by Meara Platt
He shrugged. “How can ye tell, lass? Ye dinna know me.”
“That’s true.” She took another quick sip of her tea.
The bairn squealed and immediately tried to leap off Cheyne’s lap to grab for Jenny’s cup again. Laughing, she set it on the table out of his reach. “Johnny, behave yourself,” she gently warned when the lad tried to climb onto the table.
Cheyne had to admit, the lad was a handful, wriggling and squirming, and very quick to grab at any shining object he saw before him. So Cheyne lifted him onto his shoulders and endured as the boy amused himself by tugging on his hair with his sticky fingers and kicking his chest with his plump, dangling legs. “No respect for a duke,” he muttered, winking at Jenny.
She cast him another heart melting smile. “You’re a wonderful duke. You have a wonderful way with children, and that’s the mark of valiant man. The citizens of Stonehaven are fortunate to have you as their liege lord. I can feel you all around this place. I don’t know how to explain it any other way. The castle is a reflection of you. Strong. Hard. Powerful. Splendid.” She blushed. “John said you were all that. He was right.”
Cheyne was pleased, but remained reluctant to show it. “I won’t be so splendid if the bairn keeps tugging at my hair. He’ll leave me with a shining bald spot. He has quite a grip.”
“Oh, dear. Shall I take him?”
“Och, no. I don’t mind the lad.” But he took the boy off his shoulders and settled him back on his lap. As he did so, Johnny managed to kick him once or twice in the face.
Jenny was finishing the last of her eggs, but could not hold back a snort of laughter at his chagrin in dealing with the lad. “Sorry, it’s quite endearing to see a man as big and powerful as you utterly laid low by a baby. This is the way it is with little boys. They lunge, they poke, they tug and smack. Johnny has butted his head against my chin too many times to count.”
She was smiling at him again, a glittering smile that reached into her eyes and sent a jolt of heat coursing through his body.
He cleared his throat again. “Let’s take that walk now, lass.”
She nodded and rose along with him, taking Johnny from his arms and holding the boy so that he rested on her hip as though a natural outgrowth of her body.
Cheyne led her outdoors through the double, glass-paneled doors that led from the private dining room onto a terrace of slate and stone. Those doors were covered by thick, blue velvet curtains during the winter months, but in summer the curtains were drawn aside and tied back to allow the breeze to flow in.
The steps leading down from the terrace to the garden were a little steep, so Cheyne took hold of Jenny’s hand to help her down the four stone steps while she carried Johnny. Her hand felt soft and warm in his. He was surprised by his reluctance to release her, but he knew he had to. Jenny wasn’t his to claim.
Once they were on the grassy bed of the garden, she set the bairn down and kept an eye on him as he crawled toward the roses. “I knew it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The imp made straight for the flowers with thorns.”
She lifted the child to his wobbly feet and held his hands as Cheyne led her along the flower beds and trellises filled with tumbling, red roses. “My mother loved flowers. She designed this garden and the shaded pergola where she always took her afternoon tea.”
“Ah, so she enjoyed the Sassenach tradition, did she?”
He grinned. “Aye, lass.”
“I noticed the little table and chairs cozily tucked in the pergola. I could see them from my bedchamber. Would you mind if I did the same? It’s such a beautiful, restful spot to take tea.”
“If ye wish, lass. Ye’re part of the family now. You may come and go as ye please. Sit wherever ye please.” He wanted her to be family, and yet, he also did not. He knew nothing of the lass and she already tugged at his heart. What would happen when he got to know her better? John would return at Christmastide. So would his other brothers. Only a matter of a few months. It was August now. A little over three months until Christmas and the hogmanay celebrations that would take place at Castle Lyon.
Surely, he’d have his feelings under tighter rein by then.
And who was to say Jenny would still be here? She might prove to be a fraud. Green eyes. Sweet, magnificent eyes. Selkie eyes. Why had John written they were blue? Yes, possibly to torment him. John wasn’t above this sort of tease. But if Jenny was his wife, then making a jest about the color of her eyes was a low trick to play on all of them.
How could John be sure he wouldn’t turn her away for this reason alone? And what of the bairn?
Just ask her.
But the words would not flow out of his mouth.
So he simply stared like an addlepated fool at the lass. She looked adorable, her hair drawn off her pretty face and her little ears sticking out. Her hair was a vibrant, fiery gold in the sunlight. Her lips were softest pink.
His gaze moved lower to linger on her body. She had a fine form, small and slender, but a firm, ample bosom. He glanced away, irritated with himself for behaving like a pawky boy. He was never one to ogle women.
Admire them, yes. Glance their way, yes.
But he was practically panting over Jenny.
Since she had been feeding the bairn these past months, it made sense her breasts would be plump and milk-heavy. They were nicely full and round, even though it appeared the wee bairn was no longer suckling at her breast. He couldn’t have stopped so very long ago.
Blessed saints! A body like hers could drop a man in his tracks.
When the wind whipped against her gown, he saw the outline of her long, shapely legs.
He’d thought her passingly pretty yesterday.
He was wrong.
Jenny was beautiful.
Indeed, spectacular in a quiet way that crept up on a man and smacked him in the face when he least expected it.
After walking around the garden, admiring the plant beds and the array of flowers they held, she turned to gaze up at the stone fortress. “I can see why you love it here. If given the choice, I don’t think I’d ever want to leave.” She pursed her lips and frowned a moment.
“What’s wrong, lass?”
“The way John described this place. He saw none of its magnificence. He called it a drafty pile of stones. It is not at all what I expected.” She laughed softly and shook her head. “My father taught history at Oxford. I sat in on his lectures whenever permitted. When his eyes began to fail, I read to him from the ancient texts he adored.”
“In Latin?” Cheyne knew few of those old tomes were written in the English language.
She nodded. “I was a scholar’s daughter. It was more important that I learn the classics than learn to sew a hem.” She glanced down at her gown and sighed. “I’m quite pitiful at sewing. Couldn’t even manage this hem. Mairi had to sew it for me.”
She picked up Johnny as he was about to lunge into a rose bush. “Oh, you little scamp. Behave or you’ll ruin your grandmother’s lovely garden.”
He squawked.
It was a shrill, high-pitched howl.
“Oh, he’s going to–” Jenny grabbed the lad, dropped his drawers, and aimed him toward the leafy, low shrubs decoratively planted in a circle around the flowers.
“How could ye tell he was going to piss, lass?” Cheyne laughed, relieved she’d grabbed the lad before he had, for he would have set him on his shoulders to distract him from crying.
That would not have gone well.
“One learns to tell the difference between a howl because he’s hungry, a squawk because he needs to relieve himself, or a wail because some part of him hurts. Often it is his mouth that aches because his teeth are coming in.”
But now that the lad’s bottom was bared, Cheyne saw the mark proving the bairn was a true Lyon of Mar. There was no mistaking the blood relation. That red stain in the shape of a lion on his upper right buttocks was unmistakable proof of their blood tie.
Cheyne had a nephew.
&
nbsp; The littlest Lyon of Mar.
He must have had an odd expression on his face, for Jenny was staring at him. “The bairn has the family crest,” he tried to explain. He and his brothers used to joke about the birthmark they all carried and on the same spot.
Jenny laughed. “Ah, his mark of honor. That’s what John called it.”
“It proves the lad is my blood kin.” Yet, Cheyne was not completely pleased. The mark also meant that Jenny was probably John’s wife.
He stifled his disappointment. Perhaps it was all true. His brother was married. This beautiful Jenny was his wife. This wee, happy lad was his son.
Cheyne’s heart swelled with happiness for John.
But he ached for himself.
He could have fallen in love with this beautiful selkie from Oxford had he met her first.
That letter, the mention of her eyes. It had been one of John’s stupid jests. Jenny with the green eyes that shone like starlight was his brother’s wife.
While he stared at her like a daft schoolboy, she busied herself carrying Johnny to the fountain in the center of the garden. He watched her dip her handkerchief in the water and then wipe the bairn’s pudgy legs and his wee pecker. Once finished, she set her handkerchief aside and dressed him again. “That was a close call,” she said, talking to the lad in that gentle, sing-song voice of hers.
Johnny howled again and began to rub his eyes.
“Oh, now he’s tired.” She looked up at Cheyne with open disappointment. “I had better take him inside for his nap. Would you mind if we strolled the grounds later? That is, if you’re not too busy.” She picked up the wet, soiled handkerchief and held it gingerly between her fingers. “This needs to go in the wash.”
He took the boy from her arms and settled him against his chest. He wasn’t about to touch the handkerchief. Women could do this. Men gagged at the thought. It was idiotic, really. He could fight fierce battles against a savage enemy, endure stabs, cuts, torn and bloody flesh, and not make a sound as said torn flesh was stitched.
But wipe a bairn’s bottom?
The thought made him shudder.
Johnny was rubbing his eyes and softly crying. He began to rub his nose against Cheyne’s shoulder as they strode back toward the manor house. There was something quite wonderful about holding the child. Perhaps because he knew he was holding his nephew, the son of his vexing brother, John. Indeed, he missed his brother. They’d parted on bad terms, each one aching over the deep friendship they’d lost.
More important, he’d stopped trusting John. He hadn’t forgiven him for kissing Davina on the eve of their betrothal. The betrothal had never happened because he’d caught them. John had told him he’d done it for his own good, and now Jenny had repeated the same thing.
Why had it taken him all these years to admit John was right?
His stupid, stubborn pride.
Now holding John’s bairn was like reconciling with him. More than that, it was like having him back again. The child was still sobbing and rubbing his nose against Cheyne’s shoulder. “Och, ye little lad.” He bent his head and planted a soft kiss on his head.
Jenny had been walking beside him.
He heard her light intake of breath when he’d kissed Johnny.
When he glanced at her, she was beaming. It was no mere smile, but a dazzling mark of her approval. She exuded happiness from the upward tilt of her rose-tinged lips to the sparkle in her eyes.
He patted the lad gently on the back.
“You’re a natural father,” Jenny said in a trembling whisper, obviously overwhelmed by the simple gesture. He’d merely kissed the lad. Looking at her, one would think he had just conquered a kingdom.
“Och, I don’t know about that, lass.” He led her indoors and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber but knew better than to walk in. “Well, I’d better hand wee Johnny back to ye now.”
She nodded, still smiling at him as thought he’d conquered that kingdom. “He fell asleep in your arms.”
He transferred the boy into her care. “Jenny, he’s soundly sleeping. Why dinna ye leave him in Mairi’s care and take that walk with me now? We’re better off without the lad. There are some spots on the cliff walk that are too dangerous for him.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that. Give me a moment. I’ll be right back.”
He watched as she gave the boy over to Mairi’s care and then picked up a shawl for herself. Since the day was warm, she wrapped it around her waist as any Scotswoman would do.
Give her a moment? He’d give her the rest of his life if it weren’t a mortal sin.
Chapter Four
The wind was strong off the sea and whipped through Jenny’s hair as she walked beside Cheyne Lyon, the magnificent Duke of Mar. There was something so pure and beautiful about this day, starting with the man himself and the love he obviously felt for his surroundings. They stood together on the beach, watching the sun glisten on the blue water and laughing as the playful dolphins coasted atop the white-frothed wave crests that rolled through the harbor and washed up on the sand by their feet.
He pointed to the birds that flew off their cliff nests and glided with their wings outstretched as they hunted for fish in the swirling waters below. He spoke with concern about them. “I don’t allow hunters to shoot near the cliffs. The birds need a safe haven to breed their chicks.”
Afterward, they strolled into the village of Stonehaven for a cup of tea and sweet buns. He surprised her by introducing her to several of the gentlemen and ladies they passed along the way. He also introduced her to several shopkeepers. “Make sure to put her purchases on my account,” he told them all.
She felt quite guilty about that, but had very little of her own coin anyway. She could only nod and thank him. “I don’t need anything for myself, but I appreciate your generosity toward Johnny.”
“Lass, ye’re not to deprive yerself,” he insisted. “I’ll be insulted if ye do.”
She nodded again, feeling quite low for her deception. She was relieved when they turned to walk back to Castle Lyon. From where they stood on the High Street of Stonehaven, she had an excellent view of the massive stone fortress and its gray stone walls that soared upward to the deep blue sky. “I love it here.”
The words were meant to be murmured to herself, but the wind carried them within Lyon’s hearing. “Aye, lass. There’s no place more beautiful on earth.” He grinned. “But it gets damn cold in winter.”
She laughed, but beneath her merriment was a sadness she hoped to hide from Lyon. She wouldn’t be here beyond Christmastide. Once John and his real Jenny returned, there would be no place for her here. Lyon would never allow her to stay, not after she’d lied to him.
He was right about condemning liars.
For love to flourish, there had to be trust. Lyon would never trust her now that she’d lied through her teeth. Not that it mattered. He was a duke. She was a professor’s daughter on the run from an unwanted betrothal. Lyon was not going to be thrilled when he learned about that either, not after the disaster of his almost-betrothal to Davina.
“There’s a magnificent outlook just at the top of the cliff path. Would ye care to see it before we return to the castle?”
She’d never climbed hills like these before, but she’d once climbed up a bell tower. She’d grown dizzy and her father had caught her in his arms to steady her, but she’d been six-years-old at the time and the stairs alone were enough to knock the wind out of her. She hadn’t experienced anything like it again.
However, she’d never climbed bell towers since.
Lyon held out his hand to her.
It was all she needed to ease her concern and convince her to accept. She wanted to touch him, feel his strength surround her. “I’d love to.”
“There’s a game lass.” He took her hand and led her up one of the more precarious stretches of the cliff walk. She refused to think about the affect he was having on her body. Her limbs were tingling. The butterflies in her
belly were in a mad flutter.
Of course, it could be due to the fear she was trying to tamp down. But his touch felt exquisite.
His hands were big and warm.
She kept her gaze on him and not on the sheer drop at the edge of the cliff path. It narrowed dangerously in places, causing her heart to lodge in her throat.
I can do this. I am not a coward.
When they reached the scenic outlook, she emitted a sigh of relief. It was a wider, safer stretch of land where one had solid footing. The view was spectacular. She made the mistake of inching forward to stare down the side, and suddenly the entire cliff face began to rumble and spin beneath her feet.
“Jenny, lass,” Lyon said with sudden alarm and grabbed her. “Step back. Och, ye’re trembling.”
“The rocks! They’re falling.”
“No, lass. Nothing’s moving.”
The ground still felt loose beneath her feet, as though the entire rock wall was about to collapse onto the beach below. Her head was now spinning and she could not control the rampant beat of her heart. “Are you sure?”
“Aye. Let me take ye down now. I can see ye dinna like this place.”
“No, Lyon.” She had disappointed him. He obviously loved this sight and had been so proud to show it to her. “Let’s not rush away because of a momentary dizziness. It’s beautiful up here. Thank you for showing it to me. I shall never forget the splendor of this place. It will stay with me long after I leave.” Nor will I ever forget you.
“Already thinking of leaving us? Ye’ve only just arrived. There’s plenty more to show ye of the castle and grounds. There’s also more of the village and the outlying lands. Mar is vast. It stretches from the sea, across the countryside, to those mountains in the distance.” He pointed to several snowy peaks further inland.
She made the mistake of following his gaze when he turned toward the sea. Another wave of dizziness swept over her. They were too high up! Fortunately, Lyon had not let go of her yet. She grabbed his arm and held on for dear life.
“Och, lass.” He muttered an apology and shifted closer so that his arm was securely around her waist. “Let’s go. Ye’ve seen enough.”