The MacLeans - Sleepless in Scotla

  Mr. Hurst called her his prized lass, and took great delight when Nora displayed not only an uncanny ability to heal the ill but a shrewd business sense as well. It was through her shrewd management that his lordship’s mills had prospered even during the difficult years after his lordship’s death.

  One could say what one wished about her unfortunate beginnings and rough way of speaking, but though she brought neither wealth nor position to their marriage, no one could say that she didn’t make the man blissfully happy all their days together.

  As expected, Mr. Hurst left his entire properties and fortune to her, and she was as careful with his fortune now as she had been when he was alive. To no one’s surprise, she continued to run the house so tightly that the servants were often reduced to counting candles and using leftover cuts of meat for soups. As she was fond of saying, there was nothing wrong “with a bit o’ thrift.” While the furnishings might grow a bit shabby over time, madam instantly replaced non-reparable items such as when the curtains in the front room finally grew too thin to darn. On that occasion, she’d chosen some very handsome red velvet drapes that had instantly polished the room and promised to wear well for at least a decade.

  McNair just wished madam were a little more attuned to the dictates of fashion. She rarely wore anything other than plain gray gowns draped with a multitude of shawls, and the most sensible of boots. McNair and the other servants also missed the elegant dinners the master had once presided over, usually with madam ensconced at the foot of the table, genially holding court over the snobby and self-aggrandizing members of the local gentry. Those dinners had ended after Hurst’s death at the grand old age of seventy-eight.

  Though her accent was common, madam’s manners were never poor. Never was her spirit less than bold, nor her understanding less than exceptional. Nothing got by those shrewd blue eyes.

  “Och, dinna just stand there! Read it to me.” Madam waved one of the letters in McNair’s direction. “As soon as we’re done, I’m to go to the village and help Mrs. Bruce wit’ her sick bairn. She thinks ’tis an ague, but I’ve a mind it’s teethin’.”

  Unfortunately, her skills didn’t extend to curing her own failing eyesight.

  McNair unfolded the letter. “This is the one from Miss Caitlyn.”

  Madam put down her teacup. “What does the lass have to say?”

  McNair read, “‘Dearest Mam, I hope this letter finds you well. As you may know by now, I have been banished from London and—’”

  “Banished? Are ye certain she says tha’?”

  “Aye, madam.”

  “Och, wha’ trouble has she stirred up now? She’s a bonny lass, but has a temper tha’ burns as hot as the sun. Read on, please.”

  McNair lifted the letter and cleared his throat. “‘I have been banished from London because of an error in judgment that I made. Worse, poor Triona has been made to pay.’”

  “Good God! Wha’ has the puir lass done now?”

  He cleared his throat again. “‘It all began when I met Alexander MacLean—’”

  Nora clutched at her chest. “Say ’tis no’ so! I warned the lass no’ to look into their green eyes, fer they’d bewitch her!”

  McNair continued reading, “‘—but before you say I shouldn’t look into his green eyes, let me assure you that he ignored me completely.’”

  Nora dropped her hands, her brows snapping low over her hooked nose. “The bastard! To ignore me granddaughter! I daresay she dinna take tha’ kindly!”

  “No, madam. Shall I read on?”

  She nodded emphatically.

  “‘I am quite upset because I allowed myself to behave in such a way as to bring embarrassment to myself and the family, and—’”

  “Yes, yes, lass! So ye’ve said! Wha’ happened next?”

  McNair smiled and continued, “‘—to cause Triona irreparable harm. I should have known better, for Mother and Papa have indeed raised me to—’”

  “Pssht! I’ll be dead and buried if the lass doesna hurry wit’ her story. Scan the letter, will ye, and give me the gist o’ it.”

  McNair traced a long finger down the letter. “Hmmm. When Alexander MacLean ignored Miss Caitlyn, she decided to capture the laird’s attention by trapping him in a compromising situation—”

  “No!”

  “Yes, indeed. However”—the butler frowned in confusion—“it says she had no intention of actually accepting his proposal, and that she just wished to make him ask. That cannot be correct.”

  “Och, she’s makin’ fine sense to me.” She chuckled. “’Tis a woman’s thought and no’ one ye’d understand.”

  “Ah.” McNair turned the letter over and continued to read. “She expresses a great deal of remorse about being involved in such a dangerous plan, and then—ah. Here we are. It looks as if—” McNair blinked. “It appears that Miss Caitriona came to her sister’s rescue, and the laird’s brother Hugh was caught with her instead, and—” His mouth dropped open. “Good God!”

  Nora clutched the arms of her chair. “Spit it out, damn it! Wha’s happened?”

  McNair turned a stunned gaze toward his mistress. “Madam…they’ve married!”

  “Caitlyn and Alexander MacLean?”

  “Nay, madam! Miss Triona and Hugh MacLean.”

  Nora blinked. Then blinked again. “If that dinna beat all! Does it say where they are now?”

  “Yes, madam. Gilmerton Manor.”

  “Why, that’s no’ but an hour’s drive from here!”

  “Yes, madam. Shall I read Miss Triona’s missive?”

  She handed it to him, taking back and folding Caitlyn’s letter. “Ah, Caitlyn, I warned ye about tha’ bloody Hurst temper, but ye dinna listen.”

  McNair unfolded Triona’s note. “‘Dear Mam, I hope this finds you well. I would like to visit, for I’m in a difficult position and need your advice. I’m but an hour away, so send word to Gilmerton Manor and I shall come as soon as possible. Love, Triona.’”

  “That’s all?”

  “Aye, madam.”

  “Fetch the coach!”

  “Madam, it’s too near dark. There’s no way you could make it safely to Miss Triona’s at this time of day. You’ll have to go first thing in the morning.”

  She picked up the two letters and waved them in the air. “Damnation, I’ve a family emergency brewin’, and neither o’ me granddaughters can write a decent letter to let a person know wha’s goin’ on!”

  Hugh pulled on his gloves and allowed Liam to help him into his coat. Across the foyer, dressed in one of her new gowns, Caitriona conferred with Mrs. Wallis about dinner. The light from the windows flanking the front door traveled over the gleaming wood floor to flicker over the blue folds of her dress and touch upon her golden hair.

  Hugh buttoned his coat just as Caitriona glanced his way. Their eyes met, and she flushed. He grinned, knowing just what she was thinking. Every morning since she’d arrived, they’d awakened in each other’s arms and had thoroughly explored the delights offered by the marital bed. This morning had been no exception, and Hugh’d had the deep satisfaction of making her gasp with delight three times.

  She was voracious, and he awoke most mornings with a smile, as eager for her as she was for him. Lust was a wonderful, delicious, simple emotion, and he welcomed it.

  “Very well, m’lady,” Mrs. Wallis said. “I’ll tell Cook ye wish the roast lamb tonight.” She left, and Caitriona crossed the hall to the breakfast room.

  Hugh noted with appreciation the delightful sway of her hips beneath her gown. He must send a thank-you note and a bonus to the modiste. He’d never before realized how truly gifted she was.

  Caitriona reached the breakfast room, where Angus was busy polishing candelabra. She inspected his work, encouraging him with a kind word, and returned to the foyer. She hesitated when she saw Hugh, then came forward with a smile. “Headed for the stables?”

  “Yes. Two of the mares foaled in the night, and I’m anxious to see how the
y’re doing this morning. When the girls come for their afternoon ride, can you have them bring some rolled bandages? Mrs. Wallis keeps a basket of them somewhere. I’ve used all of the bandages in the barn.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” He hesitated, surprised by a sudden desire to kiss her once more. It had been almost reflexive, and he’d barely caught himself in time. He turned toward the door. “I should be back in time for dinner.” With a quick smile, he left, leaving his temptations in the foyer.

  The cold air chilled his heated body. He shouldn’t be so quick to ignite after such a passionate morning, but one look at her mouth made him go hard like a sex-starved youth.

