The Highlanderâ??s Irish Bride

by Kelly, Vanessa

  “I’ve never seen a lady’s maid scold the master of the house before. It’s refreshing.”

  “Hannah believes a proper scold now and again will prevent Graeme from reverting to his former ways.”

  “You mean Highland hellion ways? From what Sabrina tells me, that’s a family trait. Except for Lord Arnprior, who is very dignified. And Kade is terribly sweet.”

  “Nick has his moments. Just ask Vicky.”

  “I shall certainly do so.”

  She hesitated. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  “And what about you, Mr. Kendrick? Do you ever revert to your hellion ways?”

  Again, heat flared in his gaze as it tracked over her. Kathleen’s mouth suddenly went dry as that heat somehow transferred to her body, sending a flush dancing over her skin.

  A moment later, however, she had an uncanny sense that Grant had just taken a mental step back.

  “Miss Calvert, what is of concern is not my past behavior, but your present behavior. As in, wandering about on your own.”

  Men. They were so bloody confusing.

  “I believe we finished that discussion,” she replied.

  “I’m not sure where you got that idea.”

  “Well, I’m finished with it, anyway.” She retrieved a pair of clippers from the gardening basket she’d unearthed from the vicar’s shed.

  While she carefully trimmed a few bedraggled bits off the rhododendron, she could all but feel Grant fuming behind her.

  After a minute or so of fraught silence, he finally blew out an exasperated breath. “Lass, are you just going to ignore me?”

  She threw some trimmings onto a pile of debris. “It would appear so.”

  “Miss Calvert, you simply cannot—”

  She rounded on him. “If you don’t stop calling me Miss Calvert in that annoying tone of voice, I swear I will stab you with these clippers.”

  Grant simply tilted his head. “What should I call you, then?”

  “You might try Kathleen. We’ve been practically living on top of each other for weeks. It seems silly to be so formal, especially since I refer to Graeme by his Christian name.”

  His expression went blank. Then a slow smile curled up the corners of his mouth.

  Kathleen decidedly liked his firm-lipped, masculine mouth. It was hardly the first time she’d noted such and suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

  “That’s true,” he said. “Your bedroom is right down the hall from mine.”

  She’d already noted that fact, too. His room was two doors down, on the right.

  “I hadn’t noticed. Is it a nice room?”

  He narrowed his gaze. “That is entirely beside the point, Kathleen. Why are you riding about Dunlaggan by yourself? It’s not safe.”

  “Well, Grant,” she drawled. “I didn’t come alone. Your grandfather escorted me.”

  He made a show of looking around. “Apparently, Angus has added invisibility to his many talents. Either that or you stashed him in the shed, so he wouldn’t annoy you.”

  She had to laugh. “Such drastic measures weren’t necessary. Your grandfather escorted me here and then took our horses to tie up behind the pub. I’m to meet him there when I’m finished.”

  “He shouldn’t have left you alone.”

  “I asked him to keep me company, but apparently gardening is not his forte.”

  “Och, I’ll be havin’ a wee chat with him,” Grant said with a scowl. “With yon vicar gone to report to his bishop, ye shouldna be here alone, ye ken.”

  She patted his arm, inordinately pleased by his quick transformation into a growling, protective Highlander.

  “I’m teasing, sir. Angus kindly volunteered to stay with me, but Mr. Brown’s housekeeper is here, as is the kitchen boy. They’ve been keeping a weather eye on me.”

  As if called, Mrs. Adair pushed open one of the vicarage’s casement windows. “Good day to ye, Mr. Kendrick. Can I be gettin’ ye a cup of tea, or something a little stronger?”

  Grant waved. “I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Adair. Just here to escort the lady home when she’s finished up in the garden.”

  The housekeeper, a brisk woman in her early fifties, shook her head. “I never thought to see such goings-on in Lochnagar. It’s enough to make a body afraid to go to sleep at night.”

  “Try not to worry. We’ll get it sorted,” Grant sympathetically replied. “My brother will be posting a watch in the village both day and night, and we’ll not rest until we bring the poltroons to heel.”

  “I ken Sir Graeme will get the best of them eventually. But the villagers are that upset, I can tell ye. It’s nae good all around.”

  “Sir Graeme will be speaking to the villagers, too,” Grant assured her.

  “Well, I’d best be gettin’ back to my pies,” the housekeeper said. “Give a shout if ye need anythin’.”

  “See?” Kathleen said after the window closed. “She’s been hovering all morning like a mother hen with one chick.”

  “While that relieves me somewhat, don’t forget this particular crime . . .” He paused to gesture at the garden and kirk. “It happened in broad daylight, yet no one apparently saw anything. That’s alarming.”

  She waved her arms with frustration. “How is that even possible?”

  He deftly took the clippers. “Careful, or you’ll hurt someone.”

  “I’m extremely adept with gardening tools, sir. I only hurt someone when I mean to.”

  “Then you should keep a pair with you all the time. And now, time to have a wee rest, I think.” He led her to a rustic stone bench under a nearby ivy-covered trellis.

  Kathleen gratefully sank down, since she’d been working steadily all morning under a bright sun. She’d not realized that she needed a respite, but Grant had an eye for that sort of thing. And he seemed to be able to quickly sense what she needed, which was both disconcerting and . . . lovely.

  He propped a booted foot on the other end of the bench, leaning a forearm on his thigh. Kathleen tried and failed to avoid staring at the enticing line of rock-hard muscle showcased by his close-fitting breeches and boots.

  “In some ways, it was clever of them to pick late morning to do their dirty work,” he said. “The villagers were either working in the shops, at Lochnagar, or at one of the tenant farms. And since the vicarage is at the far end of the village and is somewhat secluded, it made for an inviting target.” He pointed beyond the house. “They must have come over those fields, from the direction of the woods.”

  “It is worrisome, I admit. Jeannie’s anxious and upset for Mr. Brown’s sake.”

  One of Grant’s brows went up in an ironic tilt. “Which is why Graeme and I suggested you ladies should head back to Glasgow until we track the bast . . . er, the gang down.”

  “I suspect the bastards are just as likely to attack us on the road.”

  He snorted. “Och, lass.”

  “I know. I’m completely shocking.”

  “Charmingly so. However, I would think Jeannie’s inappropriate fascination for the vicar would be an excellent reason for returning to Glasgow.”

  “Have you ever tried talking reason to a sixteen-year-old girl?”

  He smiled. “No, but I clearly remember being a sixteen-year-old boy. Neither Graeme nor I had a farthing’s worth of common sense between us.”

  “Then you will understand my dilemma. Besides, I won’t leave Sabrina.”

  “Commendable, but—”

  She held up a hand. “I will not budge on this, sir.”

  “Not even if it gives you a surefire excuse to escape the back of beyond? No one would blame you, Kathleen.”

  “I would. Sabrina needs me.”

  His mouth twitched up into a wry half smile. “It’s a kind lass, ye are.”

  She couldn’t help bristling. “Does that surprise you?”

  He studied her for a moment, then leaned forward and gently tapped her nose. “Not one wee bit.”

  “Oh, um, thank—”
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br />   “Then since you will continue to be stuck with us,” he briskly cut in, “what do you intend to do about Jeannie and the vicar?” He shook his head. “That sounds like the title of a very bad melodrama, doesn’t it?”

  She made a concerted effort to regroup. “More like a farce, I’m afraid. Mr. Brown seems entirely unaware of Jeannie’s enthusiasm for him, which is surprising.”

  “I believe he’s failed to notice because he’s been distracted by something else,” he replied in a carefully neutral tone. “Or, I should say, someone else.”

  She pointed to herself. “That would be me.”

  That pulled a reluctant grin from him. “I was trying to be discreet.”

  “Surely you’ve learned by now that such measures are pointless with me,” she cheerfully replied.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a rather unusual young woman?”

  “Odd is the way most people would put it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being odd. My entire family fits every definition of the word. If you were to look it up in Mr. Johnson’s excellent dictionary, I suspect you’d find an illustration of Angus, ratty old tam included.”

  She laughed. “You seem to be the exception to the rule. You’re very . . .”

  “Normal?” he dryly finished.

  She echoed him. “There’s nothing wrong with being normal.”

  “That is very reassuring,” he said. “Now, getting back to yon vicar, we agree that his penchant for you is the reason he’s unaware of Jeannie’s penchant for him.”

  “His inappropriate penchant for me,” she said, determined to make that clear.

  “There’s nothing inappropriate from his point of view. It’s perfectly reasonable that a man like him should wish to court such a bonny lass.”

  His unexpected compliment threw her off balance—yet again. The blasted man was turning her brain to mush.

  Make a joke of it.

  “Really, can you imagine me as a vicar’s wife? I would be sure to do something dreadful, like drink up all the communion wine or insult the parishioners.”

  He grinned. “How shocking that would be for poor Mr. Brown. I wonder if he realizes what a narrow escape he’s made.”

  “Apparently not yet, which is why I continue to do my best to discourage him. Besides, poor Jeannie will have an absolute fit if she gets the idea that I’m trying to cut her out.” Kathleen had to repress a very real shudder. “The consequences of that scenario would be appalling for all of us.”

  “Then I suggest you cease repairing the man’s gardens. Doesn’t that send a mixed message?”

  “You’ll notice that I waited until he left town this morning before I commenced the repairs.”

  “Mrs. Adair will certainly tell him who did it. That’ll send him straight to Lochnagar on his trusty steed as a suitably sedate and clerical version of a fairy-tale prince.”

  She sighed. “It’ll be a gothic nightmare if Jeannie twigs to it. And you’re right, of course. But I couldn’t bear what those awful men did to this poor garden.”

  To her mind, it had been another form of desecration—destroying God’s beauty both inside and outside the kirk.

  He leaned closer again, his gaze now glittering with intent. It made her stomach flutter like ladybugs taking flight.

  “As I mentioned earlier,” he murmured, “you’re a very kind lass.”

  It was astonishing how so normal a man could so thoroughly scramble her wits. Something was happening here that she didn’t entirely understand.

  He’s flirting with you.

  That revelation almost knocked her sideways off the bench.

  “I suppose I should have restrained myself because now he’ll get the wrong idea,” she said, trying to rally.

  “You could try the Irish brogue again. That seemed to throw Brown off his feed.”

  “It certainly threw off my sister. She’s unused to me talking like an Irish barmaid.”

  “Och, lassie, ye sounded like the fairest of colleens. As foine a maiden as ever graced the emerald sod.”

  She laughed. “That’s very impressive. You just sounded more of an idiot than I did.”

  “Graeme and I spent years practicing our technique.” His smile turned wry. “It used to drive poor Nick mad. How he put up with the pair of us is a complete mystery.”

  “I expect it’s because he loves you.”

  “We certainly didn’t deserve it,” he softly replied, as if more to himself than to her. Then he grimaced and pulled out his watch. “It’s getting late, don’t you think? Sabrina will be wondering where we are.”

  Well. Obviously the flirting had come to a conclusion.

  She leaned over to look at his watch. “Goodness, I’d best clean this mess up before collecting your grandfather.”

  “I’ll help, then I’ll escort you down to the pub.” He gave her a hand up from the bench. “No wandering about alone, understand?”

  She snapped off a salute. “Aye, aye, Mr. Kendrick.”

  He tapped her chin. “No cheek, lass.”

  When he leaned a little closer, her mind seized. He’s going to kiss you.

  Involuntarily, her lips parted on a small gasp.

  He suddenly straightened up, as if someone had poked him in the backside.

  “I’ll just collect these cuttings, shall I?” He gestured to the pile of debris she’d stacked up.

  Drat and double drat.

  “Of course,” she replied, mentally cursing the blush rising in her cheeks. “Take everything around to the garden shed, please.” She reached for the whisk broom. “I’ll sweep up the walkway.”

  She commenced sweeping with a great deal of vigor. It was rather silly, really. Of course she liked Grant. What sane woman wouldn’t? That didn’t mean anything would come of it—or should come of it. Despite some minor indications to the contrary, they truly had nothing in common. Besides, she had a plan for her life, and it didn’t include either a husband or living in Scotland.

  “I saw your designs for Lochnagar’s gardens.”

  She turned to find him only a few feet away. “What did you think of them?”

  “They’re very good,” he said. “You have an excellent eye for composition.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  Dappled sunlight through the trees made his hair gleam like polished copper. “I don’t mean to.”

  She narrowed her gaze on his inscrutable features. Grant Kendrick was very good at hiding his thoughts. “You don’t think women are capable of that sort of thing?”

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Then what?” she challenged.

  “Gardening seems a rather staid avocation. And you are anything but staid, Kathleen.”

  “I thought you liked staid.”

  He gave an exaggerated wince. “Touché. I’m afraid we can’t all be as exciting as Mr. Brown.”

  She laughed. “That was actually rather mean.”

  “It was, wasn’t it? But you are talented, and I am interested. Why gardening?”

  The answer to that question was tangled up with so many memories, some of them painful.

  He patiently waited. Kathleen had the feeling he could wait for a hundred years if he really wanted to know something.

  “It’s because of my mother,” she finally said. “Our estate, Greystone Manor, has some of the prettiest gardens in Ireland. Parts of it were planted over three hundred years ago. Mamma loved to garden, and she spent a great deal of time tending to them and expanding on the original designs. Our gardens became rather famous because of her. They were her favorite place in the world.”

  For that reason, they would always be Kathleen’s favorite place, too.

  “You obviously inherited her talent,” Grant said. “Both your designs and your drafting skills are excellent.”

  His praise made her feel a bit shy. “I’m not a patch on my mother. After she died ... well, learning how to draft and design gave me something to do.”

&n
bsp; Truthfully, it had been much more than just something to do. It was a major source of comfort in the dark months after her mother’s unexpected death.

  She hesitated, but then shrugged. “Gardening makes me feel like she’s still with me, at least a little bit. Does that sound silly?”

  “Anything but,” he quietly replied. “When you lose a parent at a young age, you look for them everywhere. And you try to hold on to them by loving what they loved.”

  Kathleen had to swallow twice before she could answer. “Yes, you lost your mother at a young age, too.”

  “I was seven.” He had that faraway look again, as if he were gazing down a long, black tunnel that led to nowhere good.

  She rested a tentative hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry, Grant.”

  His hand came up to cover hers, pressing it close. Through the fine wool fabric of his coat, through the solid muscle of his brawny chest, she could feel the beat of his heart, strong and true. Darkness still lurked in his gaze, though it seemed to lift as he stared down at her.

  Time slowed as the breeze softly rustled through the trees. A sparrow flitted overhead, returning to its nest in the apple tree. The air, scented with heather and the faint tang of smoke from the vicarage chimney, was so lovely and crisp she could almost taste it. Everything about the moment seemed as clear as a polished windowpane, imprinted on her mind’s eye so she would never forget it.

  As she gazed up at Grant, a soothing peace drifted over her, settling deep in her bones. When he slowly bent his head, her fingers curled into his coat. Her lips parted, his mouth a mere whisper away. Finally, finally, he was going to—

  “Hallo in the vicarage,” called a loud voice.

  They jerked apart, Kathleen stepping on the broom at her feet. Grant lashed out a hand to steady her. When she glanced up at him, she had to swallow a semi-hysterical giggle at the incredibly annoyed look on his face.

  After blowing out an exasperated breath, he turned and stepped onto the walkway, partially shielding her.

  “Can I help you?” he curtly asked.

  “I hope so, old man,” came the hearty reply.

  After taking a breath to steady her nerves, Kathleen moved around Grant and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man regarding them with a grin barely concealed by an impressive mustache. His beaver hat was tipped at a jaunty angle over curly brown hair, and his many-caped driving coat was negligently pushed back by one hand propped on his hip.