But now, Vanessa gave Ember a grateful smile as she took the tea. “Thank you, Ember. I appreciate the help. My feet are so sore!”
Vanessa had never minded having Ember do things for her, but it was nice to know her marriage to Roland had mellowed her and taught her the value of appreciation and help.
From the way Ember smiled in return and sank into a chair beside Vanessa, it appeared she didn’t mind doing nice things in return for appreciation. At least now she wasn’t expected to do anything. And here at Blabloblal, Mother wasn’t around to give any of them orders.
It was wonderful to be away from her control, even if it had meant bucking society and striking out on her own.
Speaking of that…
With a sigh, Bonnie began to collect the papers in front of her. They needed to be placed in the correct order so when she got to Inverness, it’d be easier to ensure their printing.
“So what’s she moping about?” Ember asked their sister in a loud whisper.
Vanessa replied in an equally unbelievably loud whisper, “Something to do with the publishing company I think.”
Her lips twitching fondly at her love for these two sisters of hers, Bonnie shook her head. Without turning, she said, “I think I’ve finally found the last piece of my book.” The last piece she’d be able to manage at least. “I’m returning to Inverness tomorrow and will start setting type for the first printing run. I’m going to market it as particularly interesting to women.”
Ember hummed. “That doesnae sound like moping. No’ that I’m no’ thrilled to be here, but I thought it was something…dire?”
“I thought it was.” Vanessa sniffed. “Ye should’ve seen her when Phineas dropped her off. She was close to tears, and I keep catching her sobbing into her soup—”
Bonnie whirled around. “That isnae true!”
She knew it wasn’t true, because even though she’d felt like sobbing often in the days since she’d left Oliphant Castle, she hadn’t once given in to it.
“Which part?” Ember asked. “The being close to tears, or the sobbing?”
“Or the soup?” Vanessa added unhelpfully. “I cannae abide soup.”
“And I adore it,” snapped Bonnie, remembering the squash soup Lyon’s new cook had made. “So I’ll no’ ruin it with tears.”
“Aye, that sounds disgusting,” Ember deadpanned. “Verra salty.”
Vanessa frowned over her teacup. “I’m only just now getting over the urge to cast up my accounts every time someone mentions eating soup. Dinnae make it worse.”
“Cast up yer accounts?” Ember cocked her head to one side. “As in…ye have a ledger or journal of yer expenses? And ye toss it over yer shoulder or out of a boat or something?”
Huffing, Vanessa lifted her feet encased in delicate slippers to rest on the ottoman in front of her. “To cast up one’s accounts is a euphemism. A polite way to say…”
With her free hand, she gestured at her stomach.
“To become pregnant?”
“Nay,” offered Bonnie, trying to keep a straight face. “That’s increasing.”
“Well, that’s certainly true.” Ember eyed Vanessa’s belly wryly.
Now Vanessa was gesturing from her stomach, up her esophagus, to her mouth. “To cast up yer accounts means…ye ken.”
“Breathing?” Ember guessed. “Is that a dance? Ye ken I never took the same dancing lessons as the two of ye.”
Now, Vanessa was opening her mouth, pretending to heave. That, along with the motion of her hand as she dragged something vile up from her stomach, made it clear what she meant. From the way Ember’s eyes twinkled as she cocked her head to one side and pretended not to understand, Bonnie guessed she was just teasing Vanessa.
“Ye’re gasping for breath? Ye smell something bad? What does this have to do with yer accounts?”
“Vomit!” shrieked Vanessa, finally. “Casting up yer accounts means to vomit!”
Bonnie burst into laughter, and heavens, but it felt good.
Shrugging, Ember leaned back in her chair. “Why no’ just say ye had to vomit? It’s a normal part of pregnancy, is it no’?”
“It is but speaking of vomit in polite company is considered rude,” Vanessa sniffed.
Ember grinned. “I’m no’ polite company.”
“Ye certainly are no’.”
Still chuckling, Bonnie shook her head. “I’ve missed ye two.”