  He laughed softly at his own foolishness. So far, to his cautious surprise, Caitriona’s presence hadn’t caused any huge disruptions in his and the girls’ peaceful life. The house was cleaner, the floors polished to a new gleam, the fires laid more neatly, and dinner more varied and enjoyable, but other than that, there was no tangible sign that she was there. Well, there was one: his cock had never been so well-satisfied.

  He grinned, his steps slowing as he looked back. Perhaps he should return and surprise her with a kiss. That would be—

  A curtain moved in an upstairs window. His smile faded as he stared at the now-empty pane and realized that he’d forgotten to stop by the nursery and say good morning to the girls as he usually did. He’d been distracted by Caitriona’s passion, then distracted by the changes in the house, then further distracted by the realization that he didn’t want to go to the stables this morning. What he really wanted was to go back inside the house, toss Caitriona over his shoulder, and carry her back to bed.

  Her passion was addictive. Not that he couldn’t walk away if he wished…he just didn’t wish to. What man would? She was innovative, sweet, playful, and threw herself into it body and soul. No man could ask for more.

  Things were going very well. Caitriona had agreed to stay away from the girls and had done just that. Of course, the girls made it easy, for they did their best to ignore her. That was one change since Caitriona had arrived: the girls had become more and more silent. It was if they were huddled together against an impending storm.

  He sighed. The girls would have to trust him. He glanced regretfully at the front door and then turned away, tugging the collar of his coat closer as the cold wind tried to sneak in. He didn’t have time to return to the house; there were two new foals and two very tired mares to check on.

  Inside the house, Triona sighed as Hugh turned away. He’d paused a second, and she’d thought he might come back. She didn’t know why, but she’d been so certain that her heart had leapt—which meant it had that much farther to fall when he went on to the stables.

  That’s what you get for wanting more, she warned herself. Learn to be thankful for what you have. That’s the secret to happiness. You have this lovely house, and kind servants. The girls have been polite, while Hugh has been— She shivered, rubbing her arms as she turned back toward the foyer. I have no complaints at all. In fact—

  Triona came to a halt. There, standing across the top of the staircase, were the girls.

  Devon, her dark hair falling about her face, frowned. “Where’s Papa?”

  “He just left for the stables to—”

  “Before saying good-bye to us?” Christina asked in a breathless tone, her pale face tight.

  “Perhaps he thought he’d see you after lunch, for your ride.”

  “He never leaves without telling us good-bye,” Devon said, accusation clear in her tone.

  “Maybe he was in a hurry because of the new foals,” Triona offered.

  Devon glared a moment, then gave a brittle laugh. “I’m sorry. It—it doesn’t really matter.”

  “New foals?” Aggie asked eagerly, coming down the stairs at once. “How many are there?”

  Caitriona had to smile at her eagerness. “Two.”

  Aggie clapped her hands. “Did he say if Satin had hers yet?”

  “He didn’t mention any of the horses by name.” She chuckled. “Do they all have names?”

  “Of course.” Christina had also come down the stairs and eyed Caitriona cautiously. “How would he know which horses were which, if they didn’t have names?”

  “That’s a good point. I’d just supposed he had too many to bother.”

  Aggie giggled. “He was running out of names before we came. He called one Old Spoonhead.”

  “Then he began naming them after items from his closet,” Christina confided. “He called one Shoe and another Boot.”

  It was the first time Caitriona had seen the thin, serious girl smile, and the transformation was breathtaking. In the space of a second, she went from plain to an ethereal beauty that put Devon’s more earthy looks to shame. Having had a sister who’d outshone her most of her life, Caitriona warmed to Christina. “I suppose Horse 1 and Horse 2 were already taken, or he wouldn’t have resorted to footwear for names.”

  Devon reached the bottom step. “Papa is like that. Sometimes he seems very pragmatic, and then others—” She shrugged. “For example, he loves marmalade.”

  “Does he?” That was interesting. Perhaps she could find some on her next trip to town.

  “Oh, yes,” Aggie said. “He makes quite a mess when he uses it, too.”

  Christina wrinkled her nose. “He’ll even stick his finger in the jar and get the bits the knife can’t.”

  Triona smiled at the girls, glad they’d thawed a bit.

  She knew she wasn’t supposed to engage them much, but a few conversations here and there couldn’t hurt. Besides, she was feeling lonely. Hugh spent so many hours overseeing the horses that he was rarely inside. Meanwhile, she’d promised not to approach the girls, so she rarely saw them. At times the huge house seemed achingly empty. “Where do you ride when you go with your father in the afternoons?”

  Christina shrugged. “Wherever he wishes. Sometimes he has to check on a certain herd, or we help him move them from pasture to pasture.”

  “You help him?”

  “Yes,” Devon said, sounding defensive. “We ride behind the horses and he rides in the front. I daresay we’ve ridden over every inch of this place.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  Aggie hopped. “Yesterday we saw a fox!”

  “No!”

  “Oh, yes! And it was very red. Papa says that means it’ll be a hard winter.”

  “Considering how frigid it is outside already, that’s not surprising.”

  Christina added, “The millpond is frozen solid, too.”

  “Goodness, it is going to be a cold winter. I’ll check the coal bins and see how we’re faring, and order more firewood. I don’t want us to run out.” Triona glanced around the group. “I don’t mean to intrude, but…aren’t you supposed to be with your governess?”

  Devon’s expression couldn’t have been more bland. “She has a headache and told us to conjugate our Greek verbs for the week.”

  “Which we did already,” Aggie offered.

  “As long as your father is happy.”

  Standing here now, noticing the air of desperation that hung about Christina, and how Aggie leaned toward one while talking as if wanting a hug, while Devon eyed all adults with distrust, made Triona regret her promise to Hugh. Surely there was something she could do to help these poor girls while she was here.

  Devon crossed her arms, her accusing gaze pinned on Triona. “What have you been doing this morning?”

  “Setting the menus for the week and organizing the cleaning duties.”

  “Christina and Devon used to do that,” Aggie piped up.

  “Really?” MacLean had never mentioned that! Good God, no wonder the children were cool toward her! She’d appeared out of nowhere and had taken over their position in the house. “I never knew anyone was in charge of those duties.”

  “Papa did,” Devon said succinctly.

  “Well, he forgot to tell me! Or more likely, he didn’t think a
bout it. He’s a wonderful man, but he doesn’t dwell on the niceties. When we married, I thought—well, never mind. I shall have a word with your father about this.”

  “Wait,” Christina said. “What did you think when you were married?”

  “Oh, suffice it to say that Hugh organized our wedding in a very precise, no-frills manner.”

  “That describes most everything he does,” Christina said. “Papa’s very—” She suddenly pressed her lips together. “I won’t criticize Papa.”

  Triona chuckled. “It’s not a criticism, dear. Just a comment on his style.”

  “Oh.” Christina unbent a little, regarding Triona gravely. “In that case, he does tend toward the severe. It drives Uncle Dougal mad.”

  “Uncle Dougal is a fop.” Devon sniffed. “Even Aunt Sophia says so.”

  Aggie giggled. “Aunt Sophia says it a lot.”

  Triona grinned, and realized again how much she missed her own brothers and sisters. Though she’d written a letter to each, it didn’t replace being able to sit around the fire and talk. Her heart ached at the thought.

  “Are…are you well?”

  Finding Christina’s gaze on her, Triona pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and dried her eyes. “Fine, thank you. I’m just thinking of my brothers and sisters—I miss them.”

  “How many do you have?” Aggie asked.

  “Three brothers and two sisters.”

  Christina gaped. “There’s a lot of you!”

  “Oh, yes. We did all sorts of things together—we cooked and cleaned and—”

  “Didn’t you have any servants?”

  “Very few. We didn’t need many, for there were so many of us and we could do what needed doing. I make an excellent cottage pie.”

  Aggie gave a little hop. “Yum!”

  “Oh, yes! And our house was always very noisy. It’s very quiet here, and I’m not used to it.”

  Christina and Aggie exchanged glances.

  Devon said, “I’d think you’d welcome a little peace and quiet. There are times I wish Aggie and Christina would stop talking.”

  Christina’s cheeks bloomed red. “Devon!”