes as well. “You already have.”
He lifted a brow in query.
“You’ve given me a glimpse of heaven, milord.” She blushed. “Several glimpses. That more than makes up for a plain wedding.”
He shook his head. “I want to give you more.”
She opened her arms to him. “Be my guest.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The rumbling and the empty ache of his stomach woke him the second time. Neil rolled from the bed and carefully placed another log on the fire. He did his best not to wake her, but Jessalyn stirred as he tugged his plaid from beneath her.
She sat up and yawned. “What is it?”
“My belly.” Neil chuckled. “It woke me with its complaining.”
“Are ye ill?” The expression on her face mirrored her concern.
“I’m hungry. All this lovemaking with my insatiable Scottish laird—”
“English countess,” she interrupted. “Scottish lairds canna be insatiable. Whereas everyone knows it’s perfectly acceptable for English countesses to be so.”
“Where did you hear such a rumor?” he asked. “For I’ve known many English countesses, but only one Scottish laird and …” He leaned over and smoothed her soft curls away from her face and over her shoulder. “And I prefer the Scottish laird.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because she’s insatiable,” he teased. “But the lovemaking comes at a price and I must have something substantial to eat if she expects me to continue.”
Jessalyn swung her feet over the side of the bed. “I’ll get something from the kitchens.”
Fearing her trip to the kitchens might yield a hefty bowl of porridge or worse—dry oat cakes, Neil lifted Jessalyn’s feet and tucked them beneath the covers. “No,” he said. “You stay here where it’s warm. I’ll go.” He finished pulling his length of tartan off the bed and began to wind it around his waist in preparation for his trip upstairs.
“No! No! Not like that!” she protested, frowning at the tartan.
Neil let go of the fabric and threw his hands up in the air. “Then how?” He demanded as the tartan slid down his legs and fell to the floor.
“Grab your plaid and a shirt from that chest.” Jessalyn pointed to the chest stacked with linens at the foot of the bed. “And bring me that thick leather belt hanging on the peg beside the washstand and the gold brooch from the dressing table. I’ve attended to all my other wifely duties—” She cast him a wicked grin. “So I might as well pleat your kilt for you.”
Neil gathered up the things she asked for and handed them over. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”
“Aye,” she answered. “Lift your arms.” She unfolded one of her father’s linen shirts, then stood up on the bed and dropped it over Neil’s head and arms.
“You know what they’ll think if anyone sees me sneaking into the kitchen,” Neil said.
“Aye.” Jessalyn looked up and her eyes met his. “They’ll think I’ve come to my senses and decided to lay claim to my husband.” She lowered her gaze and began to position the plaid around his waist. “Hold it just like that,” she ordered as she snugly buckled the belt into place over the folds.
Neil held it.
“Now,” she ordered once again. “Watch closely.”
He followed every move of her nimble fingers as she deftly pleated the kilt, then looped the tail of it over his shoulder and pinned it into place with the brooch that had once belonged to her mother.
“You’ll need a bigger one,” she said when she finished.
“Kilt?” he asked, dismayed by the idea that he might have to wrestle with several additional yards of fabric each morning. Or stand patiently while the MacInnes did.
She laughed. “No, a bigger brooch. This one was made for a woman.” She touched the gold pin. “It belonged to my mother but it will have to do until we can have a larger one fashioned for you.” She sighed. “I would give you my father’s but …”
“It should only be worn by the laird. I’m not the MacInnes. You are.”
“But you’re a man …”
“I’m husband to the MacInnes,” he said softly. “And I’m honored that you’ve decided to pleat my kilt for me and that you trust me enough to gift me with your mother’s brooch.” He smiled at her. “I’ll be honored to wear it.”
“My kinsmen may think it strange,” she warned.
Neil shrugged his shoulders. “I’m an Englishman. They already think I’m strange.”
She looked up at him, amazed by his willingness to accept her superior standing within the clan. She had clansmen and highland neighbors who were finding it more difficult to do. Perhaps it was because her kin and most of her neighbors had known her from the time she was a child and had never expected her to succeed her father. She had had six brothers—all of whom had been more suited for the role of laird than she was. But he was an English earl and a soldier. As a soldier, Jessalyn knew he was probably accustomed to taking orders from officers of superior rank, but she also knew that as a natural leader, he was much more comfortable giving them and she thought it highly unlikely that he had ever had to take orders from a woman. She found his behavior even more remarkable now that he knew her so intimately—now that he was in a unique position to recognize her secret fears and the flaws in her character that she struggled to hide.
“You’re staring, milady. Is something amiss with my costume?” He glanced down at his kilt.
“No, milord,” she said. “You look verra handsome in your Scottish finery.” She flicked a speck of dust from the row of ruffles on his shirtfront. “All you need is your sword and your sporran.”
“And boots.” He wiggled his bare toes. “To keep my feet warm.”
“Boots would cover your legs.”
“That’s what they’re for. To cover my legs and keep my feet warm.”
She tucked her chin then looked up and gave him a coy smile. “Highlanders don’t cover any of their best features. They like to show them off.”
“I’m more likely to freeze them off in this climate. And you wouldn’t want that to happen would you, milady?”
“When winter comes, I’ll find a length of tartan and make you a proper pair of trews,” she told him. “And give you back your boots so you won’t have to worry about freezing during our long, cold Scottish nights.” She reached out and took hold of his ruffles, pulling him to her for a long, passionate kiss.
“I don’t think I’ll have to worry about freezing during the long, cold Scottish nights now that I’ll have my wife to keep me warm at night.” He brushed her lips with his and as he deepened the kiss the rumbling in his stomach grew louder. “I may starve,” he teased. “But I don’t think I’ll suffer the cold any longer.”
Jessalyn blushed. “I forgot.”
“So did I,” he admitted. “But apparently my empty stomach did not.”
“Then be on yer way,” she told him. “Raid my kitchen and find food enough to sustain ye when ye return to the pleasure ye find in my bed.”
“I like the way ye think, milady,” he murmured, mimicking her Scots burr. “And dinna worry, I’ll bring back food enough to sustain ye while ye find yer plea
sure in my bed.” He leaned over for one more lingering kiss, then left her standing in bed while he crossed to the door.
“Will ye be gone long, my lord Gallant?”
“Oh no, milady. I’ll return with food from the hunt—” He turned and blew her a kiss. “—before you have time to miss me.”
Jessalyn giggled as she caught it. “Impossible!” she declared. “I miss you already.”
He opened the door.
“Dinna forget the keys,” she reminded him, pointing to the niche beside the door. “And dinna forget to lock me in.”
“Aye, my lord.” Neil saluted her, then retrieved the keys from the niche and stepped into the tunnel. He followed her order and locked the door behind him before looping the chains and the keys over his head.
“There’s his lordship now,” Flora announced.
The clansmen gathered in the bailey looked up as he strolled across it.
“We were beginning to worry, lad,” Auld Tam said as Neil approached. “But now we see there was nothing to worry about. Our wee Jessie has a way wi’ the pleatin’ of a plaid.”
Neil smiled at the older man. “Aye, Tam, that she does.”
“We’ve company comin’,” Tam continued. “Runners from the next glen arrived wi’ the news an hour ago. A big, slow-moving caravan with livestock and lots of wagons is headin’ our way.” He motioned Neil to his side and lowered his voice so no one else would hear. “I suspect your gifts from London are arrivin’.”
Knowing Tam had ridden over the day before to meet with the Munros about an alliance, Neil asked. “Any news from the Munro?” Neil asked.
Tam reached up and scratched beneath his bonnet. “He doesna have anything against Jessie, but he says he’ll not ally his clan with ours unless we have sumthin’ more to bargain with than promises.”
Neil nodded. He’d expected no less. “We’ll try again when the caravan arrives. How long before they get here?”
Auld Tam shrugged. “Four or five hours—maybe longer.”
Neil glanced up at the sky, trying to gauge the hours of sunlight left. “Good.” He turned to Tam. “I was on my way to the kitchen. I promised the MacInnes that I would bring back something to eat and I’ve no wish to be delayed.”
Tam gave Neil a playful slap on the shoulder. “Worked up an appetite, have ye lad? Weel, get on wi’ ye to the kitchen. Davina will fix ye up proper. I’ll let ye know when our company arrives.”
Neil entered the kitchen to find Davina preparing a tray of food. She looked up from her work and greeted him. “I saw ye makin’ yer way across the bailey and I figured ye and Jessie would be hungry.”
“How did you know about the MacInnes?”
“Yer wearin’ one of the auld MacInnes’s fine lawn shirts.” She sliced off a wedge of cheese and placed it on the tray, then she hollowed out two round loaves of bread and filled them with rabbit stew. “And yer kilt’s pleated.”
He gave her a wry grin. “News travels fast.”
She poked him in the middle with the edge of the tray. “Hold this while I get the mugs of ale.”
Neil grabbed hold of the tray and held it steady as the old woman drew two mugs of ale from the barrel and plunked them down on the tray. The aroma of the freshly baked bread and the savory rabbit stew made his mouth water and his stomach rumbled once again—this time in anticipation.
“Shall I lay a place for ye here at the table or will Jessie be joinin’ ye in the master chamber?”
“Neither.”
“Then ye’ll be staying in the Laird’s Trysting Room.”
Neil set the tray down and gave the old woman a sharp glance. “What do you know of the Laird’s Trysting Room?”
“Enough to know ye’ll be needing these.” She reached into her apron pocket, withdrew a handful of small brass bells and set them on the tray.
He stared at the bells. There were six of them. “I don’t understand.”
Davina smiled. “The auld laird used these to let us know what he needed when he retired to the secret room.” She pointed to the bells. “Hang one bell on the water bucket and send it up to us if yer hungry. Hang two bells on the water bucket if yer thirsty, and three bells if ye want more firewood. Hang all of ’em on a bucket if ye need all three and we’ll send it down to ye.”
“Bells.” He picked up one of the brass bells and jiggled it to make it ring. “I’ve never thought of using bells.”
“Sir?”
“I’m an architect, Mistress MacInnes.”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“That means that I design and build buildings.”
“Like the fort I heard ye were building for the English soldiers?”
Neil nodded. “Except that in London, I build houses for wealthy lords and ladies and one of the challenges of designing large houses is finding a means of alerting servants when they’re needed. I’ve tried several different means of meeting the challenge, yet I never thought about using a system of bells.” He looked at Davina. “Tell me, Mistress MacInnes, who thought of putting bells on the water buckets?”
“I did, yer lairdship,” she said. “But only for the secret room because it was the laird’s private place and he trusted me wi’ the care of it.”
“You know where it is. And because it’s the only occupied room in the castle below the kitchen you knew there would be no confusing the meaning of the bells.” He smiled. “Very clever. Thank you, Mistress MacInnes, for the meal and for giving me an idea.” Neil lifted her work-worn hand and kissed the knuckles.
She smiled. “Yer welcome, yer lairdship.”
“Have you more bells, Mistress MacInnes?” Neil asked.
“Of course, yer lairdship.”
“Auld Tam has promised to let me know when the caravan arrives. Will you alert me?”
“Aye, yer lairdship.”
“Good.” He picked up the tray and started toward the door.
“Yer lairdship?”
“Yes?”
“Ye dinna have to carry that heavy tray across the bailey.”
“What?” He turned around so quickly he nearly upset the tray.
“Ye dinna have to carry the tray across the bailey,” she told him. “There’s another way to the laird’s room.” She crossed the room and opened the door to one of the storage rooms attached to the kitchen. “Behind the barrels.” She walked over to a rack of ale barrels and rolled it to the side to reveal an opening into a storage room and a set of stairs leading down. “There’s a lock on the inside.”
Neil paused. “Only one lock?”
“Aye. The laird always used his key to lock it behind him.”
“The other doors to the secret room have two locks,” Neil said. “They require both keys.”
“Nay they don’t.” Davina shook her head. “The laird’s key opens all of ’em.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye,” she replied. “Oft times I was wi’ the laird when he used it on this door and the locks on the doors in the tunnels.”
Neil glanced down at the larger of the keys hanging around his neck. “Are these the original keys?”
“Aye, yer lairdship. They’ve been handed down from the auld laird who built the Trysting Room to our wee Jessie.”
“The lord who built the Trysting Room may have loved his enemy’s daughter,” Neil mused, “but he didn’t trust her.”
Davina frowned.
“The lord’s key opens all the locks,” he explained. “But the lady’s key only opens the locks in the doors to the tunnels and the Trysting Room. If her key was a true mate to his, the castle and all its inhabitants would have been vulnerable to attack. He couldn’t take a chance that she might betray him. He couldn’t forget that she was the daughter of his enemy, so he deceived her—when all the while he was able to confine her to the tunnels and the Trysting Room with a turn of his key.”
“Then he never truly loved her,” she said. “Because wi’out trust, true love canna flourish.” She looked at N
eil. “I hope ye willna make the same mistake as our puir misguided ancestor.”
He didn’t speak. He simply turned and disappeared through the doorway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What do you mean you haven’t found him?” Major General Sir Charles Oliver demanded of the young lieutenant standing at attention before him.
“I mean we haven’t found him, sir. We’ve searched every village and glen from here to the border lands and Major Claremont and the other two soldiers are nowhere to be found. I don’t believe the major went south.”
“Of course he went south,” General Oliver snapped. “Why would he do otherwise? London is south. During his tour of duty here the major made his disdain for Scotland and all things Scottish quite clear. Take my word for it, Lieutenant, Major Claremont went home to London.”
“I disagree, sir. We’ve spent weeks searching and we’ve found nothing to indicate the major left the fort of his own accord or that he journeyed to London.”
“So we’re back to that, are we, Lieutenant? You still expect me to believe that preposterous story that Major Claremont and the two men charged with the task of guarding him were kidnapped.” General Oliver stared at the younger officer, daring him to continue.
“We found pony tracks inside the fort the morning after Major Claremont and the others turned up missing, sir. There is a hole in the perimeter wall, and on that night it was left unguarded. All signs point to kidnapping as the most logical explanation, sir.”
“Logic? Logic? What does logic have to do with anything? I have it on good authority that Neil Claremont is in London hiding behind his grandfather’s powerful cloak. And we must find him. General Wade is coming to inspect the fort and the wall must be complete. I require Claremont’s presence.”
“Whose authority, sir?” The lieutenant forgot himself long enough to demand an answer. “I should like to speak to the person from whom you’ve received this information.”
“The identity of my informant does not concern you, Lieutenant.”
“You charged me with the investigation into Major Claremont’s disappearance, sir. If you have information as to his whereabouts it concerns me.” The young officer stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated.