Hugh nodded and headed toward the stairs, pausing when he heard the girls’ voices in the sitting room. He walked to the door and stopped, one hand on the knob.
He heard Devon giggle. “She’s taking yet another bath!”
“No wonder,” Christina said, her voice alight with amusement. “She has to be black and blue. Did you see her land in that mud puddle this morning?”
“She splashed!” Aggie was giggling so hard Hugh could barely understand her.
“Yes,” Devon said, obviously brimming with delight. “I wish I could paint a picture of her there, with mud in her hair and—”
His jaw hard, Hugh threw open the door.
Three startled faces turned toward him. The girls were pictures of perfect horsewomen, dressed in matching habits of varying colors, tall hats perched on their heads, their hair braided and neat. Their feet were shod in comfortable riding boots of the finest cut. He couldn’t help but feel proud of them, and he had to deliberately remind himself of his purpose in coming here. One lesson this past year had taught him was that as sweet as the girls looked, they had their own measure of willful independence and weren’t above breaking the rules now and then.
“Papa!” Her face bright, Devon jumped to her feet. “If you wish to leave early, we’re ready to go now.”
Christina nodded, putting aside her book of fashion plates. “We were just waiting for you. Shall we come?”
He walked farther into the room, eying them one by one.
Their smiles faded.
“Papa,” Christina asked, “wh—what is wrong?”
Hugh crossed his arms. “I heard you talking through the door.”
There was a moment of shocked silence. Christina’s cheeks turned red and Aggie’s head drooped, but Devon didn’t flinch.
She lifted her chin. “So? We said nothing wrong. We were talking about how Caitriona was trying to ride but can’t.” She smiled. “A bear would ride a horse better.”
Hugh turned his gaze on his middle daughter. “What did you say?”
Devon smirked. “I said she’s trying to ride. We saw her this morning from the window.”
Aggie’s grin revealed her missing tooth. “She fell, too. Four times.”
Hugh took a deep breath. “She fell off her horse, and you all found that funny.”
Christina nodded, smiling uncertainly. “It was quite funny to see her…” Her voice trailed off when Hugh looked at her.
“You all seem very pleased by this.”
Devon jutted her chin. “We are, for she’s been quite mean to us this past week!” Devon’s hands fisted at her sides. “That—that woman put honey in our pillows!”
“What?”
Aggie nodded. “We had to take an extra bath to get it out.”
“She also turned the sheets on our beds sideways!” Devon continued in a hard voice
He frowned. “To what purpose?”
“So that when we went to bed, our feet stuck out the end. We had to remake the beds.”
“And it was cold, too,” Aggie added.
Christina remained suspiciously silent.
“I find it hard to believe Caitriona would ever do those things.”
“She did,” Devon said, visibly outraged. “And this morning, when we put on our pantaloons, we discovered that she’d sewn all of the legs together! I almost ripped mine, before I realized what was wrong with them.”
Hugh looked from Devon’s outraged face to Aggie’s sulky one and then to Christina, who was looking down at her hands in her lap. “Christina?”
She peeked at him, her cheeks pink. “Yes, Papa?”
“Why would Caitriona do these things? None of them are harmful, but they certainly smack of revenge.”
Christina swallowed with difficulty. “It’s…it’s because of something we did.” Devon hissed, but Christina continued doggedly, “We told Caitriona you liked carrots.”
Silence filled the room as Hugh took this in. So Caitriona had been duped—and rather than come to him, she’d decided to handle things her own way. Though his disappointment with his daughters was strong, he had a sudden urge to grin. “And you thought I’d be angry with her over the carrots.”
Christina nodded. “Or at least not trust her cooking. Papa, I-I’m very sorry we did that.”
“I’m not,” Devon said, sniffing. “She’s not welcome here, and the sooner she leaves, the better we’ll all like it.”
Hugh’s heart was heavy in his chest. Now he knew why Caitriona had decided to learn to ride without his knowledge. And the reason was of his own making. “Come here, all of you.”
Devon’s brows lowered. “But—”
“On the settee. Now.”
They sat, Devon arriving last.
“I am going to say this but once: Caitriona is not your mother, but she is my wife and you will treat her with every politeness. Is that clear?”
“Yes, but—” Devon began.
“There are no ‘buts.’ You will show her the same respect and politeness you show your aunt Sophia, only more so.”
Christina and Aggie slowly nodded, but Devon crossed her arms over her chest.
“Devon, have I not made myself clear?”
Her mouth in a mutinous line, she finally nodded.
“I will hear no more of this mockery. Christina, when you came here you’d never ridden before, and you fell more times than I can count. And you, Aggie, have only been off leading strings for four months. I remember some of your more spectacular falls as well.”
Both girls hung their heads.
Hugh locked gazes with Devon. “As for you, I remember a ride we once took to Uncle Dougal’s where you fell—”
“That wasn’t my fault!”
“—and landed right in the middle of a stream.”
Her cheeks burned bright. “My horse stumbled.”
“A good rider would have held her mount better. You let the reins go slack at a crucial time.”
Her jaw set, but she offered no reply.
“I have never laughed at any of you for making mistakes, because that’s how you learn. A rider who tells you she’s never fallen off her horse is one who never rides at more than a walk.”
Christina and Devon didn’t meet his gaze, while Aggie’s bottom lip quivered.
“Caitriona is trying to learn,” Hugh said softly. “That is what matters the most.” And it did matter. His heart warmed at the realization of what Caitriona had done—both in learning to ride and in dealing with his daughters in such a spirited, but gentle way. He almost grinned to think of their reactions as she turned the tables on their trick.
“Yes, but she isn’t one of us,” Devon said, her voice tight with anger. “She can barely ride at all!”
“At least she is working to improve her skills—unlike other young ladies I know, who’d rather gallop madly without regard for the health or safety of their mounts!”
Devon’s and Aggie’s faces glowed red, while Christina sent them a surreptitious glance.
“Another young lady I know cannot seem to keep her heels in, without being reminded every single moment.”
Now Christina’s face matched her sisters’.
Hugh scowled. “This is our house, and while she’s here, Caitriona is part of our family. I should have made this announcement weeks ago, but I didn’t realize—” He bit off the rest of the sentence. “We will talk about this more later. I am leaving for two or three days to find a missing mare.”
They all looked up.
“You will stay at Uncle Dougal’s while I am gone.”
Devon planted her hands on her hips. “We want to stay here.”
“And have your pantaloons sewed shut every morning?” He quirked a brow. “I can’t trust you three to behave yourself with Caitriona. Since I can’t stay and monitor you more closely, you’ll go to Dougal’s. When I return, we’ll discuss this situation further.”
All three girls slumped.
Hugh lifted his brows. “Yo
u like staying at Uncle Dougal’s, so do not act as if I’ve just sentenced you to death.”
Christina sighed. “Aunt Sophia’s been away for weeks.”
“Uncle Dougal is getting very cranky about it,” Devon added.
Aggie sniffed. “He’s lovesick.”
“I am sure having the three of you with him will make him feel better.”
“I don’t know about that,” Devon muttered.
He gave them each a hard stare. “If Uncle Dougal invites Caitriona to dinner while I am gone, as he will likely do, you will be on your best behavior. If I return to find that you were anything other than perfectly polite, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”
All three nodded.
“Good. I am going to pack. You will return to your room and change. There will be no riding today.”
Christina and Aggie nodded, but Devon’s lips were pressed into a solid line.
Hugh’s gaze narrowed. “I mean it. Now, go and pack.” He turned on his heel and walked to the door.
“Papa?”
He turned to find Christina on her feet, a few steps behind him as if she’d run to catch him. “We-we didn’t mean to make you angry.”
He looked at her, irritation still roiling through him.
Her large eyes filled with tears, and just as suddenly as his temper had arisen, it was gone, and in its place was disappointment. He sighed and pulled her to him for a hug. “Lass, I know you didn’t mean any harm, and nothing was done that can’t be undone. But I expected better of all of you.”
Christina moved back. “Please, just don’t be angry.”
“I’m much angrier at myself than at you.”
Devon’s brows lowered as if she couldn’t puzzle this out, and he smiled, feeling as tired as if he’d spent the day in the saddle. “We’ll settle all of this when I return. I’m going to speak with Caitriona right now. Change your clothes, and I’ll come see you before I leave.”
He gave them each a hug, then left. As he climbed the stairs, he mulled over what he should say to Triona.
Not once, in all of the intimate moments they’d shared, had she mentioned her problems with the children. She’d done as he’d convinced her to do and had distanced herself from them, to the point where the girls saw her as a permanent outsider. Which is what I wanted, fool that I am. And then the children had taken things too far. It irked him that she had needed something, but hadn’t felt comfortable enough to ask for it.
That could not continue. He reached their bedchamber and halted outside as he considered his options. Should he begin with an apology? Was one even necessary? Would she rather know he’d discovered that Ferguson was training her to ride, or should he allow her to surprise him? In a way, what she was doing was a gift, and he had no wish to lessen the importance of it.
But how did he convince Caitriona to be more open with him, without giving up something himself? They had worked out a delicate balance of power and he was loathe to upset it.
Inside the room, a faint splash reminded him that Caitriona had called for hot water. His wife was inside, naked, and soaking her lovely limbs in a scented bath. With a determined expression, he turned the knob and entered his room.
Chapter 15
“If ye wish to give, do it with yer heart and hands open. ’Tis shabby to give any other way.”
OLD WOMAN NORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER’S NIGHT
Triona closed her eyes and rested her head against the edge of the huge, high-sided copper tub. At Wythburn, their tub was merely a fourth the size of this one, only large enough to stand in. Once, several years ago, Mary had tried to sit in it and had gotten stuck. Caitlyn, Caitriona, and Mother had tried everything to get her loose. Finally, they’d had to throw a sheet over her and call in William to pull her free. Triona chuckled at the memory.
Mary would love this tub. Triona wondered if she could invite her sister to come and stay for a while. Mam had suggested it a few days ago, and it seemed like a good idea. Caitriona shifted in the tub, wincing. She’d never been this sore, but it would be worth it. Not only would she have something to share with MacLean, but it might also help bridge the gap between her and the girls.
Just this morning, she’d caught sight of them in an upper-story window as Ferguson provided her daily riding lesson, and they had laughed hysterically whenever she did something wrong. Caitriona smiled. She was sure they felt quite superior to her and found her inability to ride a cause for mockery, which was even better. It was hard to be suspicious and angry with someone when you thought them incompetent.
Being laughed at was a small price to pay for breaking through the barriers the girls—and Hugh—had set.
All in all, Triona thought she was making excellent progress, especially after their little stunt with the cottage pie. Just this morning she had made Aggie laugh, and once she’d surprised a genuine smile from Christina. Devon was the most suspicious and resistant to her, qualities Triona was sure the girl had inherited from her father. MacLean was many things, but trusting was not one of them.
It was slow going, but Triona felt things were improving. It had only been a few weeks, after all. She sighed and fished around for the soap, hidden beneath the thick layer of bubbles on top of the water. Mrs. Wallis’s lavender soap was quite the nicest, frothiest—
The door suddenly opened, and Triona turned. Hugh entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was devastatingly handsome in his riding clothes, his black boots to his knees, his knit breeches stretched over his muscled thighs. The simplicity of his clothing highlighted his powerful masculinity.
As his green gaze lingered on her, it took all of her will not to cover herself. This was her husband, and she enjoyed looking at him. How could she deny him the same opportunity?
To keep from feeling awkward, she soaped her washcloth and glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I’m surprised to see you. The girls will be expecting their daily ride soon.”
“I’m not going riding with them today.”
“Oh—they will be so disappointed.”
“It will be good for them. Perhaps they will appreciate it more when I return.”
Her heart sank. “Return?”
“I have to leave for a day or two. One of my horses is missing and we think she may be ready to foal, or has already.”
Surprised at her disappointment, she managed a brief, “I see. Will she be all right?”
“More than likely, although I have a bad feeling.”
She looked at him curiously. “Another of your MacLean abilities?”
His eyes crinkled. “I think you know most of my abilities by now.”
Her cheeks heated at the images he roused, and she was suddenly hot, shivery, and restless all at the same time.
It was a feeling she was beginning to welcome. Even now, stiff and sore, she felt the familiar stirring deep inside, a restless hunger for his touch. She lifted the washcloth to her shoulder, and her lower back twinged in protest.
MacLean must have seen her grimace, for he plucked the cloth from her hand. “Allow me.” He slipped off his coat and tossed it over the settee, knelt beside her, and rolled up his sleeves.
“Oh, no! You don’t need to—”
He dunked the washcloth into the tub, wrung it out, and rubbed her arm in lazy circles. His eyes gleamed warmly. “How’s that?”
“Fine,” she squeaked. “Although I-I can wash myself.”
“I’ve noticed.” He gently pushed her forward so he could wash her back. “I’ve never seen a woman take so many baths.” He rubbed her back in slow, even circles, unknowingly massaging her sore muscles.
That was divine.
She closed her eyes, wincing now and then when he hit an extra-sore spot, yet blissful as the muscles slowly relaxed beneath his magic touch. She sighed her contentment.
He chuckled, the sound low and devilish. Then he rubbed her shoulders, his long fingers lingering on her neck, as wet and warm as the
cloth.
She shivered at the touch, her breasts tingling as if they, too, had received his attentions.
He kissed her ear, sending a shiver through her. “Lean back,” he whispered.
She did so, sinking deeper into the hot water until it reached her shoulders.
He soaped the cloth again, regarding her with a mischievous expression. “You know, I believe there’s room for us both in that tub.”
“I suppose we could both fit.”
His eyes glinted. “If I didn’t need to leave soon, I’d spend an hour or two in there with you.”
“The water would grow cold.”
He leaned down and whispered, his breath warm on her cheek, “We could reheat even the coldest water.”
Her face grew so warm, she knew it had to be as red as the rug.
He straightened and dipped the cloth into the water. Looking into her eyes, he placed the cloth on her breast, his fingers brushing over her bare skin.
Triona bit her lip, holding back a moan.
Hugh moved the cloth in small circles, teasing her nipple and sending shivery pleasure sparkling through her veins.
She closed her eyes, shifting restlessly. It felt heavenly and naughty at the same time.
“Caitriona,” Hugh said, his voice deep and rumbly. “Lift your leg and rest it on the edge of the tub.”
Normally, Triona could have done so easily. Today, however, her legs were sore from her ride and quivery from MacLean’s touch. It took all of her concentration to do as he said.
The cool air chilled her wet leg and she shivered. Suddenly, she realized that the soap bubbles had thinned a great deal, and raising her leg had left her exposed in a very embarrassing way. She started to pull her leg back into the water, but MacLean stopped her.
“Keep your leg on the edge of the tub.”
He dipped the cloth into the water and massaged as he washed, beginning at her ankle and working his way over her calf…past her knee…to her thigh. Each stroke was agony and ecstasy. She gripped the tub, caught between delightful dread and delicious anticipation.
His hand dipped lower, the cloth brushing between her legs.
She gasped, her entire body quivering. His wicked, make-me-stop grin made her heart pound madly.