Her brows knit. “Won’t you be there?”
“Most likely nae. But I’ll set oot a few tomes you might enjoy—”
“Tatiana!” Mrs. Drummond called from the kitchen.
Tatiana made a face and then cast a quick glance at the clock resting on the mantelpiece. “I’m late. I’m to help Mrs. Drummond make haggis for Friday’s dinner.”
“I hope it’s nae for me. I deplore haggis.”
“It’s to be served in the common room.” She smiled, a flicker of uncertainty suddenly in her gaze. “Lord Buchan, you have given me so much today. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“’Tis nae necessary. The map was gathering dust and books should be read. It’s their purpose.”
“But you bothered to visit where my accident happened. That must have taken a lot of time.”
“It was nothing,” he lied. It had taken hours to find the exact spot, and the trip had jolted him about so much that his leg had kept him awake much of the night. But it had been worth it just to see her smile. “I’m glad we know a bit aboot your circumstances. It was obvious that bothered you.”
She smiled, almost shyly, and then, to his astonishment, she closed the space between them, lifted up on her toes, and kissed his cheek.
It was a chaste kiss, a simple gesture of gratitude, yet it caught at him, tangling his heart still more.
Tatiana stepped back, flushed and unwilling to meet his gaze as she retrieved the map from the mantel. “Perhaps now the Drummonds will believe there’s an Oxenburg.” She tucked the map into her book and slid them both into her pocket. “I must go. Good day, Lord Buchan. And thank you again.”
“Guid day.” He watched as she disappeared out the door, leaving him alone and trying to remember what, exactly, he’d thought to gain by coming here today. Whatever it was, he was fairly certain inviting Tatiana to Auchmacoy had not been part of it.
Chapter 5
“Damn you! Touch me one more time and I’ll shoot you between the eyes with my blunderbuss,” Buchan said through clenched teeth.
“Och, is that how ’tis?” Dr. Fraser didn’t even look up from rubbing liniment on the angry red rope of scars that twisted over Buchan’s thigh. “That’s better than skewering me on a pike and leaving me for the crows, which you threatened to do last time.”
Buchan grimaced when the doctor hit a particularly tight spot, gritting his teeth as he snarled, “I regret I dinnae follow through on that promise.”
The young sandy-haired doctor grinned. He was a new sort of physician, given to a set of beliefs about the healing of war wounds that involved treating the scars as part of the wound, rather than ignoring them. Buchan wasn’t one of the doctor’s many successes yet, and right now, he didn’t feel as if he’d ever be. His leg burned as if afire; his scarred thigh spasmed as the doctor kneaded the locked tissue with firm, hard pressure, rubbing in the liniment, which would supposedly keep the area more supple. The pain was indescribable.
“Och, leave my calf alone!”
“But it’s where most of the tautness lies. We must work that area more.”
Buchan growled out yet more threats, these spiced with less-than-polite pejoratives.
Dr. Fraser looked impressed. “That’s a new one. I’m nae sure what it means, but again, I dinnae think I want to.”
“Damn you to hell and back, must you press so hard?”
“I must; it breaks oop the scar tissue.” The doctor sent a considering look at Buchan, taking in his pale face and damp brow, and then nodded to Murray, the valet. “But perhaps we’ve done enough today. Bring me those clean cloths and I’ll bandage—”
“Nae, nae.” Buchan took a deep breath. “Dinnae stop.”
“But you said—”
“Continue. I wish this done.”
The doctor and Murray exchanged looks. “This is a new turn, you actually demanding to continue the treatment.”
“I wish it done. That is nae new.” But it was. He’d always done as the doctor had asked, but never had Buchan requested a longer treatment. Now he was willing to do anything, put up with any amount of pain, perform any number of exercises, if he could just regain more strength in his leg. He knew the reason, too. Tatiana.
It had been two days since he’d invited her to come to Auchmacoy, and she had yet to arrive. Two long, uncertainty-filled days. Perhaps she won’t come. It’s not as if she has reason to feel safe among the men here in Scotland, thanks to the squire’s son.
Scowling, Buchan convinced Dr. Fraser to continue, and thus it was a good half hour later before, exhausted and aching in every bone, Buchan swallowed a snarl of pain when the doctor wrapped the injured leg with clean cloth soaked in liniment.
“We’ve done all we can today.” Dr. Fraser finished binding Buchan’s leg, covering the ugly scars under neatly wrapped bandages. “If I overdo the tissue massage, it will cause more harm than good.” He tied off the bandage, picked up a nearby towel, and wiped his hands, the lemony scent of the liniment lingering in the room.
“Is this even working?” Buchan swung his feet to the floor. “We’ve made nae progress at all.”
“Och, have we nae?” Dr. Fraser’s pale blue eyes gleamed in disbelief. “Six months ago, could you bend your leg at all?”
Buchan scowled.
“Nae,” the doctor answered. “And five months ago, could you stand for more than two minutes withoot the muscles seizing oop?”
“I suppose nae.” Buchan grabbed his cane and lifted himself to his feet, Murray coming to assist him as he dressed.
The doctor pressed on. “And four months ago, could you walk as well as you do now, or climb even one stair? And three months ago, did you ever sleep a night withoot severe cramps? And two months—”
“Fine! I’ll admit I’m some better.” Buchan finished dressing, sitting down so he could stomp his good foot into his riding boot. “But it’s still as painful as hell.”
Dr. Fraser tugged on his coat. “It will continue to be painful until we loosen the scar tissue enough. That is what hurts so—the scar tissue was allowed to form withoot any stretching, so it grew tight, like a band of leather left to dry in the sun. Now it must be stretched each day—by massage and through those exercises I gave you, and rubbed with liniment to keep it supple.” The doctor’s gaze narrowed. “You have been doing the exercises?”
“Aye. Twice a day at times.” Three times, now that Tatiana was to visit. Dammit.
Murray nodded. “He’s been guid aboot tha’, doctor.”
Buchan scowled. “I’d do it eight times a day if I thought it would speed this process. At this rate, I’ll be eighty before my thigh has healed.”
“It will never heal completely. I told you that. The physician who did this surgery . . .” Fraser shook his head.
Fraser’s scowl somehow eased Buchan’s irritation. “There’s naught to be done aboot it now other than what you’re doing. I’m sorry I’m such a curmudgeon.”
“I understand. It’s nae an easy process.” The doctor eyed Buchan with a sharp gaze. “Have you had any more episodes of congestive fever? It’s been a while.”
“Nae a one. That’s one illness I’ve the better of.”
“I should leave you some tonic, just in case.” The doctor dug through his bag of medicine.
“Dinnae bother. I’ve nae had an episode in over a year, and ’tis nae likely to happen now.”
“’Tis nae an illness to treat lightly.” The doctor closed his bag. “I dinnae seem to have any; I’ll bring some another time.”
Buchan held out his hand. “Thank you for coming, doctor. I’m nae an easy patient, and you deserve better.”
Dr. Fraser grinned and shook Buchan’s hand. “’Tis a pleasure. Thanks to you, my vocabulary now is much more varied.” Still grinning, the doctor led the way out of the bedchamber and down the stairs to
the large front door. “Keep oop those exercises and I’ll be back next week.”
“Of course.” Buchan opened the front door and followed the doctor outside. Once there, Buchan pulled a folded set of bills from his pocket. “Here. A pound for every curse word you were forced to endure.”
The doctor flushed. “My lord, that is far too much for a simple visit.”
“Like hell.” Buchan pressed the bills into the doctor’s hand. “I’m damned lucky you took my case, and despite all my cursing, I appreciate the work you’ve done. You’re right—my leg is much better. I’m just impatient lately and wish it done faster. But that’s my cross to bear and nae yours.”
“But this is more than thrice my rate—”
“You could charge five times what you do, and still be as in demand as you are.” Buchan waved the doctor off. “You’ve other patients waiting on you, hopefully better mannered than me. Meanwhile, I’ll be sure to stretch my leg as you’ve ordered.”
The doctor sighed, but accepted the money and climbed into his waiting carriage. “I’ll be back Wednesday next.”
“Until then.” Buchan stepped back as the carriage started down the drive. He had just turned toward the door when a flash of movement caught his eye. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine and there, walking across the field toward his house, was Tatiana.
Though he knew it would be awkward if she caught him watching, he couldn’t help himself; his feet seemed rooted to the ground.
The wind tugged playfully at the long brown woolen cape she wore over her gown, her blue skirts peeking through with each step. Her long, chestnut hair had been yanked free by the insistent wind and it flew about her, wild and untamed. The sunlight, rare for this time of the year, lined her shoulders and glistened on her tresses until she looked like the fairy he suspected she’d been named for.
She stepped from the grass and onto the drive, her gaze moving over the picturesque lake to the gardens, and finally to the house.
He stepped into the shadows, almost colliding with his butler.
MacInnes lifted onto his toes, peering down the drive. “My lord, who is tha’?”
“A guest.”
“A guest? Och, we’ve nae had a guest in over a year; nae since—” The butler cast a quick look at Buchan and then added, “It’s been a long time.”
“Since I was injured.” Buchan reluctantly pulled his gaze from Tatiana and, holding his cane firmly, entered the house.
MacInnes followed. “A guest will be just the thing to brighten us oop. Shall I have Cook make tea?”
“Aye, but only for one. Miss Romanovin has come to visit the library, nae me, so I will nae be joining her. See to it that she has whatever she may need.”
MacInnes looked disappointed. “Of course, my lord, if you’re sure you dinnae wish to join her for tea, at least. ’Twould be nice of you to welcome her to the house and—”
“Nae. I’ve things to do and will be in the study. I’ve placed a stack of books on a table in the library that I thought she might enjoy; she may take those and any number of other books she wishes.”
“Any number?”
“Aye. Any book, and as many as she’d like. Do you understand?”
MacInnes nodded, though there was a sad look on his face. “Aye, my lord. I’ll send Tavish to the kitchen to let Cook know we need tea for one.”
“Thank you.”
Buchan limped to his study and sank into the leather chair at his desk, sighing with relief to be off his aching leg, and away from the foyer where Tatiana would soon be. Trying to divert himself, he gathered the tenant reports, and tried to focus on the rent roll.
But instead of reading, he caught himself listening intently, and it wasn’t long before a firm knock sounded upon the door. Buchan looked toward the closed door as MacInnes offered a greeting, Tatiana’s husky voice answering. There were steps, a low murmur, and then . . . silence.
Buchan stared at his door and imagined Tatiana in the library. Was she surprised at how large it was? He’d wager it was every bit as grand as the ones she’d seen. Buchan knew for a fact that the library at Auchmacoy had more books and was better stocked than the king’s, which was a feat indeed.
The house was irritatingly quiet. Buchan pushed the reports aside and stood, grasping his cane and moving to the door. Once there, he pressed his ear to it and listened.
Nothing.
Of course, it was possible Tatiana wouldn’t exclaim her surprise out loud. Perhaps she was merely staring about her in awe. He could imagine her doing that, her soft lips parted, her eyes wide as she looked at the two-story-high bookcases lining the entire room. Perhaps she’d find so many books intimidating?
He cracked the door and listened, but could hear only his own breathing and the distant noise of a servant opening and closing a door. Not a single sound came from the library.
He frowned. Not even footsteps. Is she not walking around, looking for a tome— He stopped. What if the sheer size of the library had confounded her, and she wasn’t sure how to find a book to her liking? His father had organized the books according to his own particular style, which might not make sense to someone unused to it.
He found himself standing outside the library door, his hand on the knob. He shouldn’t go in. She didn’t need help finding her way around a library; she was an intelligent person and would figure it out on her own. But still, this library’s organization was peculiar—
“My lord?”
Startled, Buchan turned on his heel.
MacInnes stood behind him holding the tea tray. “Did you wish for tea, too? I—”
“Nae, thank you. But I will get the door.” Buchan opened the door and stood aside so the butler could enter.
Buchan peered over the butler’s shoulder, but Tatiana was nowhere to be seen.
MacInnes carried the tray to the small table set between two large winged chairs before the fireplace. “Here is your tea, miss. If you need anything else, just ring the bell. The pull is by the fireplace.”
“Thank you.”
Where is she? Buchan came further into the room, but still couldn’t see his guest.
The butler bowed to a large wing-back chair that faced away from Buchan. “Ah! Very good. It seems his lordship is joining you after all.”
Buchan had opened his mouth to disagree when Tatiana peeped around the back of her chair. Instead of denying the butler’s charge, Buchan found himself drowning in a pair of deep green eyes.
MacInnes left, his pace stately. As he passed Buchan he carefully kept from making eye contact, closing the large doors behind him.
“There you are. I wondered when I’d see you.” Tatiana stood and came from behind the chair. “When I arrived, your butler said you were busy.”
“I was. Estate business. But, ah . . . I finished and I thought I’d see if you were finding the library to your liking.”
She looked around, her eyes wide. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”
It was true. Tatiana hadn’t expected to find such grandeur in the wilds of Scotland, but Auchmacoy—the entire house and not just the library—outshone many of the palaces she’d visited. The exterior was stunning: two stories of white stone, trimmed with silvery gray marble, and decorated with hundreds of long windows that glistened in the sun. Surrounded by a perfectly manicured lawn beside a picturesque lake, the house gleamed like a jewel set on a bed of glistening blue and velvet green.
Inside was even more stunning. The foyer was grand, with a white marble floor and tapestried walls adorned by gold-framed paintings—but however gorgeous the house was, the library was truly magical.
The floor was covered with thick rugs that hushed the sounds of footsteps, while tall, slender windows allowed light to pour inside. A large fireplace burned cheerily, warming the space, while heavy red-cushioned f
urniture beckoned the reader. But best of all, every inch of wall space left was dedicated to massive shelves. Rows and rows of them, going up, up, up two high stories. Halfway up was a narrow balcony, the books reachable by a sizable ladder that hung on a track and could be wheeled around the entire room. “All libraries should be so designed,” she murmured.
Satisfaction warmed Buchan’s gaze, softening his face. “It is my favorite room in the house.”
“I can see why.” She walked around, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of the older books. She stopped in front of a shelf and trailed her fingers over the leather bindings, which were cool to the touch. “In my cousin’s palace in Oxenburg there is a library this big, but it is not so beautifully laid out, nor is it truly his. He is in charge of the cultural history for the entire country, and so collects every book deemed worth reading.”
“That’s a big undertaking.”
“Da. His wife is Scottish. She helps him collect the books. He says she is wise in deciding which ones should be obtained for the collection.”
“This is the cousin you were to visit?”
“Nyet. It is one of his brothers.”
“So both have married Scottish lasses?”
“Our grandmother decided our family needed fresh blood, and she believes the Scots are a hardy and spirited breed.” Tatiana sent him a droll look. “She’s been pressing my cousins to find wives here. So far she’s managed to marry off three of them to Scottish brides—all except my cousin Nik, who is not the sort to listen to Tata Natasha.”
“Nik?”
“He is to be king. He is in London now, attending the Regent’s birthday fete.”
Is he indeed? “I’m surprised this Tata Natasha has nae found a groom for you.”
Tatiana shrugged. “She does not pay me the same attention.”
“From the sound of it, that is a blessing.”
A smile touched her lips. “So it is,” she agreed. “Her Grace is a Romany, and her methods are unorthodox.”
Buchan grasped his cane tighter and moved to stand beside one of the windows, leaning gratefully against the casement. His leg was aching badly from Dr. Fraser’s treatment, yet Buchan didn’t wish to sit, for he wouldn’t be able to see Tatiana’s face as she wandered the perimeter of the room.