Vanessa lifted her teacup in salute. “And I’ve missed yer smile.” She leaned toward Ember and lowered her voice, saying, “She really has been moping, ye ken.”
“Since Phineas dropped her off, ye say?” Ember murmured back.
“I’m sitting right here, ye two!”
Ember nodded. “Where did ye say she spent the blizzard? With Phineas, aye?”
Vanessa hummed thoughtfully. “Indeed. And I’ve often thought the two of them would make a lovely pair.”
“So ye think she’s been moping because she’s in love?” Ember nodded again. “I wonder if Phineas doesnae return the sentiment—”
“I’m sitting right here!” Bonnie huffed in irritation and crossed her arms in front of her. “And I do no’ love Phineas Prince. I ken Vanessa thinks we’re soul mates just because we both like to read books, but I have told her time and again that opposites attract more often than no’!”
“Well, that certainly wasnae the case with me and Roland,” Vanessa said airily. “We’re both verra attractive and charming, ye ken.”
“And Max and I are both innovators. I like working with my hands while he manages the business, but Oliphant Engraving has never been as successful as we’ve made it in the last season since we’ve opened orders for my custom-engraved shoes.”
It was hard to argue with those facts. Bonnie slumped further in her chair. “I am no’ in love with Phineas,” she repeated with a pout.
Ember hummed and tapped her bottom lip. “She said opposites attract.”
She glanced thoughtfully at Vanessa, who hummed, then asked, “Who do we ken who is opposite Bonnie, who she might be in love with?”
Oh Lord in Heaven, she couldn’t allow this to continue or they might actually guess. “Who said I’m in love with anyone?”
“The moping,” Ember pointed out cheerfully. “Ye’re moping around just like a woman in love.” She gestured to Vanessa, then back to herself. “Trust us, we ought to know.”
Before Bonnie could deny it, Vanessa heaved her feet to the ground and sat up, amid much groaning. “Just answer us this, Bonnie dear. There is a man, is there no’? And the thought of him makes yer heart beat faster, and makes ye feel short of breath, and ye cannae sleep for thinking of his kisses?”
How did she know?
Perhaps Bonnie spent a moment too long staring at her sister, because Vanessa nodded firmly and cut a glance at Ember. “Definitely in love.”
“So why the moping?” Ember cocked a brow at Bonnie. “Because it is unrequited?”
If she just kept her mouth shut, her sisters would write this whole damn depressing gothic novel for her!
But she wouldn’t be Bonnie if she knew how to keep her mouth shut, would she? With a low growl, which sounded remarkably like Lyon’s, she pushed herself upright and turned back to her papers.
“Tomorrow I’m going back to Inverness,” she repeated, as much for herself as for her sisters. “I’m going to publish my book. My book will be a glorious success, and then I will start to publish books by other women.” She nodded firmly. “I will help usher in a new wave of women’s accomplishments, and that is what I want from life.”
Not love. Not marriage.
Right?
Her back was to her sisters, so she couldn’t see their reaction. But from the absolute silence back there, the two of them were exchanging Significant Looks. Well, to hell with them!
She pushed away from the table, clutching her papers close to her chest, and turned around to face them. “Now, I’m going to lock these up, then I’m goin
g down to luncheon. Ember, ye’ll join us, will ye no’?”
Before Ember could do more than nod, Bonnie’s grin turned wicked. “I’ve heard we’re having soup.” Vanessa pressed her lips together. “Cream soup.” Vanessa’s cheeks paled. “Salty, oyster cream soup.”
“I hate ye,” whispered Vanessa weakly as she slumped against the cushions.
Bonnie grinned triumphantly and swept from the room.
No matter what her feelings were for Lyon Prince, they were in the past, and she now had a future to create.
And she could do it without crying over losing him.
She had to. There was no other choice.
* * *
“Come on, auld man! Ye’re slowing down!” Keith danced just out of reach, his fists held up to protect his face as he taunted Lyon. “My grandmother could fight better than ye!”
Growling, Lyon stalked forward, jabbing uselessly at the air where his younger brother-turned-companion used to be. “Stay still for once, ye fooking butterfly!”
Chuckling, Keith twirled out of reach again, then darted back in for two quick jabs to Lyon’s side. “What’s wrong with ye? Ye’ve been slow for the last week!”
That’s because when Bonnie left, she took his fire with her.
Still, Lyon couldn’t admit that out loud, so he concentrated on his sparring partner, managing to land a blow across Keith’s shoulder when he turned at the last minute.
“Oof! That’s more like it. Come on, man. Ye’re hitting like a weakling!”
He was. It was true, and Lyon wasn’t sure how he felt about it. There’d been a time when Keith’s taunting would fire his blood, and his anger—at the accusations, but more importantly, at his injuries and his slow recovery and the world itself—would push him into a blind rage.
When Bonnie had been there, that rage had been replaced by a lust he couldn’t contain, and sparring with Keith helped him find a different kind of release.
But when Bonnie had gone, the rage hadn’t returned. The lust was still there, but now, the emotion sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe, was…sadness?
Contemplating feelings during a match was a stupid idea, as evidenced by the fact Keith used his distraction to slam his fists into Lyon’s chest twice, knocking him backwards. Now it was hard to breathe for an entirely different reason.
And as he stumbled back, dazed, Keith landed a vicious uppercut, which slammed Lyon’s head back, his teeth knocking together hard enough to loosen them before he fell backward on his arse.
And since he’d already been knocked on his arse, he might as well just lie his head back against the cold stone of the great hall’s floor and pretend that’s what he’d meant to do the entire time.
Above him, the distant ceiling swam into focus, and he could imagine it festooned with banners and tapestries, the sounds of raucous feasts and medieval music lingering just past his hearing.
Well, fook. Must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.
Then Keith’s concerned face interrupted the vista. “Lyon? Are ye alright?”
“Ye hit me hard enough to hallucinate,” Lyon mumbled, his jaw aching.
“Och, well, ye were distracted.” Shrugging, Keith lowered himself to sit cross-legged beside the supine man and began to unwind his fist-wrappings. “When are ye going to talk about it?”
“Never.” And when he was feeling well enough to stand, Lyon had every intention of stalking off to the loch and easing this headache with ice water. But judging from the way everything was fuzzy, perhaps he ought to lie here a bit longer.
“She has nae reason to return, ye ken.”
Since it hurt to turn his head, Lyon sent the younger man a sharp glance. “I dinnae ken what ye mean.”
Keith clucked his tongue and tossed the wrappings to one side. “Of course ye do. Having Bonnie here was nice. She made the place feel…more like a home, I guess.” To Lyon’s surprise, the younger man stretched out on his back beside him, stacking his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. “Mrs. Oliphant—the new cook, I mean—asked about her, and when I said she’d left, the woman cursed most soundly. I guess even she liked Bonnie, and she’s nearly as grumpy as ye.”
There wasn’t much to say, not in the face of such cheerful observations. Lyon grumbled, “She never met Bonnie.” He shifted slightly so he could see the younger man’s face.
“Nay, but perhaps she could sense the difference in the castle.” From his supine position, Keith shrugged. “I think she really liked ye—Bonnie, no’ Mrs. Oliphant. Although I suppose Mrs. Oliphant likes ye well enough.”
Lyon didn’t need to hear this. “To hell with Mrs. Oliphant!”
Keith’s smile seemed to grow, although his attention was on the ceiling. “She does make delightful roasts, does she no’?”
“I dinnae want to hear this.” Deciding he could abide a headache for a bit, Lyon began to roll to his feet, but Keith’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Easy, Lyon. Lie easy a bit longer. I’ll stop teasing ye about how much Bonnie liked ye, or how beastly ye’ve been since ye let her leave.”
“Ye’re doing a piss-poor job of it,” Lyon grumbled, but he allowed the younger man to push him back to the stone floor.
Keith just shrugged unrepentantly as he grinned.
Was he right?
Bonnie had wanted to stay; Lyon had seen it in her eyes when they’d begged him not to let her go. But if he had given in to her—and to his own heart, or perhaps cock—he knew she’d end up miserable.
Or dead.
His younger brother eyed him worriedly. “Ye ken, I havenae asked ye why ye allowed her to walk off, and I’ll no’ ask ye now. But if ye were interested in having her back in yer life, I dinnae think it would be verra hard.”
Lyon scowled, of course. “She’s better off without me.”
“Ye cannae think that,” scolded the younger man. “Ye are a good man, Lyon, nae matter what ye believe about yerself. I see that, yer brothers see that, and Bonnie sees that.”
Did she?
Is that why she’d seemed so hurt to leave?
Of course, ye idiot.
Was Keith right? Would it be so easy to leave the castle, which had been his cave for so long, and go to her and tell her how he felt?
How do ye feel, then?
He felt as if the light had gone out of his world when she’d left. She’d taken his light, his heart, the only remaining bit of life with her.
God help him, but he missed her.
Keith settled back down beside him, shifting to make himself comfortable on the stones.
Lyon glowered, happy for the distraction. “What are ye doing?”
“What?”
“I ken why I’m lying here, but why are ye?”
The younger man managed to shrug. “I didnae want anyone to wander by and think I’d managed to knock ye out, so I’m lying here so anyone who sees us assumes we’re just two men, looking at the ceiling together.”
Lyon was strangely touched by the sentiment. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said gruffly past the lump in his throat.
His brother seemed to understand. “Ye’re welcome,” he said cheerfully. “Is that a crack in the plaster? We need to have that looked at.”
Squinting, Lyon followed the younger man’s pointing finger. There was, indeed, a small crack in the plaster ceiling. “What are we doing now then?”
“Looking at it,” Keith agreed.
There was a sound by the entrance to the lower story, and Lyon managed to turn his head far enough to see Phineas and Roland troop up the steps and stop dead upon seeing the two men stretched out on the floor.
“What are ye two doing?” Roland finally called out, amusement in his voice.
“Examining the ceiling,” Lyon supplied the excuse with a dry tone.
“Together,” Keith added. “Because that’s what we’re doing. No’ that Lyon was knocked unconscious or anything.”
“Y
e’re terrible at subterfuge,” Lyon growled under his breath.
His two brothers strolled across the great hall. Phineas’s head was craned upward, as if he too was interested in the ceiling. But Roland’s hands were in his pocket, and he seemed only a few moments away from whistling.
He stopped beside Lyon and nudged him with the toe of his shoe. “Why are ye really there?” He nudged again.
“Ow,” growled Lyon, shying away. “Stop that. It hurts.”
Roland poked him again. “Then sit up and talk to me.”
“I can talk fine lying down.” Lyon’s head was still pounding.
“And it’s difficult to examine the ceiling without lying down,” Phineas agreed, dropping to his arse on Keith’s other side and gently lowering himself to his back on the stones. “What are we looking at?”
The younger man pointed. “That crack up there. I suggested we have someone come look at it.”
“We’re looking at it now,” Phin pointed out.
“Someone who kens something about plaster. Unless ye’ve taken a job as a plasterer and I dinnae ken it?”
Phineas sniffed. “I’ve studied enough ancient plaster, I’m sure I could manage to fix something modern. I remember once, while excavating a stupa along the Narmada River in India, I helped my foreman build a unique type of scaffolding I’m certain would be tall enough and stable enough to work in this—”
Roland, tired of the discussion, rolled his eyes and interrupted. “I verra much doubt ye’re lying there discussing plaster. Now, these trousers are newly tailored, and I’m no’ about to plant my arse on the dirty floor just to get some answers, so start talking!”
Keith glanced at Lyon, and the oldest brother could see the indecision behind those hazel eyes. He didn’t want Phin and Roland to know he’d managed to knock Lyon down.
“We’ve been discussing how much Lyon misses Miss Bonnie,” Keith blurted, and Lyon closed his eyes on a groan.
The Lass Who Loved a Beast Page 